Mrs. MacGill is not the kind of person you'd associate with
danger,--being an armchair-and-feather-bed sort of character,--yet, by
Jingo, the old girl has had a narrow squeak to-day. She and Miss
Virginia went out for a walk together, the companion being invisible
with the usual headache. I thought I would follow them a little way.
Mrs. MacGill is an interfering old person, and I have noticed of late
that she scents a flirtation between the fair American and me. Whether
there is a flirtation or not, I don't know (_I_ am not learned in such
things); but if there were, she is not the person to stop it, nor any
other old cat on earth. She has merely succeeded--I wish she knew--in
putting it into my head that American girls are apt to be exceedingly
attractive as well as eligible in the matrimonial market. I should
think Miss Virginia was as eligible as any of them, and better looking
than most.
I kept the pair in sight, and it was lucky that I did. A tremendous
explosion from a quarry where some men are blasting made me stop
short, and as to the old girl in front, she leaped about a foot into
the air, and I could hear Miss Virginia laugh and say something funny
about ankles and white stockings. Just then a most extraordinary noise
began at the top of the lane, a pounding of hoofs and grinding of
gravel and flying of stones; and in another minute, round the corner
of this lane, which was of the narrowest sort and nearly roofed in
with trees and banks, as these beastly Devonshire lanes always are,
came a herd of moor ponies--about twenty or thirty of them--squeaking
and biting and kicking, in a regular stampede. The report of the
blasting had startled them, I don't doubt, and part terror, part
vice, made them kick up a shindy and set off at full gallop. There
wasn't a moment to lose. I ran for the women, with a shout, thinking
only of the young one, of course. But when I saw the two together,
there wasn't a question of which I must help. Miss Virginia had legs
of her own; if Mrs. MacGill had any, they were past helping her now.
There was a sort of hurdle to the right; I managed to jam the old
woman against it and shout to the girl, 'Shin up that bank! Look
alive!' while I stood in front, waving my arms and carrying on like a
madman to frighten the ponies. They bore down on us in a swelter of
dust; but just when they were within about a yard of our position they
swerved to the left, stopped half a second, looking at us out of the
corners of their eyes, snuffed the air, snorted, gave a squeal or two
more, and galloped off down the lane. It was a pretty narrow
shave,--nothing, of course, if the women hadn't been there. Miss
Virginia and I shook hands over it, and between us we got the old lady
back to the hotel, nearly melted with fright.
That night after dinner I was smoking on the verandah in front of the
hotel. I heard Miss Virginia singing as she crossed the hall, and
looked in.
'It's rather a jolly night, Miss Pomeroy,' I said, 'not at all cold.'
'Isn't it?' she asked, and came to the door.
'There's a comfortable seat here,' I added, 'and the verandah keeps
off the wind from the moor.'
She came out. It was quite dark, for the sky was cloudy and there was
no moon, but there was a splash of light where we sat, from the hall
window, so that I could see Miss Virginia and she could see me. She
was dressed in a very pretty frock, all pink and white, and I have
certainly now come round to the artist's opinion that she is an
uncommonly pretty girl; not that I care for pretty girls,--of course
they are the worst kind, and I have always avoided them so far.
'Well,' said Miss Virginia, 'you've done a fairly good day's work, I
should think, and can go to bed with an easy conscience and sleep the
sleep of the just!'
'Why, particularly?' I inquired bashfully.
'Why?' cried Miss Virginia. 'Haven't you rescued Age and Scotland from
a cruel death? I suppose it didn't matter to you what became of Youth
and America. But I forgive you, you managed the other so well.'
I couldn't help laughing and getting rather red, and Miss Virginia
gave me a wicked look out of her black eyes.
'Why, Miss Pomeroy,' I said in a confused way, 'don't you see how it
was? I argued to myself you had your own legs to save yourself on,
while'--
But here Miss Virginia jumped up with a little scream.
'We don't talk about legs that way, where I come from!' she said, but
I saw she was not really shocked, only laughing, with the rum little
dimples coming out in her cheeks.
'Won't you shake hands again,' I suggested, 'to show you have quite
forgiven me?'
Miss Virginia's hand was in mine, I was holding it, when who should
come to the door and look out but Mrs. MacGill.
'I think it is very cold and damp for you to be out at this hour, Miss
Pomeroy,' she remarked pointedly.
'Well, I suppose it is, Mrs. MacGill,' said Miss Virginia, as cool as
you please, lifting up the long tail of her dress and making a little
face at me over her shoulder.
Mrs. MacGill gave a loud sniff and never budged till Miss Virginia was
safely inside. The old harridan--I'll teach her a lesson if she
doesn't mend her manners!