The islanders also were vaguely awake to the
fact that everything might be tied up for years, despite the provisions
of the will; a restless, stubborn feeling of alarm spread among them.
This feeling gradually developed itself into bitter resentment; hatred
for the people who were causing this delay was growing deeper and
fiercer with each succeeding day of toil.
Their counsellor, the complacent Enemy, was in no sense immune to the
blandishments of the climate. His tremendous vitality waned; he slowly
drifted into the current with his fellows, although not beside them. For
some unaccountable reason, he held himself aloof from the men and women
that his charges were fighting. He met the two lawyers often, but
nothing passed between them that could have been regarded as the
slightest breach of trust. He lived like a rajah in his shady bungalow,
surrounded by the luxuries of one to whom all things are brought
indivisible. If he had any longing for the society of women of his own
race and kind, he carefully concealed it; his indifference to the subtle
though unmistakable appeals of the two gentlewomen in the chateau was
irritating in the extreme. When he deliberately, though politely,
declined their invitation to tea one afternoon, their humiliation knew
no bounds.
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