MR. LISLE FORGETS HIS DINNER.
"A little fire is quickly trodden out,
Which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench."
_Henry VI._
MISS DENIS was none the worse for her adventure the next morning, and
was called upon to give a full, true, and particular account of herself
to Mrs. Creery and Mrs. Home, also Mrs. Graham and Mrs. Green (who
had prudently stayed all night on Ross). No one could imagine how the
mistake had occurred, and all these ladies talked volubly together on
the subject, and it afforded the island a nine days' wonder, though
that was not saying much! Mrs. Creery was certainly most thankful that
Helen (she now called her by her Christian name) had been brought back
in safety, but she was by no means as well pleased at the means to
which they owed her restoration.
"Of course, my dear Helen, you need not notice him," she said,
_apropos_ of Mr. Lisle; "just let your father thank him, or send a
message by Mr. Quentin; that will be ample!"
Mr. Lisle having made Aberdeen with some difficulty, had toiled up
hill, closely followed by the shivering boatmen, in quest of glasses
of rum. He was cold, and stiff, and exhausted; both mind and body had
been strung to their utmost tension for the last three hours, and he
sank into a Bombay chair in the verandah, and threw off his soaking
hat with a sense of thankfulness and relief. There he remained for a
long time in his wet clothes, staring out on the black, ragged-looking
clouds, through which a very watery moon was vainly trying to assert
herself. Mr. Quentin was dining elsewhere, and Mr. Lisle kept dinner
waiting till it was his good pleasure to partake of that meal.
(Eastern cooks are accustomed to a meal being put back or forward an
hour or so according to their masters' whims. These sudden orders
never ruffle their composure, whilst in England such proceedings
would cause domestic revolutions.) For more than an hour Mr. Lisle
lay back in the comfortable chair which he had first occupied as a
mere momentary resting-place; evidently he had something out of the
common to occupy his thoughts. How long was it since he had spoken to
a lady? (Apparently Mrs. Creery went for nought.) His mind reviewed
but cursorily his morning's sport, dwelt a short time on the various
incidents of that terrible sail, and rested finally for a considerable
period on the contemplation of his lady passenger; he could see her
before his mental vision quite distinctly _now_, as she stood on the
pier steps, with her soaking, clinging dress, her streaming hair and
colourless face, on which the torches threw a blinding light; see her
stretching out her hands, and calling after him in a tone of agonized
appeal,—
"Mr. Lisle, come back! Come back, Mr. Lisle!"
It was a curious fact, he said to himself with a rather cynical grin,
that this was positively the very first invitation he had ever received
to Ross; and the circumstance seemed to amuse him not a little.
After a while he began to think that he was rather a fool, sitting
there mooning in his wet clothes, and he rose and stretched himself and
went into the house, and having changed his garments, sat down to his
solitary meal. He and Jim Quentin met at breakfast as usual; the latter
was generally too much engrossed with his own proceedings to take any
vivid interest in his companion's pursuits—to do as little work as
possible, to get as much novel-reading, cigarette-smoking, and physical
and mental ease, was the bent of his mind, and his thoughts were solely
centred in himself and his own arrangements.
He never troubled his head about Lisle's "manias;" fishing, and
boating, and shooting were all bores to him, involving far too much
bodily exertion and discomfort. He took all his partner's adventures
for granted, and never expected that these were of a more thrilling
description than the capture of a big shark or the slaughter of a wild
hog.
"What a gale that was last night!" he said, as he languidly helped
himself to devilled kidneys. "By George! the picnic party must have
found it pretty lively coming back. It blew a hurricane! But I suppose
they were in before that?"
"They were," assented Mr. Lisle—and whatever else he was going to
add was interrupted by the appearance of one of the boatmen in his
blue cotton suit, salaaming profoundly at the foot of the verandah
steps. He had something in his hand. What? It was the miserable wreck
of a lady's smart, cream-coloured parasol! A jaunty article, that had
tempted Helen's fancy in a London shop window, and was now a mere limp
rag, cockled and shrunken with sea-water—having been thrown into the
bottom of the boat and there forgotten.
