[image]CAROLINE THRINGThe Admiral made a wry face. "Caroline Thring? I've heard of her. Never seen her: but heard of her. Eccentric party, ain't she? And did n't I hear there was an affair with Young Beauchamp?""That's fallen through. She's an estimable person.""Ugh," said the Admiral."People call her eccentric," Lord Otford continued, hotly, "because she goes about doing good—distributing alms—"The Admiral was about to exclaim, but Otford gave him no time. "You 're prejudiced, you old reprobate. Wendover 's willing, and there's nothing in the way. The estates join. She's sole heiress. Gad, sir, that alliance would make Jack the biggest man in the Three Kingdoms.""Is Jack fond of her?""Does n't object to her. Hesitates. Says he don't want to marry at all. Says he has n't had his fling.""Well—what's it all got to do with me?""Ever since Jack's been home on leave, he's done nothing but talk about you—""Good lad!" cried Sir Peter, slapping his thigh. "I loved him when he was a middy on board theTermagant.""And he loves you. Coming to look you up. To-day, very likely. When he comes, refer to Caroline—carelessly. Say what a fine gel she is. Don't say a word about the estate. These young whipper-snappers have such high-and-mighty ideas about marrying for money. Refer to young Beauchamp. Say in your time young fellers did n't let other young fellers cut 'em out. See?""You 're a wily old fox, Jack. But, hark'ee! Sure he's not in love with anybody else?""He says he is n't. Oh, there may be a Spanish Senorita!—Gad! I should almost be ashamed of him if there wasn't!—But there's no—no—""No Lucy Pryor?" said the Admiral carelessly.The name seemed to fall on Lord Otford like a blow. He sat quite still a moment, looking straight before him into who knows what memories. At last he said very sadly, "No. No Lucy Pryor."The Admiral realised his own tactlessness. He took Lord Otford's hand. "I beg your pardon, Jack. I 'm sorry.""It still hurts, Peter," said his Lordship with a wistful smile. "Like an old bullet.—Well! You 'll do what you can, eh?—I don't want you to overdo it. Just edge him in the right direction.""Keep his eye in the wind, what?""That's it.—Well? Any new-comers in the Walk?""Yes," chuckled the Admiral, "two oil lamps. One in front of my house, and one in front of Sternroyd's. They wanted to give us their new-fangled, stinking gas, but the whole Walk mutinied.""Very fine, but—""They 're only used when there's no moon.""But I meant new people!""Oh! Ah! Yes!—" Then with a sort of smack of the lips indicative of the highest appreciation, "A French widow and her daughter."At once Lord Otford showed a lively interest. "French, eh?—What? the little gel I saw going in?""Yes," answered the Admiral, rising and leading his friend towards the Gazebo where his whisper would no longer make the windows of the Walk rattle. "Yes. They're not really French, y' know. Mother's the widow of a Frenchman. Madame Lachesnais."This sounded very dull. His Lordship stifled a yawn, but he noticed the Admiral's kindling eye, and felt constrained to continue the subject."Pleasant?""De-lightful!" answered Sir Peter, kissing the tips of his fingers at an imaginary ideal. "The Walk was shy of 'em at first. So was I. Thought they was foreigners. Foreigners are all very well for you and me, Jack. We 're men o' the world. But think of Mrs. Poskett! Think of the Misses Pennymint! Think of Mr. and Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn!"Lord Otford started slightly at the last name."Eh? Mr. and Mrs. what?""Brooke-Hoskyn. Sh!" pointing to the house with his thumb. "Very distinguished man. Moves in the highest circles. Hote tonn, Jack. Dines in town regularly four times a week.""Man of family?" asked Lord Otford."Family?" roared the Admiral. "Well, I should say so. Four little gels in five years, and more to come! Never met him?""I seem to remember a man called Hoskyn," said his friend nonchalantly.The Admiral shook his head in dismissal of the undistinguished Hoskyn. "No, no. This is Brooke-Hoskyn; Brooke—h'm—Hoskyn; with a hyphen."Lord Otford had had enough of Brooke-Hoskyn. "Go on about the French widow.""Well, one morning their shay was signalled from the back of the Misses Pennymint. We'd all been watching for their coming, y' know, because of their house having been painted white—but that's another yarn altogether. Shays can't get beyond the corner of Pomander Lane; so I had time to put on my uniform, and my medals, and my cocked hat—""Meant to show 'em you was Admiral on your own quarter-deck, eh?""That's it. And then—" the Admiral glowed with enthusiasm—"well, then Madame came round the corner; and then Mademerzell. They did n't walk, Jack, they floated. And what did I do? I just sneaked back into harbour, and struck my colours. Yes!— She was the most gracious creature I 'd ever seen. And the gel—! Well, you saw her." He paused for a moment, and then added in a curiously subdued voice: "They brought something new into the Walk."Lord Otford looked at him enquiringly. "What do you mean?"It was some little time before Sir Peter answered. He sat gazing into vacancy a moment, like a man who is remembering happier things, calling up a mental picture of a beautiful landscape—or perhaps of a beautiful face—suddenly smitten by the recollection of his own youth. At last, with something like a sigh he went on."We're rather an elderly lot, y'know. Beyond our springtime, Jack, and that's the truth. When we sit and think, we think of the past, and try not to think of the future. And, suddenly, here was this Grace and Beauty and Youth in the midst of us. It gave the Walk a shock, I can tell ye. All the women lay-to in repairing-dock for days. Mrs. Poskett never showed her nose till she 'd got a new wig from town; Pringle tells me he caught poor little Barbara Pennymint looking at herself in the glass and crying; and Brooke-Hoskyn says his wife, who had watched 'em come from her window, not being able to get downstairs, poor soul, sobbed her heart out and made him swear he loved her.""By Jove!" cried Lord Otford, "you make me want to see these paragons!""Well, Madame 's only gone shopping. She 'll be back directly. Wait, and I 'll present you.""No," said his friend, signalling to the sedan-bearers. "Not to-day. I'm on my way to old Wendover, at Brentford.""Ah! That marriage! Well, I hope I shall see Jack soon.""You'll help me, won't you?""I will. I will. God bless you."Sir Peter escorted his friend to the sedan; saw him safely into it and walked at its side until it turned the corner. As he came back he found himself face to face with Marjolaine, who had finished her lesson and was coming out of Number Three with a book in her hand."There, now, Missie," he cried, "if you'd come a moment earlier, I'd have presented you to a very great man!""Oh?"At his door the Admiral put his hand up to his mouth and whispered confidentially—a confidential whisper which could have been heard the other side of the river—"I say!—We 'll have a go at that horn-pipe by-and-by—what?" And chuckling he went into his house.Marjolaine came slowly to the elm, seated herself, and proceeded to read the "Adventures of Telemachus."CHAPTER VCONCERNING WHAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR[image]Chapter V headpieceThe sun shone; the thrush sang; the leaves of the elm rustled; the great river flowed silently; the breeze came and kissed Marjolaine and whispered "Wake up! Wake up! Something is going to happen!" But she could not hear. She only thought Telemachus was even duller than usual, and as she read of Mentor she thought of the Reverend Doctor Sternroyd. Presently—whether it was the breeze that blew her thoughts away, or the singing of the thrush, I cannot say—she lost the thread of the story; stopped thinking at all; and just sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, looking with her great brown eyes into—what?The Eyesore saw her. I cannot dip into the Eyesore's mind. I cannot tell you what influenced him. I only know he grew restless. He looked at her over his shoulder once or twice as she sat there, "In maiden meditation, fancy free," and suddenly he got up, laid his rod carefully across the chains, and stole out on tip-toe. Was it a glimmering sense that he was no company for this pretty maid lost in thought? Was it a dim realisation that his ungainly figure had no business to intrude on her meditations? Whatever the cause, he stole out on tip-toe and was lost to sight. Perhaps he was only thirsty.Marjolaine did not notice his going. Nor did she see Jack come. Jack came apparently out of the river. As a matter of fact he tied his boat to a ring at the foot of Pomander Stairs and leaped on shore. A delightful young fellow, the sort of young man you take to, the moment you set eyes on him. Obviously a sailor. His lieutenant's undress jacket was over his arm. A wiry figure, lissome as a willow and as tough as steel; a face tanned by many suns; true sailor's eyes looking frankly and fearlessly at the world.He was evidently in search of something or somebody. He came down the Walk examining all the houses curiously; and