ALL the way to Clavering Station George Norris took extremely good
care that the tin trunk of Miss Cass did not fall from the back of the
dogcart. His task was not difficult, for the box was so comfortably
disposed under the seat that it showed not the slightest disposition to
do so. But had it been a tin trunk with any spirit of opinions of its
own it might easily have achieved a crash to Mother Earth at the sharp
turn into the high road by The Laurels gate and at divers trappy places
along the route, for there really was a much preoccupied young man in
charge of it.
The truth of the matter was that it had almost immediately dawned
on George Norris that should the 2:10 Up be punctual it would leave
very little time for a proposal in form. Moreover, it would have to
take place on the station platform. Such are the inconveniences of a
dogcart. In the circumstances of the case it seemed hardly less than a
grave oversight on the part of Fate to have omitted to provide a closed
brougham, no matter how antiquated, one-horse or otherwise, for such an
occasion.
Certainly it meant cutting the whole thing very fine. According to the
rate of John Small’s progress they were not likely to reach Clavering
station much before two o’clock and that left little time for the
business in hand. As a matter of historical fact, it wanted exactly one
minute to the hour when they drew up beneath the portico of the station
yard.
George had to justify his presence by seeking a porter in the station
interior. To do him justice they undoubtedly _were_ in short supply,
but he was able to corral one in something under two minutes and
returned with him in triumph to find Miss Cass handsomely tipping John
Small for services unwillingly rendered. In fact, when John withdrew,
chariot and all, he was quite a changed man. From the moment he had
first set eyes on the new governess he had been her enemy, but if
anything was meant by the manner of his final exit from the station
yard she was almost entitled to look on him now in the light of a
friend.
The departure of John left a bare six minutes or so for the
all-important matter to be transacted, always providing that the train
was punctual. Happily the porter was very reassuring on this point.
According to his estimate the 2:10 Up was bound to be anything from
twenty to forty minutes late. Moreover, if he was betting on it he
would back the second figure rather than the first. So far, so good.
However, there was a dramatic surprise in store for George Norris.
Indeed, there was a series of surprises. And they began almost at the
moment John. Small and his chariot left the station yard.
“Please label this,” George directed the attention of the porter to
the tin trunk. “Waterloo or Paddington?” he inquired of its owner.
Then came surprise the First.
“I think it had better be put in the cloak room,” said Miss Cass. “And
these, I think, had better go with it.” She indicated the pilgrim
basket and another miscellaneous article ranged beside it. “I am not
going by this train,” she added quite casually.
The heart of George Norris gave a leap.
“So much the better.” And the young man spoke with the simplicity which
made him so attractive.
With quite a sense of relief he saw the luggage of Miss Cass stowed
away in the cloak room. And then, like a man of will who has just been
confirmed in a great decision, he addressed that lady. “I don’t know
what your plans are,” he said, “but if I may, I would like to have a
little talk with you.”
The only answer of Miss Cass was a smile. But she made no difficulties
about having a talk with General Norris. As intending passengers were
now rapidly assembling for the Up train, they crossed the bridge to
the deserted Down platform. No one else was there. They took one brief
turn and then sat down on a wooden bench thoughtfully provided by the
railway company.
This the hour and this the opportunity. There was no beating about the
bush. George knew his own mind and proceeded to ensue it. “Ethel,” he
said, taking one small gloved hand in his own, “will you marry me?”
It was by no means an easy fence to tackle, but George’s methods were
decidedly workmanlike. “There’s only my pay, but I’ve just been offered
a good billet in East Africa. The climate is first rate, there’s any
amount of things to do and one can live at much less cost than one does
here. Of course, there’s no saying exactly how it will pan out, but
anyhow, will you chance it?”
It took Miss Cass but a very short time to express her willingness “to
chance it.” She too, it seemed, had the valuable faculty of knowing her
own mind. Not in anywise immodestly did she rush upon her fate; she was
able to display the conventional diffidence of one fully acquainted
with the rules of the game, but it was not difficult to set the doubts
of George Norris at rest. From the moment he had climbed into the back
of the cart she had known that he was hers.
En route to the station there had been an opportunity to weigh the pros
and the cons of the matter in her cool and sagacious mind. All the
same, it was not coolness nor was it sagacity that had carried the day
with her. She liked this young man because she liked him. He was the
new, highly efficient type the war had evolved. She knew nothing about
him, but instinctively she would trust this man as she would trust few
men when it came to a tight place. And there was an air of romance
about him.
