MRS. BUNNY DOUBTS.
On Sundays the carved blackwood furniture in the Bunny's drawing-room
emerged from its weekly suit of holland and shone resplendent in red
satin upholstery. Mr. Bunny had exchanged his boots for a pair of list
slippers, and was seated in a straight-backed chair, his spectacles
pushed on to his forehead. He was a little ill-tempered at having had
to take that long road home, and regretted that he had not taken out
his brownberry. It was just this point, however, that he was unwilling
to concede to Elder Bullin. In a recent argument Bunny maintained that
it was flying in the face of divine law to work a horse on a Sunday.
The elder held more practical opinions on the subject, and there had
almost been an open rupture. Since that time, however, Bunny walked to
church on the Sabbath, but was beginning to regret his line of action.
He was not a young man, and adipose tissue had increased with his
years. It irritated him to see the elder pass him with his pair of
katty-war horses. Bunny had only one. The irritation he felt, however,
was equalled by the sense of satisfaction that stole over the elder as
he passed his opponent engaged in carrying out his convictions. There
was a rustle, and Mrs. Bunny came into the room in her black silk
dress. She was nearly fifteen years younger than her husband, a
somewhat uncommon thing in the class of life to which they belonged,
where husband and wife are mostly of the same age, or very near it.
Her active habits had, moreover, prevented her from running into flesh
as most Eurasian women do. She came into the room briskly, stopped,
set some grass in a vase straight, and picking up The Evangelical
Record, the organ of the Methodist community, settled herself in a
chair opposite Bunny, after giving a satisfied glance round the room.
"Halsa and Mr. Galbraith haven't come in yet?" said Bunny, a tone of
inquiry in his voice.
"They'll be in just now," replied his wife, unfolding the sheets of
the paper and smiling to herself. She was a cunning little woman, and
had long read Galbraith's feelings in his eyes.
"Where's Eddy?" asked the father. Eddy was their only child, a boy
about twelve years of age. "I think I'll hear him his chapter," he
added.
"Yes--where's the boy? Ed-dee!--Ed-dee!" and Mrs. Bunny cried aloud
for her offspring.
There was a patter of footsteps in the hall, a rush up the passage,
and Eddy burst into the room.
"Oh, maw!" he exclaimed, "Mr. Galbraith is kissing Aunty Halsa in the
garden!"
"What!" shouted Bunny, fairly jumping to his feet.
Mrs. Bunny burst out laughing. "You old goose, wait till they come in,
and you'll hear more."
"On the Lord's day, too!" said Bunny, holding up his hands. "And what
were you doing in the garden? Have you learned your chapter?"
Eddy shuffled from one leg to the other. "It was very long," he
protested with a whimper.
"I'll long you--come with me," and Bunny took Eddy's right ear between
the thumb and forefinger of his left hand.
Eddy set up a dolorous howling, and Mrs. Bunny interposed. "Remember
it's Sunday, Tom," she said.
"Oh--here you are," she added, as Galbraith and Halsa came into the
room. Eddy seized his opportunity, and made a run for it.
Galbraith came forward at once, leading Halsa by the hand.
"Mr. Bunny," he said, "I have asked Halsa to be my wife, and she has
said----"
"Yes--I knew she would," and Mrs. Bunny kissed Halsa, who blushed and
trembled very much.
Mr. Bunny shook hands alternately with Halsa and Galbraith.
"I am very glad," he said. "I didn't think of this; but I am very
glad."
After a while Galbraith left. It was agreed that the engagement should
be given out at the next meeting of the Council of the Tabernacle,
which was to be held in a few days.
"But Eddy knows all about it," said Mrs. Bunny, and Halsa blushed
furiously, while Galbraith looked helplessly around.
"I don't think Eddy will say much after I have spoken to him," said
Bunny; "and, Galbraith, don't forget that you dine here to-night."
They all walked home after the evening service, and dined quietly and
happily together. When the time came for Galbraith to go, Halsa walked
with him to the gate. They lingered for a moment there together.
"Good-night, John." She raised her face to his, and he kissed her
softly.
"You do not regret?" asked Galbraith, and for answer Halsa kissed him
of her own accord. He turned at last, and vanished into the gloom.
That night when they retired to rest, and Bunny and his wife had read
a chapter of the big leather-covered Bible, which lay on a small table
in their bedroom, Mrs. Bunny turned to her husband.
"Tom," she said, "what if all this should end badly? I am frightened
now."
"Why should it end badly?" and Bunny wiped his spectacles carefully
and folded them into their case.
"I am afraid now--I don't know why. Why don't you tell me all about
Halsa? You never have."
"There's not much to tell. You knew Stephen Lamport, my cousin, when
he married Halsa six years ago, and we went on board the Petrel and
met them. You know what a scoundrel Stephen was. He led her an awful
life for six years, and then deserted her before that last voyage of
his to the Mauritius, when the Mahi went down with all on board.
Lamport was a big blackguard, but he is dead now."
"What if Stephen is not dead?"
"Not dead--that's nonsense. But it's half-past ten, and I'm going to
bed."
Nevertheless Maggie Bunny lay awake late that night. What if Stephen
Lamport should not be dead? she kept ever thinking to herself.
At last she stole out of bed and prayed in the dim light for Halsa and
Galbraith. When she rose she felt comforted and refreshed. She stole
back slowly; Bunny was asleep, and she looked at his face.
"He is a good man," she murmured; "but----"