GOSSIP AND DIPLOMACY.
THE DISCOURAGED SUITOR.--WILL KATHLEEN STUDY DUTCH?--AN INTERESTING
COACH.--THE DIPLOMATIC EPISTLE.--THE BRINK OF A ROMANCE.--WELL EARNED
REPOSE.
The strain was over; and the little lad slumbered peacefully,--until
dawn, as it proved. We got the mother gradually quieted, and at last
induced to go off to bed, leaving Kathleen in charge for the night.
About half-past-one, Terence and I, growing hungry, extemporised a sort
of pic-nic in the kitchen; but Kathleen wouldn't touch anything we
brought her.
It was then I began to notice how grave she was, and silent.
But I must say, nobody could be more devoted than she was to the
youthful invalid.
He awoke rather early after his timely sleep, but much calmer. And--a
good sign--he had a healthy 'trek', which we were gratified to see in
operation upon 'beschuit' and 'melk', before his mother arrived to
resume the reins of authority.
As we escorted Kathleen to her hotel in the cool of the morning, we
found her singularly irresponsive, not to say depressed; and I somehow
got wind of the fact that van Leeuwen, who had motored up to the Hague,
on hearing of her father's accident, had been prowling about the Vieux
Doelen ever since. He had visited Dr. MacNamara almost every day; but
Kathleen had kept studiously aloof.
"I know he likes father," she said, "and I'm glad he came so often to
see him. Not very interesting, otherwise! In any case he has suddenly
vanished into space!"
The evening before, when she was on her way to my landlady's to watch by
the sick boy, van Leeuwen had met her right in front of the Mauritshuis.
But she had treated him with such stately indifference, and greeted his
remarks with such frigid courtesy, that the good-natured fellow was
really hurt. He had in fact returned the same evening to Arnhem.
Kathleen said she was very glad, except for her father's sake. But she
didn't give one the impression of being enthusiastic about it, and I
drew my own conclusions.
On reaching the Doelen, we found a hasty scrawl from the very man we
had been talking of--van Leeuwen--inviting Terence and myself to a
cycling tour in his neighbourhood.
"Well, then, I'll go next Friday," Terence broke out; "at least, if
you're ready then, Jack. We'll have a grand time. Dad is all right now;
and that funny little kid is on the mend. So we can go with a clear
conscience. Say, yes."
"Ah, that's like you boys", said Kathleen banteringly, but without the
ghost of a smile, "to go cycling about, enjoying yourselves, no matter
what happens to others! I'm still anxious about that child. And I do
wish I understood him better when he talks."
"As for that", I interrupted, "I'll give you the key to it, in an
instant. Jan's reminiscences are all about my Dutch. Well, I'll lend
you my diary, and the most entertaining Grammar in Holland. Besides,
I've written a monograph on obvious blunders, English into Dutch. Read
these, now, when you're tending this convalescent boy-hero of yours.
He'll understand them, I'll be bound; and it'll shake him up, and do
you a world of good yourself."
"What a silly cousin, to be sure!" she replied. "You forget, sir, I
need some one to explain all your double-Dutch. Get me a 'coach' now,
a competent one, who knows everything, and I'll give your booklet a
trial."
"Done!" I said, as we parted.
And I held her to it. My diary kept her amused for a couple of days, as
she watched in the sick-room. It roused her out of her depression, and
she got into the way of reading things to Jan as he recovered.
She couldn't remain quite smileless; but grew interested enough in
Dutch to demand my monograph and--above all--the Grammar!
"You shall have them both," I assured her,--"the booklet on the spot;
and the Grammar, when I get as far as Arnhem and don't need to use it
for a while."
"Couldn't I have it sooner? I'm dying with curiosity to see that awful
book. Or, when you are there, and any of your friends are coming to the
Hague, just send it with them."
"Yes. There's a 'coach' coming up in a day or two. I'll send it along."
I fancied her eyes gave a bit of a flicker. But she was meek and
friendly: so I knew it was all right. She hadn't asked what kind of
coach. But she's intelligent.
That very instant I went home and wrote van Leeuwen that we--Terence
and I--were starting next day, by train, for Arnhem, whence we should
have a run through Gelderland.
There was no note-paper in the house, but I couldn't wait. So I a
penned what I had to say on a series of visiting cards,--numbering
them: 1, 2, 3 up to 10, and enclosing them in a portly yellow envelope.
It was the only thing I had. I was pleased to notice its impressive
aspect, as that would prevent its getting lost readily.
For I attached much importance to that communication.
In it I prepared van Leeuwen's mind, indirectly and circuitously, for
apprehending the idea that Miss MacNamara was now deeply interested in
Dutch; and was studying it to help her in nursing that sick boy. Also
that, as she had grown much too sombre of late with the responsibilities
she had assumed, we were trying to brighten her up. When the lad was
quite well, we should all do the Friesland meres, before we returned
to Kilkenny. But not for a while yet.
And so on. I hinted as distantly as I could, that he had motored back to
Arnhem a trifle too soon. We were _all_ sorry he had left so suddenly.
Even yet, if he would leave his camera at home--the one with the loud
click--and if he wouldn't be too exclusively immersed in Celtic
manuscripts, and avoided arguing about the Suffragettes, when he did
meet with the MacNamara family, there was no reason to suppose that his
offences were beyond pardon. All this in shadowy outline--for fear he
would motor up like a Fury, and either break his neck on the way, or
spoil everything by premature action.
I made the haze quite thick, here and there, on the visiting
cards--their form lent itself to obscurity--and I told him I should
see him without fail within twenty-four hours.
"I might have to ask a favour at his hands about a grammar.
Terence was well: the Doctor was well, went to Leyden daily to the
Library. We expected to reach Velperweg toward midday. Don't be out."
I posted the yellow missive with my own hands, and reckoned out by the
'bus-lichting' plate, that it would be collected that night.
"Tour or no tour, to-morrow," I said to myself, heaving a sigh of
relief, after my race to the pillar-box; "We're on the brink of a
romance, if the protagonists only knew it. A little bad Dutch now seems
all that is required. And we can rely on Boyton."
Queer, when you think of it, that you sometimes hold people's destinies
in the hollow of your hand!
However, I didn't philosophise much, but got to sleep as soon as ever I
could,--content as from a good day's work.