Soon after lunch on that day Florence went out alone to execute some
small commissions for Mrs Fortescue. She was wearing a sealskin cap
and very _chic_ little sealskin jacket. No one could look nicer than
she did in her pretty and expensive dress, and nothing could become her
radiant complexion and those changeful eyes of hers better than the
sealskin cap, which revealed beneath its narrow brim just a touch of
that bright chestnut hair which Lieutenant Reid thought of by day and
dreamed of by night. It was only last night that he dreamed he was
touching that hair and even kissing it and calling it his own. Now it
was a queer dream, for his locks were harsh and, of course, very short,
and although he had thick hair, it was not exactly beautiful. He could
only have called Florence's chestnut locks his own in one sense.
Somehow, as he lay in bed that morning and thought about the girl, he
imagined himself more than ever in love with her.
"I do care for her, quite independently of her money," he thought. "She
is the happiest, happiest girl on earth, and the most beautiful. I
always had a _penchant_ for her, but now I am in love with her."
In love. He smiled to himself at the thought. He had read a lot about
that passion which sometimes destroys a man's life, and sometimes
blesses it, but which, when it is strong and all-enduring, has a very
great effect either for good or for evil.
Lieutenant Reid, as he luxuriously stretched himself in bed, thought it
an agreeable feeling, and that those who talk about it exaggerate its
importance a good deal. Of course he had had his fancies before now.
He had liked to flirt like other men, but never, never before had he
thought of any one as he thought of Florence. She was all that his
fancy could desire--
A creature not too bright and good For human nature's daily food.
For daily pleasures, simple wiles.
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.
He was quite delighted with himself for remembering Wordsworth's ideal
of the perfect woman, and said to himself that he must really be in
love. He showed symptoms of the complaint that morning by not taking
quite such a large breakfast as usual, and also by being strangely
silent while Major Reid chatted on the invariable subjects which now
interested him--those local matters which he as a magistrate of the
peace was engaged in, viz the poachers in the neighbourhood, the state
of the autumn crops, the distress amongst the poor, his own extremely
light purse.
His remarks with regard to his purse did rouse Michael Reid's attention.
There was not the slightest doubt that he would have to speak to his
father about that five hundred pounds which he owed. It must be met
somehow, and that before very long. He owed it to one man in
particular, a money-lender, who had no pity and no idea of allowing the
debt to lie over beyond the day when it was due. Exactly five hundred
pounds would be expected to be paid to him in a month's time, therefore
before that date he must be properly engaged to his darling Florence.
He would then be absolutely a free man. Five hundred pounds was such a
trifle. No young man in his position could exist in the Army without
getting into debt. Florence need never know about it. His father would
pay it gladly when once he knew that his son was securing over a
thousand a year. Florence's income would probably be fifteen hundred a
year at the least. If that was the case, he would pay his father back
with interest during the first year of their marriage; and she, his
darling Florence, need know nothing at all about it. It was not likely
that a sharp old card, as he designated Mr Timmins, would allow
Lieutenant Reid the full control of Florence's fortune. But her
income--dear innocent child!--she would only too gladly put it into his
hands to use as he thought best. Her tastes, sweet girl, were quite
simple. No; he must not lose his chance--not that there was any special
hurry, but still, before she went to London he must secure her. He was
thinking of her, therefore, of her fortune, of that dreadful debt which
was still, however, quite a month off as he walked down the High Street
and suddenly met the pretty, radiant creature in her becoming sealskin
cap and jacket, and muff to match.
She was all in brown to-day, for her dress was made of some brown stuff
too, and her boots were brown, and very small and pretty. He liked a
woman to have pretty feet, and beyond doubt Florence had. Altogether,
she was, as he expressed it, admirably turned out. She was a charming
young creature. His heart beat with the intoxication of first love as
he drew close to her side. He took off his hat and came up to her
eagerly.
"This is luck!" he said.
She coloured. She was really interested in him. A man who could care
for a girl who was as poor as a church mouse must be worth something,
and she had never before in her young experience met any young man--that
is, on terms of equality. Major Reid's son had been indifferent to her
as a boy, but as a man he was quite agreeable and--yes--very
good-looking. So she, too, stopped, and expressed pleasure in her
dancing brown eyes (yes, they were brown to-day; he thought, after all,
he liked them when they were brown best) and said--
"I am glad I have met you. Are you going anywhere in particular?"
"I am going wherever you are going," he said, taking his cigarette from
his mouth and throwing it away.
She laughed in a very soft and musical way. "If you go with me," she
said, "you will have a very dull time. I am only out to do some
shopping for Mrs Fortescue. She has given me a list of things to get
from James, the grocer, and also, I am to buy a duck for dinner at
Henderson's. You won't care to accompany me on these stupid
expeditions."
"Oh yes, I shall," he answered. "I will stay outside while you go in
and shop. I will be ever so patient. I know what a long time young
ladies take shopping. But it won't matter to me; that is, if you give
me my reward."
"What is that?" she asked, raising her dancing eyes, filing them on his
face, and then looking down again and colouring faintly; for his bold
black eyes had said something to hers which caused her heart to beat and
which she did not in the least understand.
"Well," he said, "my reward is this. The day is lovely. Why won't you
take a walk with me afterwards?"
"But I shall be late for lunch. Mrs Fortescue always has lunch ready
at one o'clock."
"Never mind: if you are out she and Brenda will lunch alone. Do come
with me, Florence, do. I want to talk to you so badly."
Florence remembered his speech about the church mouse. He did like her
for herself. Of course he must not be told yet. No thought of her
money had ever entered into his unworldly soul. He was nice. After
all, why should she not have a bit of fun? It was tiresome walking with
him in the presence of Susie Arbuthnot and Brenda. Why not walk with
him all alone?
