“How do you do, Mr. Bertie?”
He gave me a quizzical glance, and said in a low voice:
“What’s the matter with calling me ‘Reggie?’”
Nora had run down the stairs and now, to my intense relief, I could hear
her coaxing the children to come away, and she would tell them a story.
Nora was a wonderful story-teller, and the children would listen to her
by the hour. So would all the neighbors’ children. I had told her that
if she kept the children out of sight I would give her a piece of ribbon
on which she had set her heart. So she was keeping her word, and
presently I had the satisfaction of watching her go off with the baby on
one arm, Kathleen and Violet holding to her other hand and skirt, and
the boys in the rear.
Mr. Bertie, or “Reggie,” as he said I was to call him, followed me into
the “parlor.” It was a room we seldom used in winter on account of the
cold, but I had coaxed dear papa to help me clean out the fireplace--the
only way it was heated--our Canadian houses did not have furnaces in
those days--and the boys had brought me in some wood from the shed. So,
at least, we had a cheerful fire crackling away in the grate, and
although our furniture was old, it did not look so bad. Besides he
didn’t seem to notice anything except me, for as soon as we got inside
he seized my hands and said:
“Give you my word, I’ve been thinking about you ever since last night.”
Then he pulled me up toward him, and said:
“I’m going to get that kiss to-night.”
Just then in came mama and Ada, and feeling awfully embarrassed and
confused, I had to introduce him. Mama only stayed a moment, but Ada
settled down with her crochet work by the lamp. She never worked in the
parlor on other nights, but she sat there all of that evening, with her
eye on Mr. Bertie and occasionally saying something brief and sarcastic.
Mama said, as she was going out:
“I’ll send papa right down to see Mr. Bertie. He looks so much like
papa’s brother who died in India. Besides, papa always likes to meet
anyone from home.”
Papa came in later, and he and Mr. Bertie found much to talk about. They
had lived in the same places in England, and even found they knew some
mutual friends and relatives. Papa’s sisters were all famous sportswomen
and hunters. One was the amateur tennis champion, and, of course, Mr.
Bertie had heard of her.
Then papa inquired what he was doing in Montreal, and Bertie said he was
studying law, and hoped to pass his finals in about eight months.
Then, he added that as soon as he could get together a fair practice, he
expected to marry and settle down in Montreal. When he said that, he
looked directly at me, and I blushed foolishly, and Ada coughed
significantly and sceptically.
I really didn’t get a chance to talk to him all evening, and even when
he was going I could hardly say good-bye to him for mama came back with
Daisy and Nellie, the two girls next to me, and what with Ada and papa
there besides and everybody wishing him good-bye and mama inviting him
to call again, I found myself almost in the background. He smiled,
however, at me over mama’s head, and he said, while shaking hands with
her:
“I’ll be delighted. May I come--er--to-morrow night?”
I saw Ada glance at mama, and I knew what was in their minds. Were they
to be forced to go through this all again? The dressing up, the
suppressing of the children, the using of the unused parlor, the burning
of our fuel in the fireplace, etc. Papa, however, said warmly:
“By all means. I’ve some pretty good sketches of Macclesfield I’d like
to show you.”
“That will be charming,” said my caller and, with a smile and bow that
included us all, he was gone.
I did not get that kiss after all, and I may as well confess I was
disappointed.