suddenly he found himself face to face with Marjolaine.His shadow fell across her book. She looked up; and their eyes met.Marjolaine was much too well-bred to show any surprise, but, as a matter of fact, she was very much surprised indeed. Here was a new and terrible situation. A total stranger standing looking at her; her mother and Nanette gone to Chiswick; the Admiral shut in his house; and not another soul in sight. Even the Eyesore would have been a sort of moral support, but even the Eyesore had deserted her. However: Courage! If she went on with her book the stranger would go. So she went on with her book, grimly.But the stranger did not move. When a young sailor-man sees an extremely pretty girl, his instinct is to stand still and look. Jack stood still. I will not say he was not nervous. He was. But he conquered his nervousness, like the brave fellow he was, and stood his ground.Marjolaine began to get angry. This was an outrage. She looked up at him once more, and this time there was a flash in her eyes which was meant to annihilate him. It did. If she had not looked up, he might ultimately have gone reluctantly away. But this look finished him and rooted him to the spot.Marjolaine returned to her book. But Telemachus had taken on a new shape. He had laughing blue eyes and he carried a naval jacket with gold buttons over his arm. Also he stood looking at her. This was intolerable. If the stranger would not move, she must. It went horribly against her pride to retreat in the face of the enemy, but if the enemy would n't retreat, what were you to do?She closed the book with an angry bang and rose to her feet. The movement roused Jack to a sense of his own inexplicable behaviour."I beg your pardon!" he stammered, involuntarily.Marjolaine eyed him haughtily from head to foot. She had read somewhere that this is what a well-bred young woman should do under similar circumstances."Why?" said she, raising her eyebrows."Oh, I'm so glad you said 'Why?'" cried Jack, with evident relief.Marjolaine had not expected this. She was genuinely puzzled and a little off her guard. She could only repeat, but this time quite naturally, "Why?""Well," said Jack, very volubly, "if you'd said, 'There's no occasion,' or if you hadn't said anything, our conversation would have been finished, you know."Marjolaine could have stamped with vexation. Of course she ought to have said nothing. And here she was entrapped into what this very bold young man described as a "conversation"!"The conversation is finished," she said, trying to pass him.But he held up his hand. "No. It's my turn to ask you a question!""Hein?" she cried, more than ever on her dignity. He had the impudence to accuse her of asking him a question!Jack remembered his manners. With a low bow he presented himself. "I 'm Jack Sayle, at your service. I 'm a lieutenant in the Navy; and I 've just rowed down from Richmond—three miles. I 'm home on leave; and I 'm looking for an old friend.""All that is very interesting," said Marjolaine, "but it is n't a question," and once more she tried to get by.Jack felt rather injured. She might have shown a little more interest in the autobiography he had just favoured her with. "I thought it was polite to tell you who I was. As for the question: it 's uncommon hot, and when I saw this terrace I said there 'd be sure to be one here. Is there?""What?" cried Marjolaine, this time really stamping her foot."An inn?""Certainly not.""Can't you tell me where there is one?""I do not frequent them," answered she, freezingly."No?" said Jack, crestfallen. "Sorry. I am dry. You see, I 've rowed all the way from Richmond. Five miles."Marjolaine had manoeuvred safely inside her own gate. She felt she could afford a parting shot at him. "I 'm afraid you 'll have to row all the way back again. Good afternoon." By this time her hand grasped the handle of the door.Jack addressed the world in general. "Curious, how different everything is."Marjolaine turned. "Different what is?""Why, if I 'd met an old gentleman outside his house in Spain, and he 'd seen how I was suffering, he 'd have said his house was mine."Marjolaine indignantly came down one step. "I am not an old gentleman; I haven't any house in Spain; and it's a shame to say I 'm inhospitable!"Jack's face wore an inscrutable smile. He protested. "I didn't. I only said it was different."Marjolaine came back to the gate."Are you really suffering?" she asked.Jack turned away to hide an unmistakable grin. He spoke in a hollow voice. "Intolerably." Then he turned to her with a haggard countenance. "Look at my face!"Marjolaine came out of the gate. Ah, Marjolaine! The moth and the candle!"I can't ask you in, because Maman and Nanette are out."Jack staggered to the seat under the elm, and sank on it like a man in the last stage of exhaustion. "It's of no consequence. I must row back. Seven miles. Against the tide. Ah, well!"Marjolaine was genuinely sorry for him. He really was very good-looking."I'm sure Maman would ask you in, if she were here.""I 'm quite sure of that.""And I think she would not like me to be—as you say—inhospitable.""I didn't say it; but I'm quite sure she would n't."Marjolaine's kind little heart was quite melted. This good-looking young man spoke so very humbly."I might—I might bring you out something—"A gleam of triumph crossed Jack's face, but he answered with the air of a martyr: "Oh! don't trouble!"Marjolaine's sense of the proprieties got the better of her again. "What would the neighbours say if they saw me feeding an entire stranger?"Jack leaped up in indignant protest. "But I 'm not! I 've told you my name. That's as much as anybody ever knows about anybody!"Marjolaine was now in the shadow of the elm. She examined every house in the Walk. "Number One 's asleep; Number Two 's combing her wig; Number Three 's working; Number Five's nursing one of the four; and Number Six"—poor Doctor Sternroyd!—"doesn't matter. I 'll risk it." She turned to go in, but stopped. "What would you like?"Jack protested, "Oh, my dear young lady!—It's not for me to say. Anything you offer me—anything!"Ticking the items off on her pretty fingers, Marjolaine enumerated the various beverages stored in her mother's cupboard. "We have elderberry wine; cowslip wine; red-currant wine; and gooseberry wine."Jack's face was a study. It had grown so long that Marjolaine exclaimed with genuine sympathy, "Why, you look quite ill! Which do you say?"It was a choice between poison and discourtesy, but Jack was equal to it. "I 've been brought up very simply. I should never have the presumption to ask for any of those. Have n't you any ale?""Ale!" cried Marjolaine, "how low!""I said I 'd been brought up simply.""We have no ale."Before he could stop himself Jack had cried "And this is England!"But Marjolaine had had an idea. "I know! There 's Maman's claret. She takes it for her health. What do you say tothat?"Jack had not tried it, and did n't know what he might be likely to say to it. He could only stammer, "Oh, it's better than—better than—" he was going to add elderberry, or cowslip, but caught himself up in time—"better than ale.""Ah!—Now, will you wait a moment under the tree?""I'll wait hours, anywhere!"Marjolaine caught sight of a figure moving about in Number Three. She came on tip-toe to Jack. You see, by this time there was quite a conspiracy between them."No! Better!" she whispered. "Go into the Gazebo."Jack could only stare at her. "Into the what?"She ran across to the summer-house, Jack following her."Here," she cried, "in the summer-house. And keep quite still."For a moment a horrible suspicion crossed Jack's mind. "I say! You will come back? You 're not going to leave me here to perish of thirst?""That would be a good joke!" she laughed."I 'll carve your name while you 're gone!""No, you won't!""Why not?""Because you don't know it!—Voilà!"And before he could stop her she had tripped into the house.Jack sat for a moment in a sort of silent rapture.Then all he said to himself was "By George!" three times repeated; and if you don't know what that exclamation meant, I 'm sure I can't tell you.Marjolaine had left the "Adventures of Telemachus" on the seat in the Gazebo. Under ordinary circumstances Jack would have avoided picking up a book; but this was her book; it had been in her hands; her eyes had looked at it; it was not so much a book as a part of the little goddess; so he picked it up tenderly and tenderly opened it. There, on the fly-page, was a name.—"Lucy Pryor"—Of course! Her name! Lucy Pryor—just the sort of pretty, simple name she would have. Aha! but now he'd astonish her! She should find he had carved her name, after all! Out came his sailor's knife, and to work he went, and as he carved he sang a little song to himself, the words of which were, "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy Pryor." He was not a poet.The Eyesore came slowly round the corner. Seeing the little lady was no longer on the seat, he drew his line out of the water—I need hardly record the fact that there was no fish on it. With a sigh he seated himself on his box, with his back to the Walk; patiently he placed a new worm on the empty hook, and in a moment he was immersed in his contemplative occupation. There was utter silence in the Walk.Then the upstairs window of Number Five was thrust open and Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, at his ease in his shirt-sleeves, and enjoying a church-warden pipe, leant out. He was evidently conversing with his wife, and was in his tenderest mood.