Paddy has a Visitor.
When Paddy was alone in her room her anger quickly evaporated, and was
as quickly replaced by an overpowering sense of loneliness. Why, oh
why, had they let her come to London alone? Why had Fate dealt her this
double blow! “Daddy, daddy,” she breathed piteously, and buried her
face in her hands. For a moment she longed to be away there in the
quiet churchyard beside him. It seemed to her quite impossible that
life would ever be glad again, since he was gone, and Jack was gone,
and strangers were probably already moving into The Ghan House.
But presently the mood passed and she was calmer, remembering all the
responsibility on her shoulders.
“Don’t forget you’re an Irish Fusilier’s daughter, Paddy,” she
admonished herself severely, “and you promised to be a good son. Irish
Fusiliers’ daughters don’t cry like babies, just because everything
seems to have gone wrong; and a good son is more sorry for his mother
than himself.”
A few minutes later there was a knock at her door, and the maid told
her a gentleman had called to see her.
“A gentleman?” asked Paddy in surprise. “What is his name?”
“I’m afraid I didn’t catch it,” the maid answered. “It was a long
name.”
“Are you sure he asked for me?”
“Yes.”
“Where is he?”
“In the drawing-room. Mr Basil has gone out, and Mrs Adair is in the
master’s surgery.”
Paddy smoothed her hair and bathed her eyes, feeling very curious, but
when she walked into the drawing-room her visitor saw at a glance that
she had been crying.
“Mr Masterman!” she exclaimed in glad surprise, and Ted came forward
eagerly enough. After the first greetings, however, there was a
slightly awkward pause.
“I only heard about everything last week,” said Ted at last. “My aunt
is a very bad correspondent. I need hardly say how her letter shocked
me.”
Paddy had motioned to him to take a chair, and sat down on the sofa;
but Ted, being no less masterful than of old, and quite as certain as
to his mind, sat down on the sofa beside her instead.
“I can’t tell you just all I feel,” he said, in that quiet, convincing
way of his. “I wish I could, but I think you must know it has all been
like a personal sorrow.”
“You are very good,” Paddy murmured gratefully. She was so glad to see
him—he was like the first link from the old home since she parted from
Jack at Holyhead.
“How did you know I was here!”
“I wired to my aunt for your address directly I received the letter. I
wanted to call sooner, but was prevented by business. We have been kept
late at the works every night for a week. I’m afraid this London
arrangement will be very hard on you,” he said, so kindly that Paddy
felt the tears coming back.
“A little,” she answered, trying to pull herself together, “but it
won’t be so bad when I’m used to it.”
She tried to meet his eyes, but could not, and instead looked away,
blinking hard.
“Poor little girl,” said Ted in a very low voice, half to himself, and
covered his eyes with his hand a moment, as if there was something in
them he felt he must hide from her. She little knew how that pair of
strong arms beside her ached to fold her tight, and take her away then
and there from this London she so hated.
“I wish I could do something,” he said at last. “It’s hard to have to
sit still, and feel as I feel, and see no way to help.”
“You mustn’t take it like that,” trying to speak brightly. “Mother and
Eileen will be here soon, and then it will be much better for me.”
“What has become of O’Hara?” he asked. “Will you tell me all about
everything?”
Paddy was only too glad to have someone who knew all about Omeath and
The Ghan House, and she readily described all that had happened since
he left. Ted listened quietly, leaning back a little, as once before,
that he might the better watch her, with his own strong face in the
shadow.
“It will be the making of him,” was his comment when she came to Jack’s
plans, and Paddy agreed with alacrity.
When she had finished he looked at her, with a slightly wistful look in
his grey eyes, and said:
“Now may I tell you about my affairs?”
“Yes, do.”
“I’m following O’Hara’s lead and leaving England,” and he looked hard
into her face.
“Leaving England!” she repeated, with frank dismay—indeed, far too
frank for Ted, who was sufficiently wise in these matters to know that
such a complete absence of self-consciousness left but little room for
him to hope in.
“Yes,” dropping his eyes gloomily to the carpet. “At once.”
“I _am_ sorry,” she said expressively. “Why do you go? What is
happening to England that you and Jack and Lawrence Blake and everyone
must all go abroad?”
“Lawrence Blake?” he asked, in some surprise.
Paddy coloured painfully.
“Yes, didn’t you know? He went to India a month after the dance.”
Ted watched her inquiringly, uncertain whether or not to ask a
particular question.
Paddy settled the matter for him.
“It was rather a good thing,” she said, trying to speak naturally. “He
and Eileen were hovering on the brink of an engagement, and it would
not have been a suitable match. He would never have made a girl like
Eileen happy.”
Ted drew his own conclusions, but all he said, was:
“O’Hara will get his chance now—lucky beggar,” and then suddenly
relapsed into thought, as it dawned upon him it might in the end mean
his own chance, too.
“You have not told me why you are going abroad?” she said, after a
pause.
“I am going to South Africa for the firm I am with.”
“For good?”
“For several years, I expect.”