"Halloa!" exclaimed Mr. Quentin. "What is that?"
"Miss Denis's parasol, which was left in the gig. I brought her back
from North Bay last night," replied his companion, with as much
composure as if it were a part of his daily programme.
The other made no immediate reply, but turning half round in his chair,
surveyed him steadily for some seconds.
"_You_ brought her back?" he repeated incredulously. "And why, in the
name of all that's extraordinary?"
"For the very excellent reason that she wished to be my passenger,"
returned Mr. Lisle, coolly.
"I hate riddles"—irritably. "What the deuce do you mean?"
"I mean that Miss Denis was left behind by her party owing to some very
queer mistake, that I happened to be sailing by, like Canute the king,
and that she hailed the boat, and we took her off."
"Quite romantic, upon my word"—with a rather forced laugh. "Well,"
after a pause, "now that you have seen her, what do you think of her?"
"How can I tell you? It was as dark as pitch; I only had a glimpse of
her now and then by lightning."
"Yes; and that glimpse?"
"Showed me that she had heaps of hair. She did not scream or make a
fuss, but kept quiet, for which I was really grateful."
"And did you have any talk?"
"Talk! My good sir, are you aware that we were out in that hurricane
between seven and eight o'clock last night, and that it was by God's
mercy we escaped with our lives?"
"I dare say you would like to improve the acquaintance now you have
seen her—eh? Come, tell the truth."
Mr. Lisle made no reply; this question had hit the goal—he certainly
_did_ feel a curious and unusual interest in this girl. All the same,
he made up his mind that this novel sensation would wear off within the
next twenty-four hours, and whether or no, he did not mean to yield to
it.
Mr. Quentin crossed to Ross alone, somewhat to his own surprise; and
Helen, as she listened to his condolences, felt rather an odd little
twinge of disappointment, for she had half expected that for once he
would have been accompanied by his mysterious companion. To-day her
smiles were not as responsive, nor her laughter as ready as usual.
Her keen-witted visitor did not fail to notice this,—also a curious
abstraction in her manner. She was partly thinking of Mr. Lisle (with
an interest that surprised herself), and partly recalling to her mental
eye that little pink figure seated on the log, with a face convulsed
with passion, and dozens of love-letters scattered round her on the
moss!
About a week later Colonel Denis met Mr. Lisle in the Bazaar and
insisted on his accompanying him home, and being there and then
presented to his daughter.
"She wants to thank you herself; only for you she believes that she
would have lost her wits; only for you she would have had to pass a
whole night on that coast alone."
Vainly did his captive mutter "that it was nothing; that he was only
too glad to have had the opportunity," &c., Colonel Denis was not
to be denied, and he led him off, _nolens volens_, to make formal
acquaintance with the island beauty at last.
Miss Denis was sitting on the steps of the bungalow feeding a tame
peacock, but as she saw her father approaching with a visitor in
tow, she stood up, rather shyly, to receive them. She looked quite
different to-day (naturally). Her dress was soft, cream-white muslin,
a heavy Indian silver belt encircled her slender waist, her hair was
bound round her head in thick plaits, her countenance was serene—and
marvellously pretty. It struck Mr. Lisle's artist eye that she and her
pet peacock would make a very effective picture, with that glimpse of
blue sea and palms as their background.
Of course she had a conviction that this spare, sunburnt man following
her father was the redoubtable _bête-noire_, who, although she had been
two months in the settlement, she had never yet met with face to face,
save in the gloom on that eventful evening.
After a little talk about the storm and the picnic, they adjourned
indoors and sat in the shady drawing-room, whilst Sawmy brought in
afternoon tea.
"How do you like this part of the world, Miss Denis?" asked her
visitor. "No doubt you are tired of the question by this time?"
"I like it extremely; so much that I believe I could live here all my
life."
Mr. Lisle smiled incredulously and slightly raised his brows.
"Yes," in reply to his expression. "Where could you find a more lovely
spot—a kind of earthly Paradise?"
"And a land where it is always afternoon," quoted her companion; "but
you will probably get tired of it in six months, and be glad enough to
stretch your wings."