[image]MR. JEROME BROOKE-HOSKYN, AT HIS EASE"What a pity, my dearest Selina, you are temporarily deprived of the use of your limbs! The river is flowing by—What? Do I expect it to stop? No, of course I don't. Why check my musings? I say, the river is flowing by. Not a living thing is in sight except the Eyesore; and he enhances the beauty of his surroundings by sheer contrast. My smoke does not incommode you, my own?—You can bear it?—Dear soul! Am I the man to deprive you of an innocent pleasure?—"He might have gone on all the afternoon in this strain, but at this moment Marjolaine came very cautiously out of her house carrying a tray on which was a bottle of claret, a tumbler, and a cake. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was immediately absorbed in this new and inexplicable phenomenon. What could it mean? He watched Marjolaine half-way across the lawn. Then in his softest and most caressing tones he exclaimed, "Why, Miss Marjory—!" Marjolaine gave a little cry and very nearly let all the things drop. She stood aghast.Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued, "Is your mother in the Gazebo?"Before Marjolaine could think of anything to say she had said "No.""Indeed?—Then why this genteel refection?" Here Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was forced to look over his shoulder into the room and answer the invisible Selina. "Yes, my own. I am speaking to Miss Marjory."Meanwhile Jack was signalling frantically to Marjolaine, who, on her part, was as frantically motioning him to keep still. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn again leant forward, and Jack vanished only just in time.Marjolaine explained. "I—I always take a little refreshment at this hour."It was quite obvious that Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn did not believe her."How singularly unobservant I am! I have never noticed it. Wait one moment. I 'll come and help you."This would never do. "No, thank you," cried Marjolaine, "I am sure your wife wants you." And she added, as a parting shot, "She sees so little of you!"Then taking her courage in both hands she hurried into the Gazebo, where she and Jack stood, pictures of horror, silently awaiting Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's next move.The latter leant far out of his window vainly endeavouring to peer round the corner. "Curious, very curious," he muttered."Did you hear him?" asked Marjory, in a tragic whisper."If he comes here I 'll punch his head," growled Jack."Be quiet!"—And again they both listened.But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's attention was engaged by Selina, and it was clear from his remarks that the dear lady was not in her pleasantest humour. "No, my dear, of course I did n't mean to go.—Doyou think her an ugly little thing?—Matter of taste.—Oh, come! Not jealous, my own one?—Hold your hand?—Oh, certainly, if you wish it!" And down came the window with a crash and what sounded very like a fine Saxon monosyllable.Marjolaine and Jack, hearing the window close, uttered a sigh of relief."Thank goodness!" cried Marjolaine; and then, being a daughter of Eve, "Now you see what you 've done!""'Pon my honour, I 've done nothing. Just waited hours.""Hours, indeed!" said the girl, scornfully."It seemed hours," answered Jack, insinuatingly. "It seemed hours—Miss—Lucy Pryor.""Lucy Pryor? Oh! you got that out of the book! That was Maman's name before she married. My name's Lachesnais.""Beg pardon?""La-ches-nais. Marjolaine Lachesnais. You don't pronounce the middles.""Are you French?""My father was." She had filled the tumbler with claret and was holding it out to Jack. "Never mind about all that. Make haste."Jack rose to his feet, tumbler in hand."Marjolaine—? That means Marjoram, does n't it?""Do you know French?"Jack bowed as he swallowed the claret. He swallowed unwisely. It was a lady's claret, and that and a lady's cigar are things to be avoided by the judicious. Indeed Jack was shaken from head to foot by a convulsive shudder. "Oh Lord!" said he involuntarily. But he pulled himself together like a man. "I beg pardon!—Know French? Very little. Marjoram—sweet Marjoram—how appropriate!"Marjolaine was eyeing him with grave suspicion. "You are not drinking. It is Maman's claret!"Jack gazed stonily at his half-empty tumbler. "Does she—does she take this for her health?""Yes. As medicine.""As medicine—I understand.""You said you were thirsty.""It's a wonderful wine. Quenches your thirst at once." He put the glass away from him."Take some cake?" said Marjolaine.She had forgotten to bring a knife, so Jack, sailorlike, broke the cake in two pieces."I say!" he cried, "you must have some too, or I shall feel greedy!" And there they sat, like two children, contentedly munching and swinging their legs."I shall call you Marjory," said Jack, between two bites."They all do," answered Marjolaine, with her mouth full."Do they?" asked Jack ferociously. "Who?"Marjolaine waved her cake at the Walk in general. "Oh—the neighbours.""Impudence!" growled Jack. But he recovered quickly. "I say! Isn't this delightful?""It's very strange. Do you know, you are the first young man I 've ever spoken to, in all my life?"Jack's eyes expressed his joy. "No!—that's first-rate!"Marjolaine stared at him with astonishment. "Why?""Oh, I don't know. I hate young men.""Then you ought to live here. Here—everybody is—oh!—so old!""Poor little girl," said Jack, with deep sympathy."Why?""Must be so lonely.""Oh, no! One cannot feel lonely where there 's a river. Twice every day it brings down news from the meadows, where the flowers are, and the cattle, standing knee-deep in its margin, and thedemoiselles—how do you say?—dragonflies—and the willows, dipping their branches in it. And then, when the tide turns, it comes back from the great town, and sings of the ships and the crowded bridges, and the King and Queen taking their pleasure in great, golden barges. And the sea-gulls come with it, and it sings of the sea!"Her eyes were flashing; her face was transfigured; Jack was leaning forward eagerly, and if there had been any loophole of escape for him before, there was certainly none now."Do you love the sea?""What do I know of it?" said she, coming to earth again. "I have only crossed from Dunkerque to Tilbury. But that was lovely! It was very rough; and I stood against the mast, and my hair blew all about, and I shouted for joy!—Oh! I should love to be a pirate!""Fine!" cried Jack, as excited as she. "Tell you what! We 'll charter a ship, and sweep the seas, and bang the enemy!""'We'?—Why, you're going away in a minute, and I shall never see you again."There was a pause. Marjolaine's words had brought them both to a sense of reality. Finally Jack spoke, and his voice had a new ring of earnestness."Marjory—do you mean that?"She turned wonderingly innocent eyes on him. "Why should you come again?""Think a moment. Let us both think. We are very young, and I know I 'm hasty. Let us sit quite still, and think hard whether we 'd like to meet again. Let us look at each other and not speak."[image]"LET US SIT QUITE STILL AND THINK HARD WHETHER WE'D LIKE TO MEET AGAIN"She met his look quite frankly for a moment—but only for a moment. Slowly her head sank and her eyes half closed, and when she spoke, she spoke very shyly. "I do not see why you should not come again," she whispered."I see why I should! I must!—But it must be differently.""Differently—?""I mustn't come on the sly. I'll get an introduction.""But none of your friends are likely to know anybody in Pomander Walk!"Jack leaped up. "Is this Pomander Walk?" he almost shouted. "Why, that 's what I Ve been looking for all the afternoon. That's where my friend lives—the Admiral!"It was Marjolaine's turn to be astonished."Not Sir Peter Antrobus!""Yes!—Do you know him?""Why, he's the King of the Walk! He lives at Number One. If you 're quite quiet you can almost hear him snoring!""Why, there we are then! I'm introduced! I'm on a proper footing! The whole thing's ship-shape! O Marjory, what a relief!""But I don't understand—""Yes, you do. He 's my father's oldest friend. I served under him as a middy on board theTermagant. I 'm very fond of him. I 'll come and see him to-morrow!"Marjolaine clapped her hands. "And then he can introduce you to Maman!""Don't you see? It's grand! I'll come and see him often—every day—twice a day. If he 's out, I can sit under the elm and wait for him—with you. Oh! are n't you glad?""I'm very glad you 've found your old friend," she answered demurely."What's to-day?""Quintidi. Fifth Prairial. Year Thirteen—" she replied without thinking.Jack could only stare. "What are you talking about?""Oh," she laughed, "I had forgotten I was in England. Saturday."Jack's face sank. "Then to-morrow 's Sunday. Hang. Well! I'll come on Monday. Shall you be here?""I am always here.""Be under the elm." He thought a moment, and then added insidiously, "Shall you your mother about to-day?"Marjolaine hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the proper formalities had been observed. "On Monday; when you've been introduced.""That's it!" cried Jack. "And now I'll be off." He took both her hands in his. "Good-bye. Oh, but it's good to be alive! It's good to be young! The river is good that brought me here! The sun is good that made me thirsty!""And the claret was good?""The claret—! Nectar!