MR. ROBERT VYNER received the news of Miss Hartley’s sudden departure
with an air of polite interest. The secrecy of the affair and the fact
that she had gone with Captain Trimblett convinced him that it was no
casual visit, and he mused bitterly on the strange tendency of seafaring
people to meddle with the affairs of others. An attempt to ascertain
from Hartley the probable duration of her visit, and other interesting
particulars, as they sat together in the young man’s office, yielded no
satisfaction.
“She made up her mind to go rather suddenly, didn’t she?” he inquired.
Hartley said “Yes,” and murmured something about taking advantage of the
opportunity of going up with Captain Trimblett. “She is very fond of the
captain,” he added.
“Is she staying near him?” asked Vyner, without looking up from his
work.
The chief clerk, who was anxious to get away, said “No,” and eyed him
uneasily.
“I hope that London will agree with her,” continued Robert, politely.
“Is she staying in a healthy part?”
“Very,” said the other.
Mr. Vyner bent over his work again, and scowled diabolically at an
innocent letter which said that his instructions should have immediate
attention. “Which do you consider a healthy part?” he said presently.
Mr. Hartley, after some reflection, said there were many districts which
merited that description. He mentioned eleven, and was discoursing
somewhat learnedly on drainage and soils when he noticed that the young
man’s attention was wandering. With a muttered reference to his work, he
rose and quitted the room.
Day succeeded day in tiresome waiting, and Mr. Robert Vyner, leaning
back in his chair, regarded with a hostile eye the pile of work that
accumulated on his table as he sat dreaming of Joan Hartley. In a
species of waking nightmare he would see her beset by hordes of
respectful but persistent admirers. He manifested a craving for Mr.
Hartley’s society, and, discovering by actual experience that,
melancholy as the house was without its mistress, all other places were
more melancholy still, contrived, to its owner’s great discomfort, to
spend a considerable number of his evenings there.
“He’s a pattern to all of you,” said Rosa to Mr. Walters, who sat in the
kitchen one evening, cautiously watching Mr. Vyner through a small hole
in the muslin blind.
Mr. Walters grunted.
“I believe he worships the ground she treads on,” said Rosa, in exalted
tones.
Mr. Walters grunted again, and her colour rose. For nearly a fortnight
she had not spoken to any other man—at least, to the boatswain’s
knowledge—and she fully realized the cloying effect of security upon a
man of his temperament.
“Last night I saw him standing for half an hour looking into a shop,”
she said, softly. “What shop do you think it was?”
Mr. Walters’s face took on an obstinate expression. “Butcher’s?” he
hazarded, at last.
“Butcher’s!” repeated Rosa, with scorn. “What should he want to look in
a butcher’s for? It was Hickman’s, the jeweller’s.”
The boatswain said “Oh!” and devoted himself with renewed interest to
his task of watching Mr. Vyner. Miss Jelks’s conversation for some time
past had circled round engagement-rings, a subject which brought him
face to face with the disagreeable side of flirtation.
“More fool him,” he said, without looking round.
Rosa gazed fixedly at the back of his head. She was far too sensible not
to have noticed the gradual waning of his passion, and she chided
herself severely for having dropped her usual tactics. At the same time
she realized that she was not alone to blame in the matter, the gilded
youth of Salthaven, after one or two encounters with Mr. Walters, having
come to the conclusion that a flirtation with her was a temptation to be
avoided.
“Most men _are_ fools,” she said, calmly. “A young fellow I met the
other evening—the night you couldn’t come out—went on like a madman
just because I wouldn’t promise to meet him again.”
“Pity I didn’t see ’im,” said Mr. Walters, grimly.
“Oh!” said Rosa, losing her head. “Why?”
“I’d ha’ give ’im something to make a fuss about,” said the boatswain,
“that’s all.”
“It’s not his fault,” said Rosa, softly. “He couldn’t help himself. He
told me so. Quite the gentleman—quite. You ought to see the way he
raises his hat. And his head is covered all over with little short
curls.”
“Like a nigger,” said Mr. Walters, with disappointing calmness.
He removed his eye from the window and, taking out his pipe, began to
fill it from a small metal box. Rosa, compressing her lips, watched him
with a sardonic smile.
“Got anything to do this evening?” she inquired.
“No,” said the other.
“Well, I have,” said Rosa, with a bright smile, “so I’ll say
good-evening.”
Mr. Walters rose and, replacing a box of matches in his pocket, stood
watching her with his mouth open.
“Don’t hurry,” she said, at last.
The boatswain sat down again.
“I mean when you get outside,” explained the girl.
Mr. Walters gazed at her in slow perplexity, and then, breathing
heavily, walked out of the kitchen like a man in a dream. His suspicions
were aroused, and with an idea that a little blood-letting would give
him relief, he wasted the entire evening lying in wait for a
good-looking, gentlemanly young man with curly hair.
Miss Jelks waited for his appearance the following evening in vain.