“Why do you go?”
“Well, you see,” he began slowly, “it’s a very good opening for a man
who wants to get on, and I want that even more now than I ever wanted
it before.” She waited, and he continued: “Engineering is rather
overdone in England, and it’s very hard work to get any kind of a real
footing at all. The firm is opening a big, new branch in Africa, and
they have offered me the managership. It is a very good thing, and I
have accepted it.”
“But still,” reasoned Paddy, “you were all right as you were before.”
He smiled a little.
“No, that’s just it. I wasn’t all right. You see, Miss Adair, there
comes a time in a man’s life when he suddenly wakes up to the fact that
he’d desperately like a home of his own, and that makes him think more
seriously of the pounds, shillings, and pence. I want my home to be
right in the country, too,” he added whimsically, half to himself, “if
possible, where there are mountains and a loch and plenty of fishing
and shooting.”
Paddy said nothing, but she felt a queer little thrill all down her
back. She turned her head away and stared hard into the glowing coals.
She knew his eyes were fixed searchingly on her face, but she would not
look round, nor give him the chance to see the consciousness in her
own. He leaned back presently with a little sigh.
“I’d rather have thought of you running wild at Omeath still,” he said,
“but it can’t be helped, and I shall have to make the best of it.
Perhaps, sometimes you’ll be glad to feel there’s some one thinking of
you, some one awfully sorry for you, across the sea. At least, I hope
you won’t forget altogether?”
Still Paddy kept her face averted.
“I shall not forget,” was all she would say.
“I wonder if it would be too much to ask for an occasional letter,” he
went on. “Perhaps, if you remembered what a boon it would be to the
exile—?”
“Oh, yes, I’ll write to you sometimes,” with frankness. “I dare say I
shall be glad to air my opinions upon London and things generally, now
and again.”
“Not so glad as I shall be to get them. How I wish I could have been
here and, perhaps, helped you all a little, and still had the good
position. I could at least have taken you to theatres, and down the
river.”
“It would have been nice,” she assented.
“I may get back in four years,” he continued, “but hardly before.”
“When do you sail?”
“Next week.”
“Next week!” in astonishment. “How near it seems.”
“Yes.” He hesitated. “May I come and see you again!”
“Of course you must come and say good-by.”
“Very well then. Next Friday evening!”
It was agreed so, and just then Mrs Adair and the doctor came in, and
after a little Ted rose to go.
The following Friday, as luck would have it, Basil took it into his
head to remain at home, and ensconced himself in the drawing-room as if
he meant to stay. When Ted arrived he was still there, and Paddy felt
vexed. Her feelings, however, were nothing to Ted’s. He would gladly
have picked the young man up by his collar and dropped him out of the
window into the street below. After half-an-hour of vain efforts to
keep the conversation going naturally, the kindly doctor himself came
to the rescue.
“I’m sure these young people would like to talk over old times together
without us,” he said, “as they’re not to meet again for so long. Come
along, my dear, we’ll go to my room as usual, and Basil can come too.”
Basil looked annoyed, but could hardly do other than follow the others
from the room, though he loftily declined the invitation to the
surgery.
“Is that young man your cousin!” asked Ted when they were alone.
“Yes, but I’m not proud of the relationship,” said outspoken Paddy.
Ted only smiled. He could afford to be more magnanimous now he had
gone. He got up and strolled round the room, not because he was tired
of sitting at all, but because he was thus enabled to make an entirely
free choice of where he would sit down again. Paddy was on the sofa, so
as it is much easier to talk to anyone from the same sofa, instead of
shouting from another chair, he chose the vacant space beside her.
Paddy fidgeted with her hands, and again took to studying the glowing
coals as if she had never seen a fire before.
“Do you know I have taken a great liberty?” he said presently.
“Yes!” looking up.
“I’ve—well, I’ve taken upon myself to bring you a small talisman. You
won’t be angry with me?”
“I think it is very nice of you.”
“And you’ll accept it?” eagerly.
“What is it?” turning to the coals again.
Ted took a little parcel from his pocket, and unfolded a very valuable
old gold coin with a hole in it.
“It’s a lucky coin,” he said. “I noticed you had a chain bracelet and I
thought, perhaps, you wouldn’t mind letting me fix it on for you. It’s
rather a rare one. My father was a great collector, and it used to
belong to him.”
“Oh! but you mustn’t give it to me then,” she cried.
“Yes, I want to,” firmly, “and I am going to fix it on myself.”
She gave him her bracelet, impelled by some unseen force, and watched
him silently while he carefully fixed the coin to one of the links. A
little while afterward he wrung her hand, looked a whole world of love
into her eyes, and hurried away.
When Paddy was alone, she became unusually thoughtful, and fingered the
coin gently. Then for the first time she discovered something had been
engraved on it, and held it curiously to the light. In small writing,
across the centre, were the two words, “Dinna forget,” and underneath
the date of the morrow when his ship would sail.
“Poor Ted,” murmured Paddy softly, and a little flush crept into her
white cheeks.