GREY TOR INN,
_Thursday_
I have had a miserable thirty-six hours. Mrs. MacGill has been ill
again--or has believed that she is ill again. I do not think there is
much wrong with her, but the over-sympathetic Mrs. Pomeroy went on
describing symptoms to her till she became quite nervous and went to
bed, demanding that a doctor be sent for. This was no easy matter, but
at last a callow medical fledgling was dug out somewhere, who was
ready to agree with all I said to him.
'Suggest fresh air and exercise to Mrs. MacGill,' I said, 'for she
considers the one poisonous, the other almost a crime, and knitting
the only legitimate form of amusement.'
So he recommended air and exercise--driving exercise by preference.
'I used to like the donkey-chairs at Tunbridge Wells,' Mrs. MacGill
responded, 'but horses go so rapidly.'
However, after the doctor had gone she began to consider his advice.
'Shall I go to the stables and arrange for you to have a drive this
afternoon?' I asked.
She demurred, for she never can make up her mind about anything.
'I can't decide just now,' she hesitated. 'I'll think it over.'
I took up the guide-book, and was allowed to read its thrilling pages
for some ten minutes. Then Mrs. MacGill called me again.
'Perhaps if you go and select a _very_ quiet horse we might have a
drive in the afternoon,' she said.
I went and saw the horse, and arranged for the drive, then returned to
tell Mrs. MacGill of the arrangement. She was not pleased. Had I said
that _perhaps_ we would drive out at three o'clock, it would have been
more to her mind.
'Go back and tell the man that perhaps we'll go,' she said.
'But perhaps some one else will take out the horse, in that case,' I
suggested, cross and weary with her fidgeting. All the rest of the
forenoon was one long vacillation: she would go, or she would not go;
it would rain, or it would not rain; she would countermand the
carriage or she would order it. But by three o'clock the sun was
shining, so I got her bonneted and cloaked and led her down to the
hall. The motor had come round at the same moment with our carriage.
Its owner was looking it over before he made a start, and I was not
surprised to see that Miss Virginia Pomeroy was also at the door, and
that she showed great interest in the tires of the motor. Had I been
that young man I must have asked her to drive with me there and then,
she looked so delightful; but he is rather a phlegmatic creature,
surely, for he didn't seem to think of it. Just as we were preparing
to step into the carriage, the motor gave out a great puff of steam,
and the horse in our vehicle sprang up in the shafts and took a shy to
one side. It was easily quieted down, but of course the incident was
more than enough for Mrs. MacGill.
'Take it away,' she said to the driver. 'I won't endanger my life with
such an animal--brown horses are always wild, and so are black ones.'
It was vain for me to argue; she just turned away and walked upstairs
again, I following to take off her bonnet and cloak, and supply her
again with her knitting. So there was an end of the carriage exercise,
it seemed.
But there's a curious boring pertinacity in the creature, for after we
had sat in silence for about ten minutes she remarked:--
'Cecilia, the doctor _said_ I was to have carriage exercise--Don't you
think I could get a donkey-chair?'
'No,' I replied quite curtly. 'Donkey-chairs do not grow on Dartmoor.'
She never saw that I was provoked, and perhaps it was just as well.
'No,' she said after a pause for reflection. 'No, I dare say they do
not, but don't you think if you walked to Stoke Babbage you might be
able to get one for me?'
'I might be able to get a pony chaise and a quiet pony,' I answered,
scenting the possibility of a five-mile walk that would give me an
hour or two of peace.
'Well, will you go and try if you can get one?' she asked.
'If you don't mind being left alone for a few hours, I'll do what I
can,' I said. She was beginning to object, when Virginia appeared,
leading in her mother.
'Here's my mother come to keep you company, Mrs. MacGill,' she
explained. 'She wishes to hear all about your chill, from the first
shiver right on to the last cough.' She placed Mrs. Pomeroy in an
armchair, and fairly drove me out of the room before her, pushing me
with both hands.
'Come! Run! Fly! Escape!' she cried. 'You are as white as butter with
waiting on that woman's fads. I won't let you come in again under
three hours. My mother's symptoms are good to last for two and a half
hours, and then Mrs. MacGill can fill up the rest of the time with
hers.'
Gaiety like Virginia's is infectious. I ran, yes, really ran
downstairs along with her, quite forgetting my headache and weariness.
I almost turned traitor to Mrs. MacGill, and was ready to laugh at her
with this girl.
'She wants a pony chaise, and I'm to go down to Stoke Babbage to
choose it,' I said.
'Why, that's five miles away, isn't it?' she asked. 'You're not half
equal to a walk like that.'
'Anything--anything for a respite from Mrs. MacGill!' I cried.
'Well, if you are fit for it, I reckon I am,' Virginia said, and with
that we set off together down the road....