It was breakfast time, but the gas was alight, owing to the fog. Mr.
Lucas was in the middle of an account of a bad night he had spent.
Ethel, who was to be married in a few weeks, had her arms on the table,
listening.
"First the door bell rang, then you came back from the theatre. Then the
dog started, and after the dog the cat. And at three in the morning a
young hooligan passed by singing. Oh yes: then there was the water
gurgling in the pipe above my head."
"I think that was only the bath water running away," said Ethel, looking
rather worn.
"Well, there's nothing I dislike more than running water. It's
perfectly impossible to sleep in the house. I shall give it up. I shall
give notice next quarter. I shall tell the landlord plainly, 'The reason
I am giving up the house is this: it is perfectly impossible to sleep in
it.' If he says--says--well, what has he got to say?"
"Some more toast, father?"
"Thank you, my dear." He took it, and there was an interval of peace.
But he soon recommenced. "I'm not going to submit to the practising next
door as tamely as they think. I wrote and told them so--didn't I?"
"Yes," said Ethel, who had taken care that the letter should not reach.
"I have seen the governess, and she has promised to arrange it
differently. And Aunt Julia hates noise. It will sure to be all right."
Her aunt, being the only unattached member of the family, was coming to
keep house for her father when she left him. The reference was not a
happy one, and Mr. Lucas commenced a series of half articulate sighs,
which was only stopped by the arrival of the post.
"Oh, what a parcel!" cried Ethel. "For me! What can it be! Greek stamps.
This is most exciting!"
It proved to be some asphodel bulbs, sent by Mrs. Forman from Athens for
planting in the conservatory.
"Doesn't it bring it all back! You remember the asphodels, father. And
all wrapped up in Greek newspapers. I wonder if I can read them still. I
used to be able to, you know."
She rattled on, hoping to conceal the laughter of the children next
door--a favourite source of querulousness at breakfast time.
"Listen to me! 'A rural disaster.' Oh, I've hit on something sad. But
never mind. 'Last Tuesday at Plataniste, in the province of messenia, a
shocking tragedy occurred. A large tree'--aren't I getting on
well?--'blew down in the night and'--wait a minute--oh, dear! 'crushed
to death the five occupants of the little Khan there, who had apparently
been sitting in the balcony. The bodies of Maria Rhomaides, the aged
proprietress, and of her daughter, aged forty-six, were easily
recognizable, whereas that of her grandson'--oh, the rest is really too
horrid; I wish I had never tried it, and what's more I feel to have
heard the name Plataniste before. We didn't stop there, did we, in the
spring?"
"We had lunch," said Mr. Lucas, with a faint expression of trouble on
his vacant face. "Perhaps it was where the dragoman bought the pig."
"Of course," said Ethel in a nervous voice. "Where the dragoman bought
the little pig. How terrible!"
"Very terrible!" said her father, whose attention was wandering to the
noisy children next door. Ethel suddenly started to her feet with
genuine interest.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed. "This is an old paper. It happened not
lately but in April--the night of Tuesday the eighteenth--and we--we
must have been there in the afternoon."
"So we were," said Mr. Lucas. She put her hand to her heart, scarcely
able to speak.
"Father, dear father, I must say it: you wanted to stop there. All those
people, those poor half savage people, tried, to keep you, and they're
dead. The whole place, it says, is in ruins, and even the stream has
changed its course. Father, dear, if it had not been for me, and if
Arthur had not helped me, you must have been killed."
Mr. Lucas waved his hand irritably. "It is not a bit of good speaking to
the governess, I shall write to the landlord and say, 'The reason I am
giving up the house is this: the dog barks, the children next door are
intolerable, and I cannot stand the noise of running water.'"
Ethel did not check his babbling. She was aghast at the narrowness of
the escape, and for a long time kept silence. At last she said: "Such a
marvellous deliverance does make one believe in Providence."
Mr. Lucas, who was still composing his letter to the landlord, did not
reply.