—Oh, Jack!—Jack!—"Marjolaine held up the glass, still half full."Finish it, then."Jack started back in horror, but seeing the dawning surprise on her face, bravely seized the tumbler and dashed it off. Thus swiftly was his perjury avenged."Good-bye, little Marjory. Till Monday!"She looked up at him wistfully. "You think you will come?""Think!" cried Jack; and every lover's vow was in the one word."Slip to your boat, quickly!" cried Marjolaine, peeping round the corner of the Gazebo. But before he could move she gave a startled cry and motioned him back. For the Muffin-man had entered the Walk ringing his bell."Dash it! What's that?" cried Jack."Keep still! It's the Muffin-man!""I'm off!""Wait!" Now she was peeping through an opening in the box-wood hedge. "Jack! The whole Walk's awake! Look!"Jack's head was very close to hers. "I can't see; your hair's in the way. Don't move!" For a moment they stood watching.And indeed the Walk was awake. The Muffin-man's bell had acted like magic. The Admiral and Jim were already bargaining with him. Mrs. Poskett was on her doorstep with a plate in her hand. So was Ruth Pennymint. Barbara was in the garden, and Basil was telling her just how many muffins he wanted from the upstairs window; Jane, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's maid, was waiting impatiently; and Dr. Sternroyd had come out of his house book in hand, and was making frantic signals so as not to be overlooked. And they were all talking, and gesticulating, and calling."By Jove!" cried Jack excitedly, "there's old Antrobus!""All of them! All of them!" wailed Marjolaine."They 're all buying muffins—greedy pigs!—They won't see me." He made as if to dash out.Marjolaine held him back. "Yes, they will. Let me go first. I'll get them talking, and then you can slip away." But she started back with a suppressed scream."What now?" cried Jack."Maman and Nanette!"Yes. As ill-luck would have it Madame Lachesnais and her old servant turned the corner at this moment, and with a friendly word to each of her neighbours Madame was coming slowly towards the Gazebo."They must not come here!" cried Marjolaine in distress. "I cannot explain you before the whole Walk!—Is my hair straight?""Lovely!—Monday?""Oh, I don't know. I'm frightened.""Monday?" insisted Jack."Yes! Yes!"But meanwhile Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had come out of his house, and taking advantage of the hubbub in the Walk had crossed—shall I say like a sleuth-hound?—more like a sleuth-cat, if there be such an animal—to the Gazebo. So that when Marjolaine came forward to intercept her mother, she ran straight into his arms."All right, Miss Marjory," he whispered, with something very like a wink, "I'll fetch the things for you.""No, no!" cried Marjolaine, in agony.Her mother caught sight of her and called her.For a moment Marjolaine stood irresolute. Then, with an almost hysterical laugh, she ran to her mother. "Me voilà, Maman chèrie!"Jack was peering through the hole in the hedge, looking for a chance of escape. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn put his head slily round the corner of the Gazebo—and, sure enough, just as he had suspected—there was a young man!What with the Muffin-man, and Madame, and Marjolaine running to and fro and button-holing everybody who seemed to be inclined to drift towards the summer-house, the Walk's attention was fully occupied. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn lifted his fat hand and brought it down with a sounding thwack on Jack's shoulder."What the devil—?" cried Jack, turning fiercely on his assailant. And then in amazement, "Hoskyn! By all that's improbable, old Hoskyn!"If it were possible for a large man to shrivel, the great Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn seemed to shrivel as he recognised Jack. He could only stammer, "You, sir—you!—""Hoskyn!" repeated Jack. And then, suspiciously, "What the devil are you doing here?"I hate to have to write the words, but Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had all the obsequious manner of a well-trained servant. "I beg pardon, sir," he muttered, and turned to go.But Jack caught him by the lapel of his coat. "No, no, Hoskyn; you don't get off so easily. What are you doing here?"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned sulky. "I'm living here, sir.""The doose you are!—Well, you're in the nick of time. Be a good fellow and fetch my hat out of the boat.""Certainly, sir," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. But as he started to do so, he caught sight of the Admiral. He turned to Jack and said respectfully but firmly, "I'm very sorry, Master Jack; but I can't do it.""Why not?""I'm looked up to here, sir. I should lose prestige."Jack eyed him half with suspicion and half with mockery. "I say, Hoskyn, what's your little game?"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was getting angry. "What's yours, sir?" he asked defiantly."What the devil do you mean?"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pointed an accusing finger at the wine and the crumbs of cake. "I mean—this.""What of it? What do you insinuate?" cried Jack fiercely.But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's blood was up, and he was not to be intimidated. "It ain't right, sir. It ain't right for you to come here like a snake in the grass drinking claret and making love to our little Miss Marjory. I won't help you! I'll be damned if I do!""Do you mean I'm doing something underhand?"Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked at him sternly. "Well—ain't you, sir?""I'll devilish soon show you!" shouted Jack, trying to pass him.But now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn fell into a sudden panic. "Don't betray me, sir! Don't, sir!" he entreated, trying to stop him.Jack thrust him roughly aside with an angry, "Out of my way!" and poor Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn sank on the seat in the summer-house, gasping, "Good Lord! He'll tell the whole Walk!"Jack had acted on the spur of the moment; but now that he was face to face with all the inhabitants of the Walk a sudden shyness took hold of him and he stood irresolute. Marjolaine had sat down exhausted on the seat under the elm, and Madame Lachesnais was coming towards her. Little Barbara Pennymint was the first to see Jack. She gave a demure little scream and ran to the Admiral. "Look! A stranger!" Sir Peter was on his dignity at once. He came straight at Jack. "Now, sir—may I ask—?""Admiral," cried Jack, saluting."Eh," said the Admiral, fixing his one eye on the young man, "Gobblessmysoul! what a coincidence!" He seized Jack's hand and nearly wrung it off, while the whole Walk watched with amazed curiosity, and Marjolaine looked on with delight. "I'm delighted to see you, my lad!—De-lighted!" He turned to Madame Lachesnais as the social leader of the Walk. "Madame Lachesnais!" he cried, holding Jack by the hand, "Let me have the honour of presenting my gallant young friend, the Honourable Jack Sayle, son of my old friend, Lord—"He never got any further. At the words, "Jack Sayle," Madame, who had been standing smilingly to welcome the young man, gave a sharp cry, swayed, and sank swooning in Nanette's arms.Then what a commotion there was, to be sure! Marjolaine ran to her mother, Mrs. Poskett, Ruth and Barbara crowded round her or rushed about vaguely, crying, "Salts! Quick!" The Admiral stood petrified a moment. Then he hurried Jack towards the boat. "Get away, Jack!" Jack resisted. "But—!""Away with you!" insisted the Admiral in a raucous whisper. "Discretion!—They'll have to unhook her!"But the Eyesore went on fishing.
[image]CAROLINE THRING
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CAROLINE THRING
The Admiral made a wry face. "Caroline Thring? I've heard of her. Never seen her: but heard of her. Eccentric party, ain't she? And did n't I hear there was an affair with Young Beauchamp?"
"That's fallen through. She's an estimable person."
"Ugh," said the Admiral.
"People call her eccentric," Lord Otford continued, hotly, "because she goes about doing good—distributing alms—"
The Admiral was about to exclaim, but Otford gave him no time. "You 're prejudiced, you old reprobate. Wendover 's willing, and there's nothing in the way. The estates join. She's sole heiress. Gad, sir, that alliance would make Jack the biggest man in the Three Kingdoms."
