"We've lived up to it in America," I said.
"Papa is quite a power in the City," she said.
"I thought he was a gentleman," I replied.
"Everybody dabbles in business nowadays," she returned, not
perceiving the innuendo. "I am sure Papa ought to know all about
it from the amount of money he has lost."
"Perhaps his was a case of ffrenches last!" I said.
"Still, he knows all the influential people," she continued, "and
it would be so easy for him to get you a position over here."
"That would be charming," I said.
"And then I might see you occasionally," she said, with such a
little ring of kindness in her voice that for a minute I felt a
perfect brute for deceiving her. "You could run down here from
Saturday to Monday, you know, and on Bank Holidays, and in the
season you would have the entree to our London house and the
chance of meeting nice people!"
"How jolly!" I said.
"I can't bear you to go back to America," she said. "Now that I've
found you, I'm going to keep you."
"I hate the thought of going back myself," I said, and so I did--
at the thought of leaving that angel!
"Then, you know," she went on, somewhat shyly and hesitatingly,
"you have such good manners and such a good air, and you're so----
"
"Don't mind saying handsome," I remarked.
"You really are very nice-looking," she said, with a seriousness
that made me acutely uncomfortable, "and what with our friendship
and our house open to you and the people you could invite down
here, because I know Papa is going to go out of his mind about
you--he and I are always crazy about the same people, you know--
not to speak of the little f, there is no reason, Fyles, why in
the end you shouldn't marry an awfully rich girl and set up for
yourself!"
"Thank you," I said, "but if it's all the same to you I don't
think I'd care to."
"I know awfully rich girls who are pretty too," she said, as
though forestalling an objection.
"I do too," I said, looking at her so earnestly that she coloured
up to the eyes.
"Oh, I am poor!" she said. "It's all we can do to keep the place
up. Besides--besides----" And then she stopped and looked out of
the window. I saw I had been a fool to be so personal, and I was
soon punished for my presumption, for she rose to her feet and
said in an altered voice that she would now show me the castle.
As I said before, it was a tremendous old place. It was a two-
hours' job to go through it even as we did, and then Verna said we
had skipped a whole raft of things she would let me see some other
time. There was a private theatre, a chapel with effigies of
cross-legged Crusaders, an armoury with a thousand stand of flint-
locks, a library, magnificent state apartments with wonderful
tapestries, a suite of rooms where they had confined a mad ffrench
in the fifteenth century, with the actual bloodstains on the floor
where he had dashed out his poor silly brains against the wall; a
magazine with a lot of empty powder-casks Cromwell had left there;
a vaulted chamber for the men of the half-moon battery; a well
which was said to have no bottom and which had remained unused for
a hundred years, because a wicked uncle had thrown the rightful
heir into it; and slimy, creepy-crawly dungeons with chains for
your hands and feet; and cachettes where they spilled you through
a hole in the floor, and let it go at that; and--but what wasn't
there, indeed, in that extraordinary old feudal citadel, which had
been in continuous human possession since the era of Hardicanute.
There seemed to be only one thing missing in the whole castle, and
that was a bath--though I dare say there was one in the private
apartments not shown to me. It was a regular dive into the last
five hundred years, and the fact that it wasn't a museum nor
exploited by a sing-song cicerone, helped to make it for me a
memorable and really thrilling experience. I conjured up my
forebears and could see them playing as children, growing to
manhood, passing into old age, and finally dying in the shadow of
those same massive walls. Verna said I was quite pale when we
emerged at last into the open air on the summit of the high square
tower; and no wonder that I was, for in a kind of way I had been
deeply impressed, and it seemed a solemn thing that I, like her,
should be a child of this castle, with roots deep cast in far-off
ages.
"Wouldn't it be horrible," I said, "if I found out I wasn't a
ffrench at all--but had really sprung from a low-down, capital F
family in the next county or somewhere!"
"Oh, but you are a real ffrench," said Verna.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"I can FEEL it," she said. "I never felt that kind of sensation
before towards anybody except my father!"
I hardly knew whether to be pleased or not. And besides, it didn't
seem to me conclusive.
Then she touched a button (for the castle was thoroughly wired and
there was even a miniature telephone system) and servants brought
us up afternoon tea, and a couple of chairs to sit on, and a
folding table set out with flowers, and the best toast and the
best tea and the best strawberry jam and the best chocolate cake
and the best butter that I had as yet tasted in the whole island.
The view itself was good enough to eat, for we were high above
everything and saw the harbour and the country stretched out on
all sides like a map.
"This is where I come for my day-dreams," said Verna. "I usually
have it all to myself, for people hate the stairs so much and the
ladies twitter about the dust and the cobwebs and the shakiness of
the last ladder, and the silly things get dizzy and have to be
held."
"You don't seem to be afraid," I said.