Several evenings passed, but no boatswain, and it became apparent at
last that he had realized the perils of his position. Anger at his
defection was mingled with admiration for his strength of mind every
time she looked in the glass.
She forged her weapons slowly. A new hat was ready, but a skirt and coat
still languished at the dressmaker’s. She waited until they came home,
and then, dressing her hair in a style which owed something to a
fashion-paper and something to her lack of skill, sallied out to put
matters on a more satisfactory footing.
It was early evening, and the street fairly full, but for some time she
wandered about aimlessly. Twice she smiled at young men of her
acquaintance, and they smiled back and went on their way. The third she
met with a smile so inviting that against his better sense he stopped,
and after a nervous glance round made a remark about the weather.
“Beautiful,” said Rosa. “Have you been ill, Mr. Filer?”
“Ill?” said the young man, staring. “No. Why?”
“Haven’t seen you for such a long time,” said Miss Jelks, swinging her
parasol. “I’ve been wondering what had become of you. I was afraid you
were ill.”
Mr. Filer caressed his moustache. “I haven’t seen you about,” he
retorted.
“I haven’t been out lately,” said the girl; “it’s so lonely walking
about by yourself that I’d sooner sit indoors and mope.”
Mr. Filer stood blinking thoughtfully. “I s’pose you’re going to meet a
friend?” he said, at last.
“No,” said Rosa. “I s’pose you are?”
Mr. Filer said “No” in his turn.
Two minutes later, in a state of mind pretty evenly divided between
trepidation and joy, he found himself walking by her side.
They chose at first the quietest streets, but under Miss Jelks’s
guidance drifted slowly back to the town.
To her annoyance the boatswain was nowhere to be seen, and the idea
of wasting the evening in the society of Mr. Filer annoyed her beyond
measure. She became moody, and vague in her replies to his sallies, and
finally, with the forlorn hope that Mr. Walters might be spending the
evening aboard ship, strolled on to the quay.
Work was over and they had the place to themselves.
She seated herself on a pile of timber and, motioning the young man
to join her, experienced a sudden thrill as she saw the head of Mr.
Walters protruding tortoise-like over the side of the _Indian Chief_,
which lay a little way below them. Fearful that Mr. Filer should see
it, she directed his attention to two small boys who were disporting
themselves in a ship’s boat, and, with her head almost on his shoulder,
blotted out the steamer with three feathers and a bunch of roses.
It was a beautiful evening, but Mr. Filer failed to understand why she
should slap his hand when he said so. He could hardly open his mouth
without being requested to behave himself and getting another tiny slap.
Greatly encouraged by this treatment he ventured to pass his left arm
round her waist, and, in full view of the choking boatswain, imprison
both her hands in his.
Miss Jelks endured it for two minutes, and then, breaking away, gave him
a playful little prod with her parasol and fled behind a warehouse
uttering faint shrieks. Mr. Filer gave chase at once, in happy ignorance
that his rival had nearly fallen overboard in a hopeless attempt to see
round the corner. Flesh and blood could stand it no longer, and when the
couple emerged and began to walk in a more sober fashion toward the town
an infuriated boatswain followed a little in the rear.
Mr. Filer saw him first and, with a sudden sinking at his heart, dropped
his light banter and began to discourse on more serious subjects. He
attempted to widen the distance between them, but in vain. A second
glance showed him Mr. Walters close behind, with a face like that of two
destroying angels rolled into one. Trembling with fright he quickened
his pace and looked round eagerly for means of escape. His glance fell
on a confectioner’s window, and muttering the word “Ice” he dashed in,
followed in a more leisurely fashion by Miss Jelks.
“I was just feeling like an ice,” she said, as she took a seat at a
little marble-topped table. She put her hat straight in a mirror
opposite, and removing her gloves prepared for action.
Mr. Filer ate his ice mechanically, quite unaware of its flavour; then
as nothing happened he plucked up courage and began to talk. His voice
shook a little at first, but was gradually getting stronger, when he
broke off suddenly with his spoon in mid-air and gazed in fascinated
horror at a disc of greenish-yellow nose that pressed against the
shop-window. The eyes behind it looked as though they might melt the
glass.
He put his spoon down on the table and tried to think. Miss Jelks
finished her ice and sat smiling at him.
“Could you—could you eat another?” he faltered.
Miss Jelks said that she could try, and remarked, casually, that she had
once eaten thirteen, and had shared the usual superstition concerning
that number ever since.
“Aren’t you going to have one, too?” she inquired, when the fresh ice
arrived.
Mr. Filer shook his head, and, trying hard to ignore the face at the
window, said that he was not hungry. He sat trembling with agitation,
and, desirous of postponing the encounter with the boatswain as long as
possible, kept ordering ices for Miss Jelks until that lady, in justice
to herself, declined to eat any more.
“I can’t finish this,” she said. “You’ll have to help me.”
She took up a generous spoonful, and in full view of the face at the
window leaned across the table and put it into Mr. Filer’s unwilling
mouth. With a violent shudder he saw the boatswain leave the window and
take up a position in front of the door. Miss Jelks drew on her gloves
and, with another glance in the mirror as she rose, turned to leave. Mr.