"Is Jack fond of her?"
"Does n't object to her. Hesitates. Says he don't want to marry at all. Says he has n't had his fling."
"Well—what's it all got to do with me?"
"Ever since Jack's been home on leave, he's done nothing but talk about you—"
"Good lad!" cried Sir Peter, slapping his thigh. "I loved him when he was a middy on board theTermagant."
"And he loves you. Coming to look you up. To-day, very likely. When he comes, refer to Caroline—carelessly. Say what a fine gel she is. Don't say a word about the estate. These young whipper-snappers have such high-and-mighty ideas about marrying for money. Refer to young Beauchamp. Say in your time young fellers did n't let other young fellers cut 'em out. See?"
"You 're a wily old fox, Jack. But, hark'ee! Sure he's not in love with anybody else?"
"He says he is n't. Oh, there may be a Spanish Senorita!—Gad! I should almost be ashamed of him if there wasn't!—But there's no—no—"
"No Lucy Pryor?" said the Admiral carelessly.
The name seemed to fall on Lord Otford like a blow. He sat quite still a moment, looking straight before him into who knows what memories. At last he said very sadly, "No. No Lucy Pryor."
The Admiral realised his own tactlessness. He took Lord Otford's hand. "I beg your pardon, Jack. I 'm sorry."
"It still hurts, Peter," said his Lordship with a wistful smile. "Like an old bullet.—Well! You 'll do what you can, eh?—I don't want you to overdo it. Just edge him in the right direction."
"Keep his eye in the wind, what?"
"That's it.—Well? Any new-comers in the Walk?"
"Yes," chuckled the Admiral, "two oil lamps. One in front of my house, and one in front of Sternroyd's. They wanted to give us their new-fangled, stinking gas, but the whole Walk mutinied."
"Very fine, but—"
"They 're only used when there's no moon."
"But I meant new people!"
"Oh! Ah! Yes!—" Then with a sort of smack of the lips indicative of the highest appreciation, "A French widow and her daughter."
At once Lord Otford showed a lively interest. "French, eh?—What? the little gel I saw going in?"
"Yes," answered the Admiral, rising and leading his friend towards the Gazebo where his whisper would no longer make the windows of the Walk rattle. "Yes. They're not really French, y' know. Mother's the widow of a Frenchman. Madame Lachesnais."
This sounded very dull. His Lordship stifled a yawn, but he noticed the Admiral's kindling eye, and felt constrained to continue the subject.
"Pleasant?"
"De-lightful!" answered Sir Peter, kissing the tips of his fingers at an imaginary ideal. "The Walk was shy of 'em at first. So was I. Thought they was foreigners. Foreigners are all very well for you and me, Jack. We 're men o' the world. But think of Mrs. Poskett! Think of the Misses Pennymint! Think of Mr. and Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn!"
Lord Otford started slightly at the last name.
"Eh? Mr. and Mrs. what?"
"Brooke-Hoskyn. Sh!" pointing to the house with his thumb. "Very distinguished man. Moves in the highest circles. Hote tonn, Jack. Dines in town regularly four times a week."
"Man of family?" asked Lord Otford.
"Family?" roared the Admiral. "Well, I should say so. Four little gels in five years, and more to come! Never met him?"
"I seem to remember a man called Hoskyn," said his friend nonchalantly.
The Admiral shook his head in dismissal of the undistinguished Hoskyn. "No, no. This is Brooke-Hoskyn; Brooke—h'm—Hoskyn; with a hyphen."
Lord Otford had had enough of Brooke-Hoskyn. "Go on about the French widow."
"Well, one morning their shay was signalled from the back of the Misses Pennymint. We'd all been watching for their coming, y' know, because of their house having been painted white—but that's another yarn altogether. Shays can't get beyond the corner of Pomander Lane; so I had time to put on my uniform, and my medals, and my cocked hat—"
"Meant to show 'em you was Admiral on your own quarter-deck, eh?"
"That's it. And then—" the Admiral glowed with enthusiasm—"well, then Madame came round the corner; and then Mademerzell. They did n't walk, Jack, they floated. And what did I do? I just sneaked back into harbour, and struck my colours. Yes!— She was the most gracious creature I 'd ever seen. And the gel—! Well, you saw her." He paused for a moment, and then added in a curiously subdued voice: "They brought something new into the Walk."
Lord Otford looked at him enquiringly. "What do you mean?"
It was some little time before Sir Peter answered. He sat gazing into vacancy a moment, like a man who is remembering happier things, calling up a mental picture of a beautiful landscape—or perhaps of a beautiful face—suddenly smitten by the recollection of his own youth. At last, with something like a sigh he went on.
"We're rather an elderly lot, y'know. Beyond our springtime, Jack, and that's the truth. When we sit and think, we think of the past, and try not to think of the future. And, suddenly, here was this Grace and Beauty and Youth in the midst of us. It gave the Walk a shock, I can tell ye. All the women lay-to in repairing-dock for days. Mrs. Poskett never showed her nose till she 'd got a new wig from town; Pringle tells me he caught poor little Barbara Pennymint looking at herself in the glass and crying; and Brooke-Hoskyn says his wife, who had watched 'em come from her window, not being able to get downstairs, poor soul, sobbed her heart out and made him swear he loved her."
"By Jove!" cried Lord Otford, "you make me want to see these paragons!"
"Well, Madame 's only gone shopping. She 'll be back directly. Wait, and I 'll present you."
"No," said his friend, signalling to the sedan-bearers. "Not to-day. I'm on my way to old Wendover, at Brentford."
"Ah! That marriage! Well, I hope I shall see Jack soon."
"You'll help me, won't you?"
"I will. I will. God bless you."
Sir Peter escorted his friend to the sedan; saw him safely into it and walked at its side until it turned the corner. As he came back he found himself face to face with Marjolaine, who had finished her lesson and was coming out of Number Three with a book in her hand.
"There, now, Missie," he cried, "if you'd come a moment earlier, I'd have presented you to a very great man!"
"Oh?"
At his door the Admiral put his hand up to his mouth and whispered confidentially—a confidential whisper which could have been heard the other side of the river—"I say!—We 'll have a go at that horn-pipe by-and-by—what?" And chuckling he went into his house.
Marjolaine came slowly to the elm, seated herself, and proceeded to read the "Adventures of Telemachus."
CHAPTER V
CONCERNING WHAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR
[image]Chapter V headpiece
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Chapter V headpiece
The sun shone; the thrush sang; the leaves of the elm rustled; the great river flowed silently; the breeze came and kissed Marjolaine and whispered "Wake up! Wake up! Something is going to happen!" But she could not hear. She only thought Telemachus was even duller than usual, and as she read of Mentor she thought of the Reverend Doctor Sternroyd. Presently—whether it was the breeze that blew her thoughts away, or the singing of the thrush, I cannot say—she lost the thread of the story; stopped thinking at all; and just sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, looking with her great brown eyes into—what?
The Eyesore saw her. I cannot dip into the Eyesore's mind. I cannot tell you what influenced him. I only know he grew restless. He looked at her over his shoulder once or twice as she sat there, "In maiden meditation, fancy free," and suddenly he got up, laid his rod carefully across the chains, and stole out on tip-toe. Was it a glimmering sense that he was no company for this pretty maid lost in thought? Was it a dim realisation that his ungainly figure had no business to intrude on her meditations? Whatever the cause, he stole out on tip-toe and was lost to sight. Perhaps he was only thirsty.
Marjolaine did not notice his going. Nor did she see Jack come. Jack came apparently out of the river. As a matter of fact he tied his boat to a ring at the foot of Pomander Stairs and leaped on shore. A delightful young fellow, the sort of young man you take to, the moment you set eyes on him. Obviously a sailor. His lieutenant's undress jacket was over his arm. A wiry figure, lissome as a willow and as tough as steel; a face tanned by many suns; true sailor's eyes looking frankly and fearlessly at the world.
He was evidently in search of something or somebody. He came down the Walk examining all the houses curiously; and suddenly he found himself face to face with Marjolaine.
His shadow fell across her book. She looked up; and their eyes met.
