Miss Violet and the Tenderfoot were sitting on a bench in front of
the cabin, she peeling potatoes, he watching her.
"Go on," she said wearily.
"And then we shall have a house in Park Lane."
"We had that before--next door to the Duke of Something."
"Yes, in the ground just above; I forget the number. I shall have a
private hansom to drive down to Board Meetings in the City; and when
I come home tired in the evening you shall entertain all the
millionaires we do business with. We shall get tremendous
investments over the dinner-table. Won't it be jolly?"
She yawned. "Yes, I suppose so. What will you do with my Uncle?"
"Oh, he shall be our general agent in South Africa."
"That's a long way off, and perhaps he'll get wrecked coming home. I
like that part. He shall have a large memorial window."
"Yes, a huge one, or say a dozen in St. Paul's Cathedral. Of course,
I shall be a great benefactor to all sorts of things, and they'll put
your picture in the _Sketch_ as the great philanthropist's wife; of
course, with an interview."
"An interview all about you, I suppose?"
"No, about my great gifts to the Polytechnics, my College for
Commercial Travellers, my County Council work."
"Then you can write the beastly thing yourself; so there!"
"I intend to be a very great man," said the Tenderfoot dreamily. "Of
course, you must never interrupt me in the evenings when I'm busy
dictating letters to my secretaries."
"What shall I do then?"
"Oh, I don't know. You'll have lots of things to manage--servants,
dinner-parties, and"--
She dropped her potatoes and kicked over the pail, scattering its
contents broadcast.
"Pick them up," she said.
He picked them up.
The little lady sat with her elbows on her knees, her face in her
hands, sniffing at the acridness of raw potatoes, staring gloomily
the while out into the Sunday stillness of the afternoon. "I wish I
was dead," she said miserably, addressing the Rocky Mountains over
the way.
"But why?" He sat up on his haunches, the pail in one hand, an
earthy vegetable in the other, staring horrified. "You shouldn't say
such things. It's wicked. I won't have you say such things. I
forbid it."
"You won't?" muttered Miss Violet vindictively; then gazing down at
him with portentous emphasis she said--
"Damn!"
"Oh, I say!"
"Yes, you say. It's always you--'I'll this, or I'll that. It's my
wish--I--I--I.' You're made of I's. There's nothing else in you but
'I.' Now, you listen to what little me says--I hate you, and if I
marry you I'll make you as miserable as I am, you toad."
"My dear, I love you."
"No, you don't--you only love yourself; but I've got to marry you to
get away from my Uncle. He gets on my nerves. Go away!"
Mr. Ramsay stared.
"Go away!"
Mr. Ramsay went mournfully away down towards the mill, where Mr.
Burrows was saying his Sunday afternoon prayers to the steel
cylinder. Half-way, among the trees, and just out of sight from the
cabin, was a big wooden flume carrying water-power for a plant of
turbines which turned the Burrows' generators, which actuated the
fans, which ground the stone, which held the gold, which was to pay
for the Park Lane house--for that is the stuff which dreams are made
of. Mr. Ramsay sat down on the flume feeling very miserable.
But he felt worse than miserable presently when he saw a horseman
ride up to the mill whom he recognised to his utter disgust as the
Blackguard.
"Hello, Burrows!" La Mancha's big voice rang out through the woods.
"Want a word with you, Burrows. Come out and talk like a white man.
You won't?--ah, well, I'll talk while you keep your mouth shut. Are
you in charge of Miss Violet Burrows? You are, eh? All right, I'm
paying my addresses to Miss Violet, and if she'll have me I'm going
to marry her. D'you hear? Yes, marry her. I didn't ask for your
consent--I only ask favours from gentlemen. All right, Burrows, be
good to yourself."
So, having propitiated her guardian, La Mancha turned his horse
uphill to propose to the lady.
Meanwhile Mr. Ramsay was considerably ahead, out of sight, running
through the trees for dear life, determined to get the lady out of
his reach.
"Violet," he cried hysterically, coming up before the cabin, "come
with me--there's a great big cariboo grazing up on the spur." He ran
into the cabin, snatching up his rifle. "Come--by the back
way--quick!"
"You saw a cariboo?" said Miss Violet calmly. "You were down in the
timber and you saw him up on the spur?"
"Come quick!" he cried in an ecstacy of excitement. But she would
not move from her seat. Then the Blackguard emerged from the timber,
riding steadily up the slope.
"I see," said Miss Violet. "Be quick, Charlie, or you'll lose your
cariboo; I'll stay here."
Mad with excitement, Mr. Ramsay seized her forcibly by the wrists,
and half dragged, half carried her into the cabin.
"You shan't meet him," he cried. "You shan't!--you shan't!"
Flushed with a sudden rage, Miss Violet wrenched herself loose,
struck him violently across the face, then ran out of the cabin and
breathless down the hill.
When the Blackguard jumped from his horse at the sight of her, she,
scarce knowing what she did, flung herself into his arms.
"My love," he said gently, "what's the matter?--poor little woman,
who frightened you?"
She was crying like a frightened child, clinging to him, swaying to
and fro, while the big sobs shook her little body.
Then suddenly she stopped short, and looked up in his face very much
surprised.
"What was I doing?" she said.
"Breaking my heart with your trouble--poor little woman. Tell me who
hurt you, and I'll kill him at once. Why, your wrists are all
bruised and red. Who dared to touch you?"
But she would not say.
"Then I won't bully you by asking questions, dear. I love you too
much for that. I came the first moment I could when I got the
button."
"What button?" she asked with the frankest innocence.
"What button!" he laughed. "A little bit of brass that said 'Come
back'--that said 'I love you, Blackguard, though you are a bad lot.'"
"You are, you know."
"I was until I loved you, dear; but now--by the mercy that is in
love--I'm good again. Do you know what is the loveliest thing God
ever made?--Laughter and tears mixed up in a woman's face. And
you've confessed you love me!"
"Don't be silly."
"That means, don't wait," and so he kissed her on the lips.
"I don't think I quite love you, after all; you've never put on your
uniform yet when you've come to see me. I suppose I'm not worth all
that trouble, though."
"I will next time," he said,--"for our wedding-day."
"Our what?"
"Sit down and I'll tell you."
"Won't your horse run away?"
"Who could run away when you're in sight, Violet?"
"That's quite nice. They say things like that in a novel."
She sat down beside him, and they two watched the black horse
smelling the local grass with an air of disparagement.
"It's very silly of you to marry a Blackguard, Violet."
"I never said I would."
"They only say it in books. In life they mean it. Do you know, I've
nothing to marry on but three pigs, a few boxes of cigars, one
hundred dollars, and the chance of a job breaking horses? Now, I
suppose you could do much better than that, eh?"
"A house in Park Lane," she said, "and dinners for City people in the
evenings; but I mustn't interrupt him while he's busy."
Her hand stole into his, and he kissed it after the manner, perhaps,
of the Spanish Court. Then he thought--after the manner of the
Blackguard--that lips were not so cold, and more responsive.
They were.
"Do you know," she said, half frightened, "that this moss is very
damp?"
"My lips are still very dry."
At that she sprang up, laughing. "Catch me," she cried; "catch me,"
and she ran for the woods.