"I will go with you," she said, "if you will give me lunch somewhere.
For when one o'clock comes, I shall be very hungry and will want
something to eat."
"Then I tell you what we'll do," said the gallant lieutenant in a
resolute tone, and thinking with great satisfaction that he had an
unbroken sovereign in his pocket. "I will take you as far as Johnson's,
by the river side; it is two miles from here, and we will have the very
choicest little lunch I can possibly order, and have a good time by
ourselves."
"But what will Mrs Fortescue think?" said Florence.
"You can send her a note, if you like. James would send it with the
groceries."
"So he would--so he would!" said Florence. "Very well: I will go with
you; it will be great fun!"
She skipped along by his side; it seemed impossible to her to walk like
other girls; she was always upheld by a sort of inward spring which made
her appear almost like a creature with wings. Her extreme youth and
childishness were made more than ever apparent by the way she walked.
They reached the shop. Florence gave orders with regard to the
groceries and scribbled a line to Brenda, telling her that she had met
Michael Reid, and was going for a walk with him and would be back before
dusk. The duck was also ordered for late dinner, and then the pair sped
away into the country as fast as their legs could carry them. Florence
said she liked to walk fast, and Michael agreed with her. He hated
girls who were not strong: he hated delicacy of any sort. Florence was
quite perfect. She had such magnificent health. He did not believe she
even had the faintest idea what it was to be tired. Florence, with a
smile, assured him that such was the case--she _did_ not know; she was
always well. Brenda, poor darling, sometimes had headaches, but she,
Florence, never had.
"It is a good thing that I am strong, isn't it?" she said with a laugh.
He replied in the affirmative.
By and by they reached Johnson's, an inn by the river side, much
frequented in the summer by all sorts and conditions of people, and in
the winter carrying on a fair trade by bicyclists.
On this special day, however, the inn parlour was empty and the young
pair had it to themselves. Reid felt more in love than ever as he
showed the _menu_ to Florence, and consulted with her over the special
dainties they were to have for lunch. She said she would like beefsteak
best and plenty of onions. She hoped he did not mind onions. He said
he adored them, and Florence laughed and showed her white teeth.
She really was an adorable girl; and her tastes were so simple. He
asked her what she would like to drink, and she said water. He ordered
water, therefore, for her and a bottle of Guinness' stout for himself.
While they were partaking of their lunch, Florence told him that she and
Brenda were going to London on the following day.
"We are going to see Mr Timmins," she said.
"Oh, your lawyer?" he remarked at once. "He is going to arrange with
you about your future?"
"Yes," she replied, very gravely; and she looked him full in the face.
He returned her glance.
"You are not going to stay in London, are you?"
"Oh no," she answered. "Oh no; we are both going up by the nine o'clock
train. We are travelling first-class."
"Why, of course," said Lieutenant Reid. "I only wish I might come with
you."
"Oh no," said Florence, "you must not do that. He does not even wish
poor Mrs Fortescue to come. He wants to see us quite alone."
"He is going to make arrangements about you; I quite understand," said
the lieutenant.
It was there and then he made up his mind. If he did not seize the
present opportunity, Florence, beautiful Florence would be snatched from
him. Some one else, perhaps some horrid City magnate with lots of
money, would come forward and win the darling girl. It could not, it
must not be.
They had finished their lunch and the lieutenant had paid for it,
gallantly giving a substantial tip to the red-elbowed girl who had
waited on them. They then left the cottage and went slowly along by the
river side.
The river was very full just now and made a babbling sound. The snow
and cold of Christmas had given place to milder weather. There was
quite a spring-like feel in the air, and the lieutenant felt more in
love than ever.
"Florence," he said suddenly, "do you remember what I said to you on
Christmas night?"
"You said a great many things to me then," she answered, somewhat
flippantly; "I cannot remember them all."
"But there was one very special thing, and I think I said it several
times."
"Oh, now I remember," she said colouring, and a different expression
came into her face. Her eyes grew large and dark and were turned upon
him with a certain solemnity, with a look as though she would read him
through.
"Tell me, tell me with your own lips what I said," was his answer. He
trembled as he spoke; he was feeling desperately in love.
"You said," answered Florence, "that you wished I was as poor as a
church mouse in order that you could show me what--what you would do for
me."
"And--and I repeat it now," he said.
He looked at her again. Her eyes filled with sudden tears.
"What is the matter, darling?" was his next remark. "Oh, Florence! I
love you with all my heart and soul. I love you for yourself--
absolutely and entirely. Say you will love me; do--do give me hope.
Don't throw yourself away on some worthless fellow. Give me a chance,
Florence."
Florence was a good deal startled. All girls have dreamt of their first
proposal, and when the proposal comes it is generally as unlike their
dreams as any one thing can be unlike another. But there was something
about this one, coming as it did at this special time, which touched the
girl inexpressibly.
"Will you give me," she said, "one month in which to consider the
matter?"
He thought of his debt, that debt which must be met in a month's time.
He could not keep his father in uncertainty until then.
"No," he said. "No; say now that you will marry me--now; promise me
now, my own little Florence. If you care for me the least bit now, you
will love me twice as well in a month's time."
"Give me a week then," she answered.
"I must think the matter over for a week--and say just once again to me
that you would like me to be as poor as a church mouse in order to show
me how much you care for me."
He was obliged to be satisfied with this, but he talked love to her all
the way home, and before they reached the village of Langdale he had
even kissed her once on her forehead. Oh yes; he was in love. All was
right.
"Remember, in one week I come to you for the fulfilment of your promise,
Florence," was his answer when at last they parted outside Mrs
Fortescue's door.