Marjolaine was much too well-bred to show any surprise, but, as a matter of fact, she was very much surprised indeed. Here was a new and terrible situation. A total stranger standing looking at her; her mother and Nanette gone to Chiswick; the Admiral shut in his house; and not another soul in sight. Even the Eyesore would have been a sort of moral support, but even the Eyesore had deserted her. However: Courage! If she went on with her book the stranger would go. So she went on with her book, grimly.
But the stranger did not move. When a young sailor-man sees an extremely pretty girl, his instinct is to stand still and look. Jack stood still. I will not say he was not nervous. He was. But he conquered his nervousness, like the brave fellow he was, and stood his ground.
Marjolaine began to get angry. This was an outrage. She looked up at him once more, and this time there was a flash in her eyes which was meant to annihilate him. It did. If she had not looked up, he might ultimately have gone reluctantly away. But this look finished him and rooted him to the spot.
Marjolaine returned to her book. But Telemachus had taken on a new shape. He had laughing blue eyes and he carried a naval jacket with gold buttons over his arm. Also he stood looking at her. This was intolerable. If the stranger would not move, she must. It went horribly against her pride to retreat in the face of the enemy, but if the enemy would n't retreat, what were you to do?
She closed the book with an angry bang and rose to her feet. The movement roused Jack to a sense of his own inexplicable behaviour.
"I beg your pardon!" he stammered, involuntarily.
Marjolaine eyed him haughtily from head to foot. She had read somewhere that this is what a well-bred young woman should do under similar circumstances.
"Why?" said she, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, I'm so glad you said 'Why?'" cried Jack, with evident relief.
Marjolaine had not expected this. She was genuinely puzzled and a little off her guard. She could only repeat, but this time quite naturally, "Why?"
"Well," said Jack, very volubly, "if you'd said, 'There's no occasion,' or if you hadn't said anything, our conversation would have been finished, you know."
Marjolaine could have stamped with vexation. Of course she ought to have said nothing. And here she was entrapped into what this very bold young man described as a "conversation"!
"The conversation is finished," she said, trying to pass him.
But he held up his hand. "No. It's my turn to ask you a question!"
"Hein?" she cried, more than ever on her dignity. He had the impudence to accuse her of asking him a question!
Jack remembered his manners. With a low bow he presented himself. "I 'm Jack Sayle, at your service. I 'm a lieutenant in the Navy; and I 've just rowed down from Richmond—three miles. I 'm home on leave; and I 'm looking for an old friend."
"All that is very interesting," said Marjolaine, "but it is n't a question," and once more she tried to get by.
Jack felt rather injured. She might have shown a little more interest in the autobiography he had just favoured her with. "I thought it was polite to tell you who I was. As for the question: it 's uncommon hot, and when I saw this terrace I said there 'd be sure to be one here. Is there?"
"What?" cried Marjolaine, this time really stamping her foot.
"An inn?"
"Certainly not."
"Can't you tell me where there is one?"
"I do not frequent them," answered she, freezingly.
"No?" said Jack, crestfallen. "Sorry. I am dry. You see, I 've rowed all the way from Richmond. Five miles."
Marjolaine had manoeuvred safely inside her own gate. She felt she could afford a parting shot at him. "I 'm afraid you 'll have to row all the way back again. Good afternoon." By this time her hand grasped the handle of the door.
Jack addressed the world in general. "Curious, how different everything is."
Marjolaine turned. "Different what is?"
"Why, if I 'd met an old gentleman outside his house in Spain, and he 'd seen how I was suffering, he 'd have said his house was mine."
Marjolaine indignantly came down one step. "I am not an old gentleman; I haven't any house in Spain; and it's a shame to say I 'm inhospitable!"
Jack's face wore an inscrutable smile. He protested. "I didn't. I only said it was different."
Marjolaine came back to the gate.
"Are you really suffering?" she asked.
Jack turned away to hide an unmistakable grin. He spoke in a hollow voice. "Intolerably." Then he turned to her with a haggard countenance. "Look at my face!"
Marjolaine came out of the gate. Ah, Marjolaine! The moth and the candle!
"I can't ask you in, because Maman and Nanette are out."
Jack staggered to the seat under the elm, and sank on it like a man in the last stage of exhaustion. "It's of no consequence. I must row back. Seven miles. Against the tide. Ah, well!"
Marjolaine was genuinely sorry for him. He really was very good-looking.
"I'm sure Maman would ask you in, if she were here."
"I 'm quite sure of that."
"And I think she would not like me to be—as you say—inhospitable."
"I didn't say it; but I'm quite sure she would n't."
Marjolaine's kind little heart was quite melted. This good-looking young man spoke so very humbly.
"I might—I might bring you out something—"
A gleam of triumph crossed Jack's face, but he answered with the air of a martyr: "Oh! don't trouble!"
Marjolaine's sense of the proprieties got the better of her again. "What would the neighbours say if they saw me feeding an entire stranger?"
Jack leaped up in indignant protest. "But I 'm not! I 've told you my name. That's as much as anybody ever knows about anybody!"
Marjolaine was now in the shadow of the elm. She examined every house in the Walk. "Number One 's asleep; Number Two 's combing her wig; Number Three 's working; Number Five's nursing one of the four; and Number Six"—poor Doctor Sternroyd!—"doesn't matter. I 'll risk it." She turned to go in, but stopped. "What would you like?"
Jack protested, "Oh, my dear young lady!—It's not for me to say. Anything you offer me—anything!"
Ticking the items off on her pretty fingers, Marjolaine enumerated the various beverages stored in her mother's cupboard. "We have elderberry wine; cowslip wine; red-currant wine; and gooseberry wine."
Jack's face was a study. It had grown so long that Marjolaine exclaimed with genuine sympathy, "Why, you look quite ill! Which do you say?"
It was a choice between poison and discourtesy, but Jack was equal to it. "I 've been brought up very simply. I should never have the presumption to ask for any of those. Have n't you any ale?"
"Ale!" cried Marjolaine, "how low!"
"I said I 'd been brought up simply."
"We have no ale."
Before he could stop himself Jack had cried "And this is England!"
But Marjolaine had had an idea. "I know! There 's Maman's claret. She takes it for her health. What do you say tothat?"
Jack had not tried it, and did n't know what he might be likely to say to it. He could only stammer, "Oh, it's better than—better than—" he was going to add elderberry, or cowslip, but caught himself up in time—"better than ale."
"Ah!—Now, will you wait a moment under the tree?"
"I'll wait hours, anywhere!"
Marjolaine caught sight of a figure moving about in Number Three. She came on tip-toe to Jack. You see, by this time there was quite a conspiracy between them.
"No! Better!" she whispered. "Go into the Gazebo."
Jack could only stare at her. "Into the what?"
She ran across to the summer-house, Jack following her.
"Here," she cried, "in the summer-house. And keep quite still."
For a moment a horrible suspicion crossed Jack's mind. "I say! You will come back? You 're not going to leave me here to perish of thirst?"
"That would be a good joke!" she laughed.
"I 'll carve your name while you 're gone!"
"No, you won't!"
"Why not?"
"Because you don't know it!—Voilà!"
And before he could stop her she had tripped into the house.
Jack sat for a moment in a sort of silent rapture.
Then all he said to himself was "By George!" three times repeated; and if you don't know what that exclamation meant, I 'm sure I can't tell you.
Marjolaine had left the "Adventures of Telemachus" on the seat in the Gazebo. Under ordinary circumstances Jack would have avoided picking up a book; but this was her book; it had been in her hands; her eyes had looked at it; it was not so much a book as a part of the little goddess; so he picked it up tenderly and tenderly opened it. There, on the fly-page, was a name.—"Lucy Pryor"—Of course! Her name! Lucy Pryor—just the sort of pretty, simple name she would have. Aha! but now he'd astonish her! She should find he had carved her name, after all! Out came his sailor's knife, and to work he went, and as he carved he sang a little song to himself, the words of which were, "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy Pryor." He was not a poet.
The Eyesore came slowly round the corner. Seeing the little lady was no longer on the seat, he drew his line out of the water—I need hardly record the fact that there was no fish on it. With a sigh he seated himself on his box, with his back to the Walk; patiently he placed a new worm on the empty hook, and in a moment he was immersed in his contemplative occupation. There was utter silence in the Walk.
