It was some little time before Sir Peter answered. He sat gazing into
vacancy a moment, like a man who is remembering happier things, calling
up a mental picture of a beautiful landscape--or perhaps of a beautiful
face--suddenly smitten by the recollection of his own youth. At last,
with something like a sigh he went on.
"We're rather an elderly lot, y'know. Beyond our springtime, Jack, and
that's the truth. When we sit and think, we think of the past, and try
not to think of the future. And, suddenly, here was this Grace and
Beauty and Youth in the midst of us. It gave the Walk a shock, I can
tell ye. All the women lay-to in repairing-dock for days. Mrs. Poskett
never showed her nose till she 'd got a new wig from town; Pringle tells
me he caught poor little Barbara Pennymint looking at herself in the
glass and crying; and Brooke-Hoskyn says his wife, who had watched 'em
come from her window, not being able to get downstairs, poor soul,
sobbed her heart out and made him swear he loved her."
"By Jove!" cried Lord Otford, "you make me want to see these paragons!"
"Well, Madame 's only gone shopping. She 'll be back directly. Wait,
and I 'll present you."
"No," said his friend, signalling to the sedan-bearers. "Not to-day.
I'm on my way to old Wendover, at Brentford."
"Ah! That marriage! Well, I hope I shall see Jack soon."
"You'll help me, won't you?"
"I will. I will. God bless you."
Sir Peter escorted his friend to the sedan; saw him safely into it and
walked at its side until it turned the corner. As he came back he found
himself face to face with Marjolaine, who had finished her lesson and
was coming out of Number Three with a book in her hand.
"There, now, Missie," he cried, "if you'd come a moment earlier, I'd
have presented you to a very great man!"
"Oh?"
At his door the Admiral put his hand up to his mouth and whispered
confidentially--a confidential whisper which could have been heard the
other side of the river--"I say!--We 'll have a go at that horn-pipe
by-and-by--what?" And chuckling he went into his house.
Marjolaine came slowly to the elm, seated herself, and proceeded to read
the "Adventures of Telemachus."
*CHAPTER V*
*CONCERNING WHAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR*
[Illustration: Chapter V headpiece]
The sun shone; the thrush sang; the leaves of the elm rustled; the great
river flowed silently; the breeze came and kissed Marjolaine and
whispered "Wake up! Wake up! Something is going to happen!" But she
could not hear. She only thought Telemachus was even duller than usual,
and as she read of Mentor she thought of the Reverend Doctor Sternroyd.
Presently--whether it was the breeze that blew her thoughts away, or the
singing of the thrush, I cannot say--she lost the thread of the story;
stopped thinking at all; and just sat with her elbow on her knee and her
chin in her hand, looking with her great brown eyes into--what?
The Eyesore saw her. I cannot dip into the Eyesore's mind. I cannot
tell you what influenced him. I only know he grew restless. He looked
at her over his shoulder once or twice as she sat there, "In maiden
meditation, fancy free," and suddenly he got up, laid his rod carefully
across the chains, and stole out on tip-toe. Was it a glimmering sense
that he was no company for this pretty maid lost in thought? Was it a
dim realisation that his ungainly figure had no business to intrude on
her meditations? Whatever the cause, he stole out on tip-toe and was
lost to sight. Perhaps he was only thirsty.
Marjolaine did not notice his going. Nor did she see Jack come. Jack
came apparently out of the river. As a matter of fact he tied his boat
to a ring at the foot of Pomander Stairs and leaped on shore. A
delightful young fellow, the sort of young man you take to, the moment
you set eyes on him. Obviously a sailor. His lieutenant's undress
jacket was over his arm. A wiry figure, lissome as a willow and as
tough as steel; a face tanned by many suns; true sailor's eyes looking
frankly and fearlessly at the world.
He was evidently in search of something or somebody. He came down the
Walk examining all the houses curiously; and suddenly he found himself
face to face with Marjolaine.
His shadow fell across her book. She looked up; and their eyes met.
Marjolaine was much too well-bred to show any surprise, but, as a matter
of fact, she was very much surprised indeed. Here was a new and
terrible situation. A total stranger standing looking at her; her
mother and Nanette gone to Chiswick; the Admiral shut in his house; and
not another soul in sight. Even the Eyesore would have been a sort of
moral support, but even the Eyesore had deserted her. However: Courage!
If she went on with her book the stranger would go. So she went on with
her book, grimly.
But the stranger did not move. When a young sailor-man sees an
extremely pretty girl, his instinct is to stand still and look. Jack
stood still. I will not say he was not nervous. He was. But he
conquered his nervousness, like the brave fellow he was, and stood his
ground.
Marjolaine began to get angry. This was an outrage. She looked up at
him once more, and this time there was a flash in her eyes which was
meant to annihilate him. It did. If she had not looked up, he might
ultimately have gone reluctantly away. But this look finished him and
rooted him to the spot.
Marjolaine returned to her book. But Telemachus had taken on a new
shape. He had laughing blue eyes and he carried a naval jacket with
gold buttons over his arm. Also he stood looking at her. This was
intolerable. If the stranger would not move, she must. It went horribly
against her pride to retreat in the face of the enemy, but if the enemy
would n't retreat, what were you to do?
She closed the book with an angry bang and rose to her feet. The
movement roused Jack to a sense of his own inexplicable behaviour.
"I beg your pardon!" he stammered, involuntarily.
Marjolaine eyed him haughtily from head to foot. She had read somewhere
that this is what a well-bred young woman should do under similar
circumstances.
"Why?" said she, raising her eyebrows.
"Oh, I'm so glad you said 'Why?'" cried Jack, with evident relief.
Marjolaine had not expected this. She was genuinely puzzled and a
little off her guard. She could only repeat, but this time quite
naturally, "Why?"
"Well," said Jack, very volubly, "if you'd said, 'There's no occasion,'
or if you hadn't said anything, our conversation would have been
finished, you know."
Marjolaine could have stamped with vexation. Of course she ought to have
said nothing. And here she was entrapped into what this very bold young
man described as a "conversation"!
"The conversation is finished," she said, trying to pass him.