"Heavens!" exclaimed the aunt of Clovis, "here's some one I know
bearing down on us. I can't remember his name, but he lunched with us
once in Town. Tarrington--yes, that's it. He's heard of the picnic
I'm giving for the Princess, and he'll cling to me like a lifebelt till
I give him an invitation; then he'll ask if he may bring all his wives
and mothers and sisters with him. That's the worst of these small
watering-places; one can't escape from anybody."
"I'll fight a rearguard action for you if you like to do a bolt now,"
volunteered Clovis; "you've a clear ten yards start if you don't lose
time."
The aunt of Clovis responded gamely to the suggestion, and churned away
like a Nile steamer, with a long brown ripple of Pekingese spaniel
trailing in her wake.
"Pretend you don't know him," was her parting advice, tinged with the
reckless courage of the non-combatant.
The next moment the overtures of an affably disposed gentleman were
being received by Clovis with a "silent-upon-a-peak-in-Darien" stare
which denoted an absence of all previous acquaintance with the object
scrutinized.
"I expect you don't know me with my moustache," said the new-comer;
"I've only grown it during the last two months."
"On the contrary," said Clovis, "the moustache is the only thing about
you that seemed familiar to me. I felt certain that I had met it
somewhere before."
"My name is Tarrington," resumed the candidate for recognition.
"A very useful kind of name," said Clovis; "with a name of that sort no
one would blame you if you did nothing in particular heroic or
remarkable, would they? And yet if you were to raise a troop of light
horse in a moment of national emergency, 'Tarrington's Light Horse'
would sound quite appropriate and pulse-quickening; whereas if you were
called Spoopin, for instance, the thing would be out of the question.
No one, even in a moment of national emergency, could possibly belong
to Spoopin's Horse."
The new-comer smiled weakly, as one who is not to be put off by mere
flippancy, and began again with patient persistence:
"I think you ought to remember my name--"
"I shall," said Clovis, with an air of immense sincerity. "My aunt was
asking me only this morning to suggest names for four young owls she's
just had sent her as pets. I shall call them all Tarrington; then if
one or two of them die or fly away, or leave us in any of the ways that
pet owls are prone to, there will be always one or two left to carry on
your name. And my aunt won't LET me forget it; she will always be
asking 'Have the Tarringtons had their mice?' and questions of that
sort. She says if you keep wild creatures in captivity you ought to
see after their wants, and of course she's quite right there."
"I met you at luncheon at your aunt's house once--" broke in Mr.
Tarrington, pale but still resolute.
"My aunt never lunches," said Clovis; "she belongs to the National
Anti-Luncheon League, which is doing quite a lot of good work in a
quiet, unobtrusive way. A subscription of half a crown per quarter
entitles you to go without ninety-two luncheons."
"This must be something new," exclaimed Tarrington.
"It's the same aunt that I've always had," said Clovis coldly.
"I perfectly well remember meeting you at a luncheon-party given by
your aunt," persisted Tarrington, who was beginning to flush an
unhealthy shade of mottled pink.
"What was there for lunch?" asked Clovis.
"Oh, well, I don't remember that--"
"How nice of you to remember my aunt when you can no longer recall the
names of the things you ate. Now my memory works quite differently. I
can remember a menu long after I've forgotten the hostess that
accompanied it. When I was seven years old I recollect being given a
peach at a garden-party by some Duchess or other; I can't remember a
thing about her, except that I imagine our acquaintance must have been
of the slightest, as she called me a 'nice little boy,' but I have
unfading memories of that peach. It was one of those exuberant peaches
that meet you halfway, so to speak, and are all over you in a moment.
It was a beautiful unspoiled product of a hothouse, and yet it managed
quite successfully to give itself the airs of a compote. You had to
bite it and imbibe it at the same time. To me there has always been
something charming and mystic in the thought of that delicate velvet
globe of fruit, slowly ripening and warming to perfection through the
long summer days and perfumed nights, and then coming suddenly athwart
my life in the supreme moment of its existence. I can never forget it,
even if I wished to. And when I had devoured all that was edible of
it, there still remained the stone, which a heedless, thoughtless child
would doubtless have thrown away; I put it down the neck of a young
friend who was wearing a very DÉCOLLETÉ sailor suit. I told him it was
a scorpion, and from the way he wriggled and screamed he evidently
believed it, though where the silly kid imagined I could procure a live
scorpion at a garden-party I don't know. Altogether, that peach is for
me an unfading and happy memory--"
The defeated Tarrington had by this time retreated out of ear-shot,
comforting himself as best he might with the reflection that a picnic
which included the presence of Clovis might prove a doubtfully
agreeable experience.
"I shall certainly go in for a Parliamentary career," said Clovis to
himself as he turned complacently to rejoin his aunt. "As a talker-out
of inconvenient bills I should be invaluable."