"No, indeed"—indignantly—"why should I? I have everything I want
here, and every wish fulfilled." She paused, became exceedingly red, as
if she were afraid she had been too gushing to this stranger.
"I am filled with amazement and respect, Miss Denis; you are the only
person I have ever come across who admitted that they were now, in the
actual present, absolutely contented, and had no unsatisfied cravings.
But perhaps yours is a contented mind?"
"No, I have not been contented elsewhere; but here it is different;
here I have my home, and papa——"
She hesitated, and her listener mentally added—"And Jim Quentin!"
"And I think perpetually fine weather, and beautiful surroundings, and
liberty, go a long way towards making one feel as I do. Every morning
when I wake, I have an impression that something delightful is going to
happen during the day."
"Jim's visit of course," thought her companion. A sure sign that she is
in love, but he merely said aloud,—
"It's well you mentioned liberty, for I fancy that scenery and sunshine
go a short way with those beggars," pointing to a group of brown
convicts, who were now wending silently down the road. "Do you not find
everything very different out here to what it is at home?"
"Yes; but I had no home, I was always at school. Papa and I have so few
belongings—but I am quite forgetting all this time that I have not
offered you a cup of tea."
Mr. Lisle watched her as she busied herself among the spoons and
saucers, and thought what a nice child she was, and what a shame it
would be to let Jim Quentin break her heart!
"You see a good deal of Quentin," he remarked rather suddenly; but
her colour did not rise as she handed him his tea, nor did the cup
rattle in the saucer at the mention of that potent name. She met Mr.
Lisle's keen interrogative glance with the utmost composure. How
different he seemed without his hat, and how strange it was that it had
never occurred to any one to mention that Mr. Lisle was handsome! The
circumstance came home to her quite unexpected, as she now noticed his
well-shaped head and profile; true his skin was tanned brown by the
sun, his hair was touched with grey upon the temples, but in her heart
she there and then discovered that he had a far more striking face than
irresistible "Apollo" Quentin.
"I am taking this to papa," she said, rising; "he sits in the verandah,
you see."
"Yes, I see"—receiving the cup from her hand and carrying it out to
his host who was absorbed in a blue document. (Mr. Quentin had trained
him to efface himself in this fashion, for to be quite frank, he could
not stand that gentleman's society, much less his songs and sentimental
speeches.)
"I suppose," said Mr. Lisle, as he passed the piano—Helen's own
property,—"that that is Quentin's last new ditty," indicating a
piece on the music stand. "I know it's just in his line, 'Told in the
Twilight.'"
"Yes."
"I'm sure it gives him great pleasure coming over here, and listening
to your music?"
"I believe he derives some enjoyment from his own singing also," she
replied, demurely,—remembering the hours that she had toiled over his
accompaniments. "Are you musical?"
"In theory only, not in practice. I am very fond of listening to a
string band, or to good instrumental performers, but as far as I'm
concerned myself, I cannot play on a comb, much less a Jew's-harp! I
see"—glancing at some books—"that you read, Miss Denis. May I ask
where you get your literature?"
"Some from the library at Calcutta,—some from Mr. Quentin." This
latter announcement was a shock.
"Ah!—I daresay his contributions are more entertaining than
instructive! So you read French novels?"
"Oh, no!"—becoming scarlet—"I have never read any except a few French
stories, Miss Twigg picked out. Mr. Quentin merely lends me books of
poetry and magazines, more solid reading I get elsewhere."
"Why do you read solid books?"
"Chiefly to discover my own deplorable ignorance, I live and unlearn,"
and she laughed.
"Really"—also smiling—"and how?"
"Well, for instance, until last week I was under the impression that
America had been discovered by Christopher Columbus, in the year 1492."
"I fancy that most people are still labouring under the same delusion."
"But it is quite wrong"—shrugging her shoulders—"it was found by
Buddhist priests in the fourth century, at least so says a book that I
have just finished, and there does not seem to be the smallest doubt
upon the question in the author's mind."
"Miss Denis," said her listener, gravely, "your reading is too deep
for me, and I shall be quite afraid of you. The next time I see you,
you will be telling me that it is all a mistake about the battle of
Waterloo, that there was no such person as Queen Elizabeth, and that
Ireland was first discovered by the Japanese."