Then the upstairs window of Number Five was thrust open and Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, at his ease in his shirt-sleeves, and enjoying a church-warden pipe, leant out. He was evidently conversing with his wife, and was in his tenderest mood.
[image]MR. JEROME BROOKE-HOSKYN, AT HIS EASE
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MR. JEROME BROOKE-HOSKYN, AT HIS EASE
"What a pity, my dearest Selina, you are temporarily deprived of the use of your limbs! The river is flowing by—What? Do I expect it to stop? No, of course I don't. Why check my musings? I say, the river is flowing by. Not a living thing is in sight except the Eyesore; and he enhances the beauty of his surroundings by sheer contrast. My smoke does not incommode you, my own?—You can bear it?—Dear soul! Am I the man to deprive you of an innocent pleasure?—"
He might have gone on all the afternoon in this strain, but at this moment Marjolaine came very cautiously out of her house carrying a tray on which was a bottle of claret, a tumbler, and a cake. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was immediately absorbed in this new and inexplicable phenomenon. What could it mean? He watched Marjolaine half-way across the lawn. Then in his softest and most caressing tones he exclaimed, "Why, Miss Marjory—!" Marjolaine gave a little cry and very nearly let all the things drop. She stood aghast.
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued, "Is your mother in the Gazebo?"
Before Marjolaine could think of anything to say she had said "No."
"Indeed?—Then why this genteel refection?" Here Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was forced to look over his shoulder into the room and answer the invisible Selina. "Yes, my own. I am speaking to Miss Marjory."
Meanwhile Jack was signalling frantically to Marjolaine, who, on her part, was as frantically motioning him to keep still. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn again leant forward, and Jack vanished only just in time.
Marjolaine explained. "I—I always take a little refreshment at this hour."
It was quite obvious that Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn did not believe her.
"How singularly unobservant I am! I have never noticed it. Wait one moment. I 'll come and help you."
This would never do. "No, thank you," cried Marjolaine, "I am sure your wife wants you." And she added, as a parting shot, "She sees so little of you!"
Then taking her courage in both hands she hurried into the Gazebo, where she and Jack stood, pictures of horror, silently awaiting Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's next move.
The latter leant far out of his window vainly endeavouring to peer round the corner. "Curious, very curious," he muttered.
"Did you hear him?" asked Marjory, in a tragic whisper.
"If he comes here I 'll punch his head," growled Jack.
"Be quiet!"—And again they both listened.
But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's attention was engaged by Selina, and it was clear from his remarks that the dear lady was not in her pleasantest humour. "No, my dear, of course I did n't mean to go.—Doyou think her an ugly little thing?—Matter of taste.—Oh, come! Not jealous, my own one?—Hold your hand?—Oh, certainly, if you wish it!" And down came the window with a crash and what sounded very like a fine Saxon monosyllable.
Marjolaine and Jack, hearing the window close, uttered a sigh of relief.
"Thank goodness!" cried Marjolaine; and then, being a daughter of Eve, "Now you see what you 've done!"
"'Pon my honour, I 've done nothing. Just waited hours."
"Hours, indeed!" said the girl, scornfully.
"It seemed hours," answered Jack, insinuatingly. "It seemed hours—Miss—Lucy Pryor."
"Lucy Pryor? Oh! you got that out of the book! That was Maman's name before she married. My name's Lachesnais."
"Beg pardon?"
"La-ches-nais. Marjolaine Lachesnais. You don't pronounce the middles."
"Are you French?"
"My father was." She had filled the tumbler with claret and was holding it out to Jack. "Never mind about all that. Make haste."
Jack rose to his feet, tumbler in hand.
"Marjolaine—? That means Marjoram, does n't it?"
"Do you know French?"
Jack bowed as he swallowed the claret. He swallowed unwisely. It was a lady's claret, and that and a lady's cigar are things to be avoided by the judicious. Indeed Jack was shaken from head to foot by a convulsive shudder. "Oh Lord!" said he involuntarily. But he pulled himself together like a man. "I beg pardon!—Know French? Very little. Marjoram—sweet Marjoram—how appropriate!"
Marjolaine was eyeing him with grave suspicion. "You are not drinking. It is Maman's claret!"
Jack gazed stonily at his half-empty tumbler. "Does she—does she take this for her health?"
"Yes. As medicine."
"As medicine—I understand."
"You said you were thirsty."
"It's a wonderful wine. Quenches your thirst at once." He put the glass away from him.
"Take some cake?" said Marjolaine.
She had forgotten to bring a knife, so Jack, sailorlike, broke the cake in two pieces.
"I say!" he cried, "you must have some too, or I shall feel greedy!" And there they sat, like two children, contentedly munching and swinging their legs.
"I shall call you Marjory," said Jack, between two bites.
"They all do," answered Marjolaine, with her mouth full.
"Do they?" asked Jack ferociously. "Who?"
Marjolaine waved her cake at the Walk in general. "Oh—the neighbours."
"Impudence!" growled Jack. But he recovered quickly. "I say! Isn't this delightful?"
"It's very strange. Do you know, you are the first young man I 've ever spoken to, in all my life?"
Jack's eyes expressed his joy. "No!—that's first-rate!"
Marjolaine stared at him with astonishment. "Why?"
"Oh, I don't know. I hate young men."
"Then you ought to live here. Here—everybody is—oh!—so old!"
"Poor little girl," said Jack, with deep sympathy.
"Why?"
"Must be so lonely."
"Oh, no! One cannot feel lonely where there 's a river. Twice every day it brings down news from the meadows, where the flowers are, and the cattle, standing knee-deep in its margin, and thedemoiselles—how do you say?—dragonflies—and the willows, dipping their branches in it. And then, when the tide turns, it comes back from the great town, and sings of the ships and the crowded bridges, and the King and Queen taking their pleasure in great, golden barges. And the sea-gulls come with it, and it sings of the sea!"
Her eyes were flashing; her face was transfigured; Jack was leaning forward eagerly, and if there had been any loophole of escape for him before, there was certainly none now.
"Do you love the sea?"
"What do I know of it?" said she, coming to earth again. "I have only crossed from Dunkerque to Tilbury. But that was lovely! It was very rough; and I stood against the mast, and my hair blew all about, and I shouted for joy!—Oh! I should love to be a pirate!"
"Fine!" cried Jack, as excited as she. "Tell you what! We 'll charter a ship, and sweep the seas, and bang the enemy!"
"'We'?—Why, you're going away in a minute, and I shall never see you again."
There was a pause. Marjolaine's words had brought them both to a sense of reality. Finally Jack spoke, and his voice had a new ring of earnestness.
"Marjory—do you mean that?"
She turned wonderingly innocent eyes on him. "Why should you come again?"
"Think a moment. Let us both think. We are very young, and I know I 'm hasty. Let us sit quite still, and think hard whether we 'd like to meet again. Let us look at each other and not speak."
[image]"LET US SIT QUITE STILL AND THINK HARD WHETHER WE'D LIKE TO MEET AGAIN"
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"LET US SIT QUITE STILL AND THINK HARD WHETHER WE'D LIKE TO MEET AGAIN"
She met his look quite frankly for a moment—but only for a moment. Slowly her head sank and her eyes half closed, and when she spoke, she spoke very shyly. "I do not see why you should not come again," she whispered.
"I see why I should! I must!—But it must be differently."
"Differently—?"
"I mustn't come on the sly. I'll get an introduction."
"But none of your friends are likely to know anybody in Pomander Walk!"
Jack leaped up. "Is this Pomander Walk?" he almost shouted. "Why, that 's what I Ve been looking for all the afternoon. That's where my friend lives—the Admiral!"
It was Marjolaine's turn to be astonished.
"Not Sir Peter Antrobus!"
"Yes!—Do you know him?"
"Why, he's the King of the Walk! He lives at Number One. If you 're quite quiet you can almost hear him snoring!"
"Why, there we are then! I'm introduced! I'm on a proper footing! The whole thing's ship-shape! O Marjory, what a relief!"