It was an act of foolhardiness, no doubt, for a girl of position, but
she had been made reckless by recent events. Besides, she was “out” for
freedom. She had had one brief taste of it, and making due allowance
for its drawbacks, her appetite was keen for more. Irksome the
experiences of the last ten days had certainly been, yet she was quite
determined now to do as she chose with her own life. She asked nothing
highfalutin’ nor did she look for it, but she meant, if possible, to
escape altogether from the stuffy circle of Castle Carabbas with its
hierarchical connections and its feudal ideas. Now was the moment for
those autocratic people, her father and mother, to learn once for all
the limit of their power.
As there was no one else on the Down platform, they were able to seal
the compact in the fashion ordained by nature and custom. “But, do you
know,” the young man confessed even at this delicious moment, “if you
hadn’t been so much up against it I mightn’t have had the pluck to ask
you.”
Such naïveté delighted her. Also, it was very intriguing.
“But why not?” she archly inquired. “I’m only a friendless governess,
am I not, with food and house-room provided and a wage of thirty pounds
a year?”
“Yes, you are down on your luck,” he frankly admitted. “But I don’t
mind betting a shilling that you haven’t been so always. Now tell me
honestly, haven’t you once been Top Dog?”
She didn’t try to conceal her amusement even if she masked a proper
feminine curiosity. “I don’t know why you should think so,” she said
with the smile provocative which yet was a counterfeit of complete
indifference.
“There’s something about you”--his naïveté was charming--“that is
always giving you away. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was
your first situation.”
“But didn’t you say the other day”--she would have been less than her
sex had she not enjoyed drawing him out--“that you thought I had been
abroad in the service of foreign royalties?”
“I’ve had all sorts of theories about you,” he confessed. “But it won’t
surprise me at all if none of them meets the case.”
She archly expressed relief, the light of humor in her eye. He was
enchanted by the look of her and yet he was a little anxious too. At
the back of his mind there was a subtle feeling that “he was having his
leg pulled.” The feeling had always been there, even from the first
moment he had talked with her. Somehow she was immensely mature for her
years. She appeared to have so much in hand. And a word here and there,
an odd phrase, a chance inflection of voice, even her way of looking at
people and her manner of entering a room were continually giving her
away.
Besides, he had seen from the first that the other ladies of the
household had regarded her as a natural enemy. Perhaps it was the
sense of their injustice that had first drawn him to her. But from
day to day he had increasingly admired the bold and implacable skill
with which she had carried the war into the country of her foes. She
mightn’t have one shilling to rub against another, this mysterious
little lady, but she had rare courage, great will power and infinite
resources of her own.
All the same, sitting delightfully close to her on a seat of the
deserted Down platform and the great deed done, even at this exquisite
moment he was not absolutely sure that she was not laughing at him.
And in spite of the elation within this feeling grew upon him as they
talked. Somehow, he was less certain of the prize he had won than a
victorious suitor should have been. And he had not to look far for
reasons.
The 2:10 Up was duly signalled, a full twenty minutes late. Presently
it drew up with a prodigious rattle at the platform opposite.
“I suppose you are going up by the next,” said George. “But it’s not
so good as this one, you know. It doesn’t start till something past
five and it won’t get there until a good bit past one in the morning. I
know, because I’ve traveled by it for my sins.”
Ethel--already he had permission to call her Ethel because somehow
Girlie didn’t suit her at all!--rejoined that no matter what her sins
might be it was not necessary for her to travel to town by the 5:40.
“What, you are staying the night here in Clavering!” His tone was a
complex not unpleasing of hope, fear, surprise, bewilderment.
“Ye-es, in the neighborhood, I think, unless I suddenly change my
plans.”
“With your mother’s friends, the Lancelots, I suppose?” He couldn’t
help laughing as he recalled the audaciously comic turn she had given
to the topic of the Lancelots at the family luncheon.
“I’m sure they’ll put me up for a night if I ask them,” she said
demurely.
“Oh, I’m sure they will. They’ll be delighted.” But even now he didn’t
really know if he was justified in taking her friendship with the
Lancelots seriously.
She was a mystery, that was the truth of the matter. And her answer to
his next question provided ample confirmation of the fact.
The question itself was a simple one. What were her immediate plans?
In his rôle of accepted suitor he felt it incumbent upon him to ask.
Had she relations in the district? If she had, might he accompany her
forthwith and be presented to them.
Her reply was brief but it was surprising. “Oh, yes, do come with me by
all means--to Clavering Park.”
“To Clavering Park!”
“Yes--to meet my father.”
To meet her father! The gaze he fixed upon her was blankly
incredulous. But in the fragment of time necessary for a survey of
her expressive countenance the fable of the dead solicitor’s daughter
collapsed completely and for ever.