Filer made no attempt to follow.
“Ain’t you ready?” said Miss Jelks, pausing.
“I’m not feeling very well,” said the young man, desperately, as he
passed his hand across his forehead. “It’s the ice, I think—I’m not used
to ’em.”
“Perhaps the air will do you good,” said Rosa.
Mr. Filer shook his head. Whatever good the air might do him would, he
felt certain, be counteracted by the treatment of the boatswain.
“Don’t wait for me,” he said, with a faint sad smile. “I might be here
for hours; I’ve been like it before.”
“I can’t leave you like this,” said Rosa. “Why”—she turned suddenly, and
her face lit up with a smile—“here’s Mr. Walters! How fortunate! He’ll
be able to help you home.”
“No—don’t trouble,” gasped Mr. Filer, as the boatswain came into the
shop and prepared to render first aid by moistening his palms and
rubbing them together. “It’s very kind of you, but I shall be all right
if I’m left alone. I’d rather be left alone—I would indeed.”
“You’d better let the gentleman help you home,” urged the shopkeeper.
“He looks strong.”
Mr. Filer shuddered.
“And you can lean on me,” said Rosa, softly.
Mr. Filer shuddered again, and with surprising energy, considering his
invalid condition, gripped the iron frame of the table with his legs and
clutched the top with his hands.
“I don’t like leaving him here,” said Rosa, hesitating.
“Neither don’t I,” growled the boatswain. “’Owever, I s’pose I’ll run
against ’im sooner or later.”
He escorted Rosa to the door and, after a yearning glance at Mr. Filer,
followed her out and walked by her side in silence.
“Poor fellow,” said Rosa, at last. “How generous he is! I believe he’d
give me anything I asked for.”
Mr. Walters started and, bending his brows, muttered something about
giving Mr. Filer more than he asked for.
“Oh, yes; I dare say,” retorted Rosa, turning on him with sudden heat.
“I’m not to speak to anybody to please you. You leave my friends alone.
What’s it got to do with you?”
“I see you,” said Mr. Walters, darkly; “I see you from the ship. You
little thought as ’ow I was a-watching your little games.”
Miss Jelks stopped and, drawing herself up, regarded him haughtily.
“I didn’t ask you for your company, Mr. Walters,” she said, sharply, “so
you can take yourself off as soon as you like.”
She turned and walked off in the opposite direction, and Mr. Walters,
after a moment’s hesitation, turned and followed. They walked in this
fashion for some distance; then the boatswain, quickening his pace,
caught her roughly by the arm.
“I want to show you something,” he growled.
Miss Jelks eyed him disdainfully.
“In ’ere,” said the other, pointing to the same jeweller’s window that
had been the cause of so much discomfort to Captain Trimblett.
“Well?” said the girl, her eyes sparkling.
For answer the gentle swain took her by the elbows and propelled her
into the shop, and approaching the counter gazed disagreeably at the
shopman.
“I want a ring for this young lady,” he said, reddening despite himself.
“A good ’un—one o’ the best.”
The man turned to the window and, after a little careful groping,
unhooked a velvet card studded with rings. Rosa’s eyes shone, but she
drew off her glove with a fine show of unwillingness at the boatswain’s
command.
“Try that on,” he said, pointing to a ring.
Miss Jelks placed it on the third finger of her left hand, and holding
it up to the light gazed at it entranced.
“’Ow much?” said the boatswain, jerking his head.
“That’s a very nice ring,” said the assistant.
“Twenty—” he referred to a tiny label on the card, “twenty-five pounds.”
The boatswain’s jaw dropped, and both listeners made noble efforts to
appear unconscious that his breathing was anything out of the ordinary.
“Take it off,” he said, as soon as he could speak; “take it off at
once.”
“It’s too large,” said Rosa, with a sigh.
She drew it off, and, turning to a case the jeweller placed before her,
tried on several more. Suited at last, she held up her hand with the
ring on it for Mr. Walters’s inspection.
“It fits beautifully,” she said, softly, as the boatswain scratched the
back of his neck.
“A very nice ring, that,” said the assistant. “A queen might wear it.”
“Take it off,” cried Mr. Walters, hastily.
“Seventeen shillings and sixpence,” said the jeweller, almost as
quickly.
“I like it better than the other,” said Rosa.
“It is better,” said the boatswain, in a relieved voice.
He counted out the money and, turning a deaf but blushing ear to the
jeweller’s glowing description of his wedding-rings, led the way
outside. Rosa took his arm and leaned on it heavily.
“Fancy! We are engaged now,” she said, squeezing his arm and looking up
at him.
Mr. Walters, who seemed to be in a state of considerable perturbation,
made no reply.
“Fancy you being in such a hurry!” continued Rosa, with another squeeze.
“It’s a failing of mine,” said the boatswain, still staring straight
before him. “Always was.”