"But I don't understand—"
"Yes, you do. He 's my father's oldest friend. I served under him as a middy on board theTermagant. I 'm very fond of him. I 'll come and see him to-morrow!"
Marjolaine clapped her hands. "And then he can introduce you to Maman!"
"Don't you see? It's grand! I'll come and see him often—every day—twice a day. If he 's out, I can sit under the elm and wait for him—with you. Oh! are n't you glad?"
"I'm very glad you 've found your old friend," she answered demurely.
"What's to-day?"
"Quintidi. Fifth Prairial. Year Thirteen—" she replied without thinking.
Jack could only stare. "What are you talking about?"
"Oh," she laughed, "I had forgotten I was in England. Saturday."
Jack's face sank. "Then to-morrow 's Sunday. Hang. Well! I'll come on Monday. Shall you be here?"
"I am always here."
"Be under the elm." He thought a moment, and then added insidiously, "Shall you your mother about to-day?"
Marjolaine hesitated. Perhaps it would be better to wait until the proper formalities had been observed. "On Monday; when you've been introduced."
"That's it!" cried Jack. "And now I'll be off." He took both her hands in his. "Good-bye. Oh, but it's good to be alive! It's good to be young! The river is good that brought me here! The sun is good that made me thirsty!"
"And the claret was good?"
"The claret—! Nectar!—Oh, Jack!—Jack!—"
Marjolaine held up the glass, still half full.
"Finish it, then."
Jack started back in horror, but seeing the dawning surprise on her face, bravely seized the tumbler and dashed it off. Thus swiftly was his perjury avenged.
"Good-bye, little Marjory. Till Monday!"
She looked up at him wistfully. "You think you will come?"
"Think!" cried Jack; and every lover's vow was in the one word.
"Slip to your boat, quickly!" cried Marjolaine, peeping round the corner of the Gazebo. But before he could move she gave a startled cry and motioned him back. For the Muffin-man had entered the Walk ringing his bell.
"Dash it! What's that?" cried Jack.
"Keep still! It's the Muffin-man!"
"I'm off!"
"Wait!" Now she was peeping through an opening in the box-wood hedge. "Jack! The whole Walk's awake! Look!"
Jack's head was very close to hers. "I can't see; your hair's in the way. Don't move!" For a moment they stood watching.
And indeed the Walk was awake. The Muffin-man's bell had acted like magic. The Admiral and Jim were already bargaining with him. Mrs. Poskett was on her doorstep with a plate in her hand. So was Ruth Pennymint. Barbara was in the garden, and Basil was telling her just how many muffins he wanted from the upstairs window; Jane, Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's maid, was waiting impatiently; and Dr. Sternroyd had come out of his house book in hand, and was making frantic signals so as not to be overlooked. And they were all talking, and gesticulating, and calling.
"By Jove!" cried Jack excitedly, "there's old Antrobus!"
"All of them! All of them!" wailed Marjolaine.
"They 're all buying muffins—greedy pigs!—They won't see me." He made as if to dash out.
Marjolaine held him back. "Yes, they will. Let me go first. I'll get them talking, and then you can slip away." But she started back with a suppressed scream.
"What now?" cried Jack.
"Maman and Nanette!"
Yes. As ill-luck would have it Madame Lachesnais and her old servant turned the corner at this moment, and with a friendly word to each of her neighbours Madame was coming slowly towards the Gazebo.
"They must not come here!" cried Marjolaine in distress. "I cannot explain you before the whole Walk!—Is my hair straight?"
"Lovely!—Monday?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm frightened."
"Monday?" insisted Jack.
"Yes! Yes!"
But meanwhile Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had come out of his house, and taking advantage of the hubbub in the Walk had crossed—shall I say like a sleuth-hound?—more like a sleuth-cat, if there be such an animal—to the Gazebo. So that when Marjolaine came forward to intercept her mother, she ran straight into his arms.
"All right, Miss Marjory," he whispered, with something very like a wink, "I'll fetch the things for you."
"No, no!" cried Marjolaine, in agony.
Her mother caught sight of her and called her.
For a moment Marjolaine stood irresolute. Then, with an almost hysterical laugh, she ran to her mother. "Me voilà, Maman chèrie!"
Jack was peering through the hole in the hedge, looking for a chance of escape. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn put his head slily round the corner of the Gazebo—and, sure enough, just as he had suspected—there was a young man!
What with the Muffin-man, and Madame, and Marjolaine running to and fro and button-holing everybody who seemed to be inclined to drift towards the summer-house, the Walk's attention was fully occupied. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn lifted his fat hand and brought it down with a sounding thwack on Jack's shoulder.
"What the devil—?" cried Jack, turning fiercely on his assailant. And then in amazement, "Hoskyn! By all that's improbable, old Hoskyn!"
If it were possible for a large man to shrivel, the great Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn seemed to shrivel as he recognised Jack. He could only stammer, "You, sir—you!—"
"Hoskyn!" repeated Jack. And then, suspiciously, "What the devil are you doing here?"
I hate to have to write the words, but Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had all the obsequious manner of a well-trained servant. "I beg pardon, sir," he muttered, and turned to go.
But Jack caught him by the lapel of his coat. "No, no, Hoskyn; you don't get off so easily. What are you doing here?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn turned sulky. "I'm living here, sir."
"The doose you are!—Well, you're in the nick of time. Be a good fellow and fetch my hat out of the boat."
"Certainly, sir," said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. But as he started to do so, he caught sight of the Admiral. He turned to Jack and said respectfully but firmly, "I'm very sorry, Master Jack; but I can't do it."
"Why not?"
"I'm looked up to here, sir. I should lose prestige."
Jack eyed him half with suspicion and half with mockery. "I say, Hoskyn, what's your little game?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was getting angry. "What's yours, sir?" he asked defiantly.
"What the devil do you mean?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pointed an accusing finger at the wine and the crumbs of cake. "I mean—this."
"What of it? What do you insinuate?" cried Jack fiercely.
But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's blood was up, and he was not to be intimidated. "It ain't right, sir. It ain't right for you to come here like a snake in the grass drinking claret and making love to our little Miss Marjory. I won't help you! I'll be damned if I do!"
"Do you mean I'm doing something underhand?"
Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn looked at him sternly. "Well—ain't you, sir?"
"I'll devilish soon show you!" shouted Jack, trying to pass him.
But now Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn fell into a sudden panic. "Don't betray me, sir! Don't, sir!" he entreated, trying to stop him.
Jack thrust him roughly aside with an angry, "Out of my way!" and poor Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn sank on the seat in the summer-house, gasping, "Good Lord! He'll tell the whole Walk!"
Jack had acted on the spur of the moment; but now that he was face to face with all the inhabitants of the Walk a sudden shyness took hold of him and he stood irresolute. Marjolaine had sat down exhausted on the seat under the elm, and Madame Lachesnais was coming towards her. Little Barbara Pennymint was the first to see Jack. She gave a demure little scream and ran to the Admiral. "Look! A stranger!" Sir Peter was on his dignity at once. He came straight at Jack. "Now, sir—may I ask—?"
"Admiral," cried Jack, saluting.
"Eh," said the Admiral, fixing his one eye on the young man, "Gobblessmysoul! what a coincidence!" He seized Jack's hand and nearly wrung it off, while the whole Walk watched with amazed curiosity, and Marjolaine looked on with delight. "I'm delighted to see you, my lad!—De-lighted!" He turned to Madame Lachesnais as the social leader of the Walk. "Madame Lachesnais!" he cried, holding Jack by the hand, "Let me have the honour of presenting my gallant young friend, the Honourable Jack Sayle, son of my old friend, Lord—"
He never got any further. At the words, "Jack Sayle," Madame, who had been standing smilingly to welcome the young man, gave a sharp cry, swayed, and sank swooning in Nanette's arms.
Then what a commotion there was, to be sure! Marjolaine ran to her mother, Mrs. Poskett, Ruth and Barbara crowded round her or rushed about vaguely, crying, "Salts! Quick!" The Admiral stood petrified a moment. Then he hurried Jack towards the boat. "Get away, Jack!" Jack resisted. "But—!"
"Away with you!" insisted the Admiral in a raucous whisper. "Discretion!—They'll have to unhook her!"
But the Eyesore went on fishing.