"This has been my favourite spot all my life," she returned. "I
can remember Papa holding me up when I wasn't five years old and
telling me about the Lady Grizzle that threw herself off the
parapet rather than marry somebody she had to and wouldn't!"
"Tell me about your day-dreams, Verna," I said.
"Just a girl's fancies," she returned, smiling. "I dare say men
have them too. Fairy princes, you know, and what he'd say and what
I'd say, and how much I'd love him, and how much he'd love me!"
"I can understand the last part of it," I observed.
"You are really very nice," she returned, "and when Papa has got
you that place in the City, I am going to allow you to come up
here and dream too. And you'll tell me about the Sleeping Beauty
and I'll unbosom myself about the Beast, and we'll exchange heart-
aches and be, oh, so happy together."
"I am that now," I said.
"You're awfully easily pleased, Fyles," she said. "Most of the men
I know I have to rack my head to entertain; talk exploring, you
know, to explorers, and horses to Derby winners, and what it feels
like to be shot--to soldiers--but you entertain ME, and that is
so much pleasanter."
"I wish I dared ask you some questions," I said.
"Oh, but you mustn't!" she broke out, with a quick intuition of
what I meant.
"Why mustn't?" I asked.
"Oh, because--because----" she returned. "I wouldn't like to fib
to you, and I wouldn't like to tell you the truth--and it would
make me feel hot and uncomfortable----"
"What would?" I asked.
"You see, if I really cared for him, it would be different," she
said. "But I don't--and that's all."
"Lady Grizzle over again?" I ventured.
"Not altogether," she said, "you see she was perfectly mad about
somebody else--which really was hard lines for her, poor thing--
while I----"
"Oh, please go on!" I said, as she hesitated.
"Fyles," she said, with the ghost of a sigh, "this isn't day-
dreaming at all, and I'm going to give you another cup of tea and
change the subject."
"What would you prefer, then?" I asked. "No! No more chocolate
cake, thank you."
"Let's have a fairy story all of our own," she said.
"Well, you begin," I said.
"Once upon a time," she began, "there was a poor young man in New
York--an American, though of course he couldn't help that--and he
came over to England and discovered the home of his ancestors, and
he liked them, and they liked him--ever so much, you know--and he
found that the old place was destined to pass to strangers, and so
he worked and worked in a dark old office, and stayed up at night
working some more, and never accepted any invitations or took a
holiday except at week-ends to the family castle--until finally he
amassed an immense fortune. Then he got into a fairy chariot,
together with a bag of gold and the family lawyer, and ordered the
coachman to drive him to Lord George Willoughby's in Curzon
Street. Then they sent out in hot haste for Sir George's son, an
awfully fast young man in the Guards, and the family lawyer
haggled and haggled, and Lord George hemmed and hawed, and the
Guardsman's eyes sparkled with greed at the sight of the bag of
gold, and finally for two hundred thousand pounds (Papa says he
often thinks he could pull it off for a hundred and ten thousand)
the entail is broken and everybody signs his name to the papers
and the poor young man buys the succession of Fyles and comes down
here, regardless of expense, in a splendid gilt special train, and
is received with open arms by his kinsmen at the castle."
"The open arms appeal to me," I said.
"He was nearly hugged to death," said Verna, "for they were so
pleased the old name was not to die out and be forgotten. And then
the poor young man married a ravishing beauty and had troops of
sunny-haired children, and the daughter of the castle (who by this
time was an old maid and quite plain, though everybody said she
had a heart like hidden treasure) devoted herself to the little
darlings and taught them music-lessons and manners and how to
spell their names with a little f, and as a great treat would
sometimes bring them up here and tell them how she had first met
the poor young man in the 'diamond mornings of long ago'!"
"That's a good fairy story," I said, "but you are all out about
the end!"
"You said you liked it," she protested.
"Yes, where they hugged the poor young man," I returned, "but
after that, Verna, it went off the track altogether."
"Perhaps you'll put it back again," she said.
"I want to correct all that about the daughter of the castle," I
said. "She never became an old maid at all, for, of course, the
poor young man loved her to distraction and married her right off,
and they lived happily together ever afterwards!"
"I believe that is nicer," she said thoughtfully, as though
considering the matter.
"Truer, too," I said, "because really the poor young man adored
her from the first minute of their meeting!"
"I wonder how long it will take him to make his fortune," she
said, which, under the circumstances, struck me as a cruel thing
to say.
"Possibly he has made it already," I said. "How do you know he
hasn't?"
"By his looks for one thing," she said, regarding the machine oil
on my cuff out of the corner of her eye. "Besides, he hasn't any
of the arrogance of a parvenu, and is much too----"
"Too what?" I asked.
"Well bred," she replied simply.
"No doubt that's the ffrench in him," I said, which I think was
rather a neat return.
