/Miss Margaret Belman/ decided to take a holiday in the only pleasure
resort that seemed worth while or endurable. She conveyed this
intention to Mr. Reeder by letter.
“There are only two places in the world where I can feel happy and
safe,” she said. “One place is London and the other New York, where a
policeman is to be found at every corner, and all the amusements of a
country life are to be had in an intensified form. So, if you please,
can you spare the time to come with me to the theatres I have written
down on the back of this sheet, to the National Gallery, the British
Museum, the Tower of London (no, on consideration I do not think I
should like to include the Tower of London: it is too mediaeval and
ghostly), to Kensington Gardens and similar centres of hectic gaiety.
Seriously, dear J. G. (the familiarity will make you wince, but I have
cast all shame outside), I want to be one of a large, sane mass--I am
tired of being an isolated, hysterical woman.”
There was much more in the same strain. Mr. Reeder took his engagement
book and ran a blue pencil through all his appointments before he
wrote, with some labour, a letter which, because of its caution and
its somewhat pompous terminology, sent Margaret Belman into fits of
silent laughter.
She had not mentioned Richmond Park, and with good reason, one might
suppose, for Richmond Park in the late autumn, when chilly winds
abound, and the deer have gone into winter quarters--if deer ever go
into winter quarters--is picturesque without being comfortable, and
only a pleasure to the aesthetic eyes of those whose bodies are
suitably clothed in woollen underwear.
Yet, one drab, grey afternoon, Mr. Reeder chartered a taxicab, sat
solemnly by the side of Miss Margaret Belman as the cab bumped and
jerked down Clarence Lane, possibly the worst road in England, before
it turned through the iron gates of the park.
They came at last to a stretch of grass land and bush, a place in
early summer of flowering rhododendrons, and here Mr. Reeder stopped
the cab and they both descended and walked aimlessly through a little
wood. The ground sloped down to a little carpeted hollow. Mr. Reeder,
with a glance of suspicion and some reference to rheumatism, seated
himself by Miss Belman’s side.
“But why Richmond Park?” asked Margaret.
Mr. Reeder coughed.
“I have--um--a romantic interest in Richmond Park,” he said. “I
remember the first arrest I ever made----”
“Don’t be gruesome,” she warned him. “There’s nothing romantic about
an arrest. Talk of something pretty.”
“Let us then talk of you,” said Mr. Reeder daringly; “and it is
exactly because I want to talk of you, my dear Miss--um--Margaret…
Margaret, that I have asked you to come here.”
He took her hand with great gentleness as though he were handling a
rare _objet d’art_, and played with her fingers awkwardly.
“The truth is, my dear----”
“Don’t say ‘Miss,’” she begged.
“My dear Margaret”--this with an effort--“I have decided that life is
too--um--short to delay any longer a step which I have very carefully
considered--in fact”--here he floundered hopelessly into a succession
of “ums” which were only relieved by occasional “ers.”
He tried again.
“A man of my age and peculiar temperament should perhaps be
considering matters more serious--in fact, you may consider it very
absurd of me, but the truth is----”
Whatever the truth was could not be easily translated into words.
“The truth is,” she said quietly, “that you think you’re in love with
somebody?”
First Mr. Reeder nodded, then he shook his head with equal vigour.
“I don’t think--it has gone beyond the stage of hypothesis. I am no
longer young--I am in fact a confirmed--no, not a confirmed,
but--er----”
“You’re a confirmed bachelor,” she helped him out.
“Not confirmed,” he insisted firmly.
She half turned and faced him, her hands on his shoulders, looking
into his eyes.
“My dear,” she said, “you think of being married, and you want
somebody to marry you. But you feel that you are too old to blight her
young life.”
He nodded dumbly.
“Is it my young life, my dear? Because, if it is----”
“It is.” J. G. Reeder’s voice was very husky.
“Please blight,” said Margaret Belman.
And for the first time in his life Mr. J. G. Reeder, who had had so
many experiences, mainly unpleasant, felt the soft lips of a woman
against his.
“Dear me!” said Mr. Reeder breathlessly, a few seconds later. “That
was rather nice.”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The Doubleday, Doran, & Co. (1929, New York) was consulted for some
of the changes listed below.
Minor spelling inconsistencies (_e.g._ frock-coat/frock coat,
search-party/search party, etc.) have been preserved.
Some differences between this and the Doubleday edition:
[Chapter V]
(He had conveyed this information at least four times, but Mr. Ravini
was one of those curious people who like to treat old facts as new
sensations.) for _Ravini_ read _Lew Steyne_.
[Chapter VIII]
(“Let up!” gasped Sweizer in Italian. “You’re choking me, Reeder.”)
for _Italian_ read _French_.
(He was less amused when he was charged with smashing the Bank of
Lens) for _Lens_ read _Lena_.
[Chapter XIII]
(“Who are you talking about?” demanded Simpson…) for _Who_ read
_Whom_.
[Chapter XVIII]
(“It’s strange I didn’t see this ladder when I saw the well before,”
he said, and then remembered that he had only opened one half of the
flap.) for _flap_ read _trap_.
Alterations to the text:
Add ToC.
Merge disjointed contractions.
[Chapter I]
Change “A gentle wind carried the fragrance of the _pinks_ to her” to
_pines_.
Change (“I think-) to (“I think----”).
[Chapter V]
“five minutes later he was on the Southern _express_” to _Express_.
[Chapter VIII]
(“Know who I am--I’ll bet you do! Thought you’d got rid of me, didn’t
you?) add question mark after _am_.
“and gazed at them for a long _itme_” to _time_.
[Chapter XI]
(“Only two? You’ve never met me before?”) change question mark to an
exclamation mark.
(“Deduct from the velocity… and tell me how deep this hole is?”)
change the question mark to a period.
[Chapter XVII]
“The stockings that _he_ had knotted about her waist were still wet”
to _she_.
[Chapter XVIII]
“to realise that he _way_ lying half buried in a heap of debris” to
_was_.
[Chapter XIX]
(“They are letters… in the big flat box that is locked”) add comma
after _big_.
[End of text]