My words have taken effect; it is often disagreeable to have to give
unasked advice, but one should always do it. Sir Archibald has gone.
It is a pleasant thought that any simple words of mine may have been
the means of saving the young man from that designing person.
She conceals her disappointment as well as she can, and is doing her
best to look as if nothing had happened in one way or another; but I
can see below the surface of that new hat. She has taken her mother
off to Torquay for a few days. It is a large town seemingly, though I
have heard that there are no men there; but as the guide-book says the
population is twenty-five thousand, that is probably an exaggeration.
However, Miss Pomeroy won't stay long in Torquay in that case, but
will return to New York, where she would fain make us believe they are
as plentiful as in a harem. They cannot all be millionaires at least,
for she says that many American writers live on what they make by
their books.
Cecilia would like to stay on here, I think. She has been up to the
top of a quarry looking at gorse along with that so-called artist, Mr.
Willoughby.
Miss Pomeroy has infected her, I am afraid, and the bad example is
telling, even at that age.
* * * * *
We have had several nice quiet days here alone since the Pomeroys
left. There has scarcely been a sound in the hotel, except when the
wind pounces upon the window-frames in the sudden, annoying way that
it has here. Twice I have got up, to endeavour to fasten the window,
and each time have lost a toothbrush. It shakes my nerves completely
when the windows clatter suddenly through the night. Yesterday as we
sat in the dining-room I heard a crunching noise.
'Can that be another motor?' I exclaimed. 'I hope not. It is a class
of people I do not wish to associate with any further.'
'It is a motor,' called Cecilia, who sat next the window. 'A scarlet
motor, too.'
In another moment the door opened, and Sir Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie
came in.
'Dear me, Sir Archibald,' said I, 'what has brought you back again so
soon? You will have a nice quiet time here now, for we are the only
people in the hotel.'
He seemed strangely put out and unlike himself, and passed my chair
without even replying to my speech. I could see that he was thoroughly
unnerved, very much in the same state that I was when we came back
from that terrible drive. It is no wonder; motoring must tell on the
strongest nerves in time.
Later in the day Cecilia came in smiling. 'Sir Archibald has gone away
again,' she said. 'He has not made a long stay this time!'
'No,' I observed, 'that sort of nervous excitement grows on people. I
know myself that if I once begin to get excited over a bazaar, for
instance, I get off my sleep, and worn out in no time. I suppose he
has rushed off farther into the moor.'
'He has gone to Torquay,' remarked Cecilia, 'quite an easy run from
here.'
I was much annoyed. It seemed probable that he would meet Miss Pomeroy
again there, though possible that among twenty-five thousand women he
might fail to recognise her. I think Cecilia and I must take a day or
two at Torquay on our way home. It would soothe me after this mountain
air and the desolation of Grey Tor, and I could get some fresh bead
trimming for my velvet mantle, which has been much destroyed by all
that I have come through in this place. Our packing will be very
easily done. Poor Mr. MacGill used always to say, in his playful
manner, that he could stand anything except a woman's luggage, which
is the reason that I always try to travel with as little as possible.
So there will be only our two large boxes and the holdall and my black
bag and the split cane basket and the Holland umbrella-case, with two
straps of rugs and the small brown box, and the two hat-boxes, and a
basket with some food. Miss Pomeroy's boxes were like arks. I'm sure
if she succeeds in her design, I pity the man that has to take them
back to Scotland; they would never go in the motor. I think Greytoria
and the pony chaise will manage all our little things quite nicely.
She seems the quietest animal in the stables, so I must just trust
myself in it once more.
There goes Cecilia again, walking on the gravel at the door with that
Mr. Willoughby. We must certainly leave to-morrow morning.
One affair such as that of Miss Pomeroy and Sir Archibald is enough
for me to endure without being witness of another.
One would suppose common modesty would prevent a young gentleman and
lady from indulging in a love-affair whilst inhabiting an ordinary
country inn; but there is no limit to the boldness of these Americans.
I sometimes think it is a pity that they were discovered, for they
have been a bad example to more retiring and respectable nations.