Helen laughed immoderately, and then said,—
"Why Ireland of all places?"
"I don't know, unless because it is generally the unexpected that
happens with regard to that country."
"Have you ever been there?"
"Yes, frequently; I've an uncle in the Emerald Isle, who has carried
on an ink feud for years with my father,—but is gracious enough to me."
"And I've an aunt there, who is the very reverse, for she never answers
papa's letters!"
"Then supposing we make an exchange of relatives?" suggested Mr. Lisle.
Colonel Denis was quite astonished to hear so much animated
conversation and laughter in his neighbourhood, and could not see why
he should not have a share in whatever was going on; but shortly after
he made his appearance Mr. Lisle took his leave; and Helen was really
amazed, when she saw by the little clock that his visit had lasted
almost an hour!
"A very gentlemanly, agreeable man, no matter _who_ he is," said her
father, after he had sped the parting guest; "eh, Nell?"
"Yes, papa."
"And _I_ don't believe with Mrs. Creery, that he is one of our
fellow-countrymen who are obliged to roam the world over,—owing to
their invincible ignorance of the number of kings which go to a pack of
cards," added Colonel Denis as he picked up a newspaper, and subsided
into an arm-chair.
* * * * *
Mr. Lisle imparted the history of his visit to his host that same
evening after dinner.
"And what do you think of her now you have seen her in daylight?" asked
Mr. Jim, who seemed anxious to have his friend's verdict.
"Oh, that she is a pretty girl, of course, unspoiled as yet, and
charmed with her surroundings, and immensely delighted at finding
herself grown up, and mistress of that bungalow,—which is her doll's
house so far."
"And do you think she likes _me_?"
"Yes; of course I did not put the delicate question point-blank as your
deputy, but I daresay she does; for her own sake I hope she won't get
any further than liking!"
"You are frankness itself, my dear fellow, and _why_?"
"Because she is much too good for you, and you know it! You have been
in love about fifty times already, and for pure lack of something to
do, are thinking of offering the shell of your heart to this pretty
penniless child. She would accept it—if she cared for you—_au grand
sérieux_, and give hers in return, for always; but you, once your
little _entr'acte_ was played out here—say in three months—would sail
away, leave her, and forget her! You have done it to dozens according
to your own confession;—why not again?"
The expression of tolerant amusement on his hearer's face rapidly gave
way to indignation, and he said with much asperity,—
"This is vastly fine! You are uncommonly eloquent on behalf of Miss
Helen's maiden affections; you beat old Parks in a common walk! One
would imagine that I was some giant Blunderbore who was going to eat
her! Or that——" and he paused, and blew a cloud of smoke into the air.
"Or what?" asked the other quietly.
"That you meant to enter the lists yourself, since you _will_ have it."
Mr. Lisle picked a crumb off the cloth, and made no reply, and his
companion proceeded,—
"But of course you know as well as I do myself, that such an idea for
_you_ would be all the same as if you went and hanged yourself out on
the big tree in Chatham!"
To this Mr. Lisle said nothing, but smoked on for a long time in dead
silence. At last he got up, threw his napkin over the back of his
chair, and said, gravely,—
"If you are really in earnest for once, and hope to win the girl, and
marry her,—well and good. I believe you will have all the luck on your
side; if on the other hand, you merely intend to seize such a rich
opportunity for amusing yourself, and playing your old game——"
"What then?" demanded Jim with a lazy challenge in his eye.
"You will see what then!" rejoined the other, standing up and looking
at him fixedly, with his hands grasping the back of his chair. He
remained in this attitude for fully a minute, and neither of them
spoke; then he turned abruptly, walked out into the back verandah, and
down the steps, and away in the direction of the sea-shore.
Mr. Quentin took his cigar out of his mouth, leant his head on one
side, and listened intently to his fast receding footsteps. When their
final echo had died away, he resumed his cheroot with a careless shrug
of his shoulders.
"Did Lisle mean to threaten him?"
It certainly looked uncommonly like it.