_On the Island._
"This is what I call perfectly delightful," pronounced Miss Waller
solemnly. She looked meaningly at May, who stood near, looking her
best in pale blue, with a big white hat, but her niece pretended not
to hear.
A week had elapsed since Mrs. Burnside's visit to the Inglis
girls; and it was again Saturday afternoon. It had been a week of
absolutely tropical heat, exhausting to a degree; and Mr. Lang,
noticing May's pale cheeks, had proposed a trip up the river in his
steam-launch. So, with their mutual friends the Wingates, and some
other people, they were now bound for an island some distance above
Kingston, where they intended to land and have tea.
After the scorching and crowded streets, the river, with its green,
tree-shaded banks, was indeed a pleasant change; and, had she been
free from care, May would have greatly enjoyed watching the numerous
gay boats and launches filled with happy holiday-makers. But the
presence of Mr. Lang--vulgar, fussy, and pretentious--spoiled
everything, and she avoided him as much as possible, greatly to her
aunt's disgust.
The island at which they presently arrived was very small; and
so crowded with people that at another time the scene would have
amused May. They landed with some difficulty, amid the crowd of
skiffs, punts, and canoes, which were moored to the banks; and had
to walk warily, not to tread upon their late occupants, who were
now grouped round every variety of tea equipage, arrayed in every
kind of costume. One or two people, ostentatious like themselves,
were attended by liveried servants to turn the whole thing into
a burlesque; but the great mass had spread their tea with their
own hands, and it was comical to see how their ideas of a picnic
varied. Here would be a homely meal with thick enamelled tea-things,
huge chunks of bread-and-butter, and shrimps or watercress for a
relish. Next door would be an aristocratic party with a silver
teapot, fairy-like china, expensive cakes, and fruit on artistic
dessert plates. Here a stout materfamilias, purple with the heat,
struggled to satisfy her hungry brood of eight with hastily buttered
rolls; there a pair of lovers, oblivious of all else, sat partaking
of nectar and ambrosia, in imagination a thousand miles away.
Everywhere was good humour, laughter, and happiness.
At last, after his usual bustle, Mr. Lang contrived to secure a
vacant spot for his party; though not without an angry argument
with some plainly dressed people who, with scant respect for
African millionaires, declined to move their common delft
tea-service to make way for his costly Dresden. Whilst the footman
spread the cloth May sat abstractedly gazing over the sunlit river,
when suddenly she caught a glimpse in an approaching boat of a
figure which made her heart leap. Surely that stalwart young man in
flannels, rowing two girls towards the island, was Harold Inglis!
With consummate skill he steered his cockleshell craft to the bank,
then helped his sisters out, and, carrying a basket, came to find a
place to sit down.
"What a handsome girl!" murmured more than one of Mr. Lang's party
as Esther advanced with her queenly gait. May, delighted, rose to
greet her. "How wonderful to meet you here!" exclaimed Miss Inglis.
"Harold had to come up to town on business, and we persuaded him to
bring us up the river."
"So glad to see you again, Mrs. Burnside," said the young doctor as
they shook hands; his honest English face flushing as his glance
met hers. That glance and that handclasp seemed to throw a flood
of light upon the secret places of May's soul; for suddenly she
realised that she loved him better than her life. He was, and always
must be, the one man in the world to her.
Miss Waller was not pleased at this addition to their party; but
she could not interfere when Mr. Lang pressed the Inglises to join
the circle assembled at tea. Nor could they well refuse: though
independent Esther insisted on making use of the provisions they
had brought with them. Harold stationed himself beside May, as a
matter of course, and contrived, under cover of the lively chatter
of the rest, to tell her about the new patients he had secured at
Beachbourne, and hear what she had been doing in London. It was a
very harmless, matter-of-fact conversation, but it drew down many
jealous glances from Mr. Lang, which May perceived, but did not
heed. Why should she not enjoy this brief moment of happiness?
"Shall I see you again before I leave? I'm going back on Monday,"
Harold observed wistfully, when the tea-things had been packed up
for the return journey.
[Illustration: "If he ever comes again!"]
But she shook her head, knowing it was useless to invite him to call
upon her aunt; nor could she promise to visit Windermere Mansions.
"We shall be returning the end of next week, I hope," she answered
hurriedly, sorry to seem so inhospitable. "I shall be so glad to
leave London!"
"Now, Mrs. Burnside," interrupted Mr. Lang, bustling up, "your
aunt's invited me to dine with you at eight; and if I'm to be back
in time to dress, we must look sharp. Sorry to have to say good-bye
to you, Miss Inglis," he added, turning to stately Esther with his
most patronising air. "I wish I could ask you to come back in the
launch with us; but there's so little room."
"Thank you, I prefer a rowing-boat. I thoroughly disapprove of
steam launches on a crowded river like the Thames," calmly responded
she; whilst Miss Waller gasped, open-mouthed, at such effrontery.
Imagine a beggarly girl in an office daring to address such
criticism to the great Mr. Lang!
The lovers had perforce to separate, for the rowing-boat would, of
course, be soon left behind by the launch. May took her seat with
a sinking heart at the prospect of Mr. Lang's company for the rest
of the day; and Harold was so silent all the way home that Esther
commented on it as they disembarked.
"So this is the end of my little treat in honour of my rise of
salary!" she ruefully remarked. "I thought it would be pleasant on
the river; but I feel almost sorry we came. Certainly, Mrs. Poyser
was right in her opinion of 'pleasuring-days.'"