She didn't answer, but looked absently across to the harbour
mouth.
"I believe there is a steamer coming in," she said. "Yes, a
steamer."
"A yacht, I think," I said, for, sure enough, it was Babcock true
to the minute, heading the Tallahassee straight in. I could have
given him a hundred dollars on the spot I was so delighted, for he
couldn't have timed it better, nor at a moment when it could have
pleased me more. She ran in under easy steam, making a splendid
appearance with her raking masts and razor bow, under which the
water spurted on either side like dividing silver. Except a
beautiful woman, I don't know that there's a sweeter sight than a
powerful, sea-going steam yacht, with the sun glinting on her
bright brass-work, and a uniformed crew jumping to the sound of
the boatswain's whistle.
"The poor young man's ship's come home," I said.
"It must be Lady Gaunt's Sapphire," said Verna.
"With the American colours astern?" I said.
"Why, how strange," she said, "it really is American. And then I
believe it's larger than the Sapphire!"
"Fifteen hundred and four tons register," I said.
"How do you know that?" she demanded, with a shade of surprise in
her voice.
"Because, my dear, it's mine!" I said.
"Yours!" she cried out in astonishment.
"If you doubt me," I said, "I shall tell you what she is going to
do next. She is about to steam in here and lower a boat to take me
aboard."
"She's heading for Dartmouth," said Verna incredulously, and the
words were hardly out of her pretty mouth when Babcock swung round
and pointed the Tallahassee's nose straight at us.
For a moment Verna was too overcome to speak.
"Fyles," she said at last, "you told me you worked in an office!"
"So I do," I said.
"And own a vessel like that!" she exclaimed. "A yacht the size of
a man-of-war!"
"It was you that said I was a poor young man," I observed. "I was
so pleased at being called young that I let the poor pass."
"Fancy!" she exclaimed, looking at me with eyes like stars. And
then, recovering herself, she added in another tone: "Now don't
you think it was very forward to rendezvous at a private castle?"
"Oh, I thought I could make myself solid before she arrived," I
said.
"Fyles," she said, "I am beginning to have a different opinion of
you. You are not as straightforward as a ffrench ought to be--and,
though I'm ashamed to say it of you--but you are positively
conceited."
"Unsay, take back, those angry words," I said; and even as I did
so the anchor went splash and I could hear the telegraph jingle in
the engine-room.
"And so you're rich," said Verna, "awfully, immensely,
disgustingly rich, and you've been masquerading all this afternoon
as a charming pauper!"
"I don't think I said charming," I remarked.
"But I say it," said Verna, "because, really you know, you're
awfully nice, and I like you, and I'm glad from the bottom of my
heart that you are rich!"
"Thank you," I said, "I'm glad, too."
"Now we must go down and meet your boat," said Verna. "See, there
it is, coming in--though I still think it was cheeky of you to
tell them to land uninvited."
"Oh, let them wait!" I said.
"No, no, we must go and meet them," said Verna, "and I'm going to
ask that glorious old fox with the yellow beard whether it's all
true or not!"
"You can't believe it yet?" I said.
"You've only yourself to thank for it," she said. "I got used to
you as one thing--and here you are, under my eyes, turning out
another."
I could not resist saying "Fancy!" though she did not seem to
perceive any humour in my exclamation of it, and took it as a
matter of course. Besides, she had risen now, and bade me follow
her down the stairs.
It was really fine to see the men salute me as we walked down to
the boat, and the darkies' teeth shining at the sight of me (for
I'm a believer in the coloured sailor) and old Neilsen grinning
respectfully in the stern-sheets.
"Neilsen," I said, "tell this young lady my name!"
"Mr. ffrench, sir," he answered, considerably astonished at the
question.
"Little f or big F, Neilsen?"
"Little f, sir," said Neilsen.
"There, doubter!" I said to Verna.
She had her hand on my arm and was smiling down at the men from
the little stone pier on which we stood.
"Fyles," she said, "you must land and dine with us to-night, not
only because I want you to, but because you ought to meet my
father."
"About when?" I asked.
"Seven-thirty," she answered; and then, in a lower voice, so that
the men below might not hear: "Our fairy tale is coming true,
isn't it, Fyles?"
"Right to the end," I said.
"There were two ends," she said. "Mine and yours."
"Oh, mine," I said; "that is, if you'll live up to your part of
it!"
"What do you want me to do?" she asked.
"Throw over the Beast and be my Princess," I said, trying to talk
lightly, though my voice betrayed me.
"Perhaps I will," she answered.
"Perhaps!" I repeated. "That isn't any answer at all."
"Yes, then!" she said quickly, and, disengaging her hand from my
arm, ran back a few steps.
"I hear Papa's wheels," she cried over her shoulder, "and, don't
forget, Fyles, dinner at seven-thirty!"