If a policeman's 'lot is not a happy one,' neither is a companion's: I
lay this down as an axiom. I have lived now for two years with Mrs.
MacGill, and know her every frailty of character only too well. She
has not a bad temper; but oh! she is a terrible, terrible bore! Not
content with being stupid herself, she desires to make me stupid along
with her, and has well-nigh succeeded, for life with her in furnished
apartments at Tunbridge Wells would dull a more brilliant woman than I
have ever been.
Mrs. MacGill has lately had the influenza; it came almost as a
providential sending, for it meant change of air. We were ordered to
Dartmoor, and to Dartmoor we have come. Now I have become interested
in three new people; and that, after the life I have lived of late in
Mrs. MacGill's sickroom, is like a draught of nectar to my tired
fancy. We met these three persons for the first time in the train, and
at the hotel at Exeter where we stopped for the night; or rather, I
should say that we met two of them and sighted the third. The two were
a mother and her daughter, Mrs. Pomeroy and Virginia Pomeroy by name,
and Americans by nation; the third person was a young man, Sir
Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie, of Kindarroch, N.B. The Americans were
extremely friendly, after the manner of their nation; the young man
extremely unfriendly, after the manner of his. We found that the
Pomeroys were coming on to this inn, but the Scotchman whizzed off in
his motor car, giving us no hint of where he intended to go. I thought
we had seen the last of him, but it was to be otherwise.
The morning after our arrival at the Grey Tor Inn Mrs. MacGill assumed
a Shetland shawl, closed the window of the sitting-room, and sat down
to do a bit of knitting. I sat by the window answering her little
vapid remarks and looking out. As I sat thus, I heard a puffing noise
and saw a scarlet motor steam up to the door of the inn. It was, of
course, Sir Archibald.
'What is that noise, Cecilia?' asked Mrs. MacGill.
'It's a motor car,' I replied.
'Oh, how curious! I never can understand how they are worked,' said
she.
I was beginning to try to explain some of the mysteries of motoring
when the door of the sitting-room opened, and Miss Virginia Pomeroy
came in. Her appearance was a delight to the eyes; tall and full
grown, yet graceful, and dressed to perfection. She had none of that
meek look that even the prettiest English girls are getting nowadays,
as if they would say, 'I'm pretty, but I know I'm a drug in the
market, though I can't help it!' No, no, Virginia Pomeroy came into
the room with an air of possession, mastery, conquest, that no English
girl can assume. She walked straight up to the window and threw it
open. 'How perfectly lovely!' she exclaimed. 'Why, there's a motor; I
must have a ride in it before very long.' She turned pleasantly to me
as she spoke, and asked me if I didn't adore motoring.
'I've never tried,' I said.
'Well, the sooner you begin the better,' she said. 'Never miss a joy
in a world of trouble; that's my theory.'
I smiled, but if she had known it, I more nearly cried at her words;
she didn't know how many joys _I_ had missed in life!
'I'll go right downstairs and make love to the chauffeur,' she went
on, and at this Mrs. MacGill coughed, moved the fire-irons, and told
me to close the window. Miss Pomeroy turned to her with a laugh.
'Why!' she said, 'are you two going to sit in this hotel parlour all
the morning? You won't have much of a time if you do!'
'I have had the influenza, like Mrs. Pomeroy,' announced Mrs. MacGill
solemnly, 'but if Miss Evesham wishes some fresh air she can go out at
any time. I'm sure I never object to anything that you choose to do,
Cecilia, do I?'
I hastened to assure her that she did not, while the American girl
stood looking from one of us to the other with her bright, clever
eyes.
'Suppose you come down to the hall door with me then, Miss Evesham,'
Miss Pomeroy suggested, 'and we'll taste the air.'
'Shall I, Mrs. MacGill?' I asked, for a companion must always ask
leave even to breathe. Mrs. MacGill answered petulantly that of course
I might do as I liked.
The motor stood alone and unattended by the front door, both owner and
chauffeur having deserted it. It rested there like a redhot panting
monster fatigued by climbing the long hill that leads up to Grey Tor
Inn.
'Isn't it out of breath?' cried Virginia. 'I want to pat it and give
it a drink of water.' The next minute she skipped into the car and
laid her white hand on the steering-wheel.
'Oh, don't! Do take care!' I cried. The thing may run away with you or
burst, or something, and the owner may come out at any moment--it
belongs to that young man who was at Exeter, Sir Archibald Maxwell
Mackenzie.'
'I should like it very much if he did come out,' said Virginia,
looking over her shoulder at me with the most bewitching ogle I ever
saw, and I soon saw that she intended to conquer Sir Archibald as she
had conquered many another man, and meant to drive all over Dartmoor
in his motor. Well, youth and high spirits are two good things. Let
her do what she likes with the young man, so long as she enjoys
herself; they will both be old soon enough!