"I never posed at all--I never deceived you! Father treats me as a
child, and you followed his example as a matter of course, and I was
very pleased to be friends in a sensible manner without any nonsense.
If I had said, `Please, I'm nineteen--I've left school, and am coming
out--this is a hockey skirt, but I wear tails in the evening,' you would
have been proper, and stiff, and have talked about the weather, and we
should have had no fun. If anyone is to blame, it is you, for not
seeing how really old I was!"
He smiled at that, and went on staring, staring at my face, my hair, my
long white gloves, the muslin flounces lying on the ground round my
feet.
"So very old!" he said. "Nineteen, is it? And I put you down as--
fourteen or fifteen, at the most! And so Babs has disappeared. Exit
Babs! I'm sorry. She was a nice child; I enjoyed meeting her very
much. I think we should have been real good friends."
"She has not disappeared at all. You will meet her to-morrow morning.
There is nothing to prevent us being as good friends as ever," I
declared, but he shook his head in a mysterious fashion.
"I think there is! There's a third person on the scene now who will
make it difficult--for me, at least--to go back to the same footing.
There's Una!" he said, and looked at me with his bright grey eyes, up
and down, down and up again, in a grave, quiet sort of way which I had
never seen before. It made me feel nice, but rather uncomfortable, and
I was glad when he brightened up again, and said gaily--
"I owe a hundred apologies for my lack of ceremony to this fine, this
very fine, this super-fine young lady! I'll turn over a new leaf for
the future, and treat you with becoming ceremony. I can quite imagine
the disgust of the budding _debutante_ at my cavalier ways. Confess now
that your dignity was sorely wounded?"
His eyes were twinkling again. They are grey, and his face is so brown
that they look lighter than the skin. I never saw anyone's eyes look
like that before, but it is awfully nice. I thought there was a
splendid opening, so I said--
"No; I was never vexed but once. I like being treated sensibly, but
that morning when you left me, and went out of your way with Rachel
Greaves--I was sorry then that you did not know that I was grown up."
"You thought if I had I would have walked with you instead? Why?"
I blushed a little, and it seemed to me that he blushed too--his cheeks
certainly looked hot. It was a horrid question to answer, and he must
have known for himself what I meant. I really and truly don't think
many men would go out of their way for Rachel Greaves. I answered by
another question--it was the easiest way.
"I didn't know then that you were old friends. I suppose you get to
like her better when you know her well?"
"Naturally. That is always the case with the best people."
"And she is--"
"The best woman I have ever met, and the most selfless!" he said
solemnly. "Have you spoken to Rachel about me? What has she told you?
I should like you to know the truth, though it is not yet general
property. You can keep it to yourself for awhile?"
I nodded. I didn't want to speak, for I felt a big, hard lump swelling
in my throat, and my heart thumped. I knew quite well what he was going
to say, and I hated it beforehand.
"We are engaged to be married. It will probably be an engagement for
years, for Rachel feels her present duty is at home, and I am content to
wait her pleasure. I don't go up to the house very often, as the old
gentleman is an invalid, and dislikes visitors, but we understand one
another, and are too sensible to fret because we cannot always be
together. Only when an opportunity occurs, as it did the other
morning-- Why--you understand?"
"Yes, I understand," I said slowly. I was thinking it over, and
wondering, if I were ever engaged, if I should like my _fiance_ to be
content and sensible, and quite resigned to see me seldom, and to wait
for years before we could be married. I think I would rather he were in
a hurry!
Oh, I wish I were selfless, too! I wish I could be glad for them
without thinking of myself; but I do feel so lonely and out in the cold.
I'm thankful that Vere is coming home next week, and the house will be
filled with visitors. Engaged people are no use--they are always
thinking about each other!