PLAYING WITH FIRE
Miss Mivvins was annoyed; the impatient tapping was evidence of it. Not
that a little exhibition of temper in any way detracted from her
personal appearance. On the contrary, the air of petulance heightened
her charms.
"You are just like a man!"
Her speech was accompanied by another toss of her shapely head.
"Isn't that twisting things round? You mean that he never gives a reason
for what he says or does?"
"Yes."
Resumption of tattoo with her foot on the ground. It made him exclaim:
"I knew I was right! What if I tell you that I am a mind reader?"
"I would not be a bit surprised!"
He was: greatly. Could not understand what she meant; queried:
"You wouldn't?"
"No."
"I am--to hear you say it. Why?"
"Because in this book of yours I am reading"--she held it up--"I see you
believe in palmistry."
"Come, come!" He was genuine in his expostulation. "I make one of my
characters believe in it."
"Then you do not?"
She had him in a corner; was merciless. He tried to wriggle out; said:
"I did not say so."
It was an infecund effort on his part. She pinned him in still further;
was that kind of woman.
"What does that mean? That you do and you do not?"
There was nothing for him but to fence; he answered:
"Yes and No."
It did not in any way extricate him from his difficulty. She continued:
"You are a complete enigma."
"There is no prize offered for the solution."
He endeavoured to speak lightly, to bring the conversation back to the
humorous line it had left; continued:
"I have known people take quite an interest in enigmas. Do you?"
She changed the subject. Kept away from where there was a treading on
dangerous ground; felt the ice getting thin; said:
"I gather that this palmist character of yours professes to read the
past, but does not venture on prophecy?"
"I venture on prophecy now!"
He spoke suddenly, rising as he did so. Picking up his books, and--for
the first time--quietly possessing himself of her bag, continued:
"That rapidly travelling cloud, at present looking very little larger
than a man's hand, coming from the south, is full of rain. It will burst
before we are back in the town, unless we hurry. Gracie! Gracie!"
The little girl came running in response to his call. All three, for the
first time, walked homewards together. A student of human nature might
have seen in it a beginning of things.
"I am living in Marine Terrace."
He was describing the situation of his lodgings. Waited for her to
respond, and then asked:
"Have you far to go?"
"Oh, not so far as you have; little more than half-way. Ivy Cottage; on
the front. Do you know----"
"That pretty little bungalow with the creeper over the porch? Before we
reach the big houses?"
"Yes."
He cast an eye over his shoulder at the still distant cloud, gauging the
time of its breaking; said:
"When the rain comes it will last, I fear. That will mean confinement to
the house."
"I fancy so, too. The local weatherwise are predicting it also. You are
not the only prophet. 'Corns are shooting and roomatiz is bad.'"
He laughed at her excellent imitation of the dialect ruling the language
of the people; then said:
"May I be personal? How are you off for reading matter?"
"Oh, Mudie's have sent me down an absolutely abominable selection.
With"--a twinkle escaped from the corner of her eye--"with the exception
of that one of yours."
"I won't gratify you with even a smile of approval at so callous a
joke," he said coolly. "To trample on my feelings so is positively
inhuman. Still, that 'exception' emboldens me."
"In what way?"
"That finding you interested in one of my books, I want you to let me--I
want you to favour me by accepting from me a set?"
"A set?"
"I have been guilty of five others." Mock despair was in his tone.
"Accept my contrite apologies."
"Five others!"
"I have to plead guilty to that number. Heinous, isn't it?"
"Oh, I did not mean that."
"And so young too!"
"Really, Mr. Masters!" The flush was being worn again. "You are, really,
too bad; raking up old grievances!"
"I would like you to try and think there is a substratum of good."
She ignored his speech, rather the significance in the tone of its
delivery; said:
"I did not know--I confess openly, you see. This makes but the third of
yours I have read."
"Then there is a possibility of interest being left in the three you
have not read. Let the weather be my excuse for forcing them on you."
"As if an excuse were needed! Pray do not speak of your kindness so!"
"Then--I have some work I must finish this afternoon for the post--may I
bring them to you this evening?"
She hesitated a moment. Induced to do so by a thought of the unwisdom of
playing with fire. His hyper-sensitive nature made him shrink from that
hesitation, to nervously say:
"I beg your pardon. I mean I will make a parcel of them and send them up
to you."
The note of pain in his voice was so plain that any question of her
wisdom--or want of it--vanished. She was moved to put her hand on his
arm; to say:
"Don't deprive me of half the pleasure of the gift. Please bring them
yourself."
It was a pretty little speech. Prettily spoken. No answering word came
to his lips, but the look of gladness in his eyes was eloquent. Eloquent
enough to make her mentally pause again and ask herself: was she acting
altogether wisely?
Miss Mivvins was sailing under false colours. Was not in a position to
haul them down, or fly her own. But she found him entertaining
and--and--and very pleasant to talk to. She left it at that.
She could not afterwards remember much of what they talked about on
their walk along the wall homewards. But she was conscious of spending a
very pleasant afternoon; that it had passed away all too quickly. The
most entertaining conversations are usually those which flow so smoothly
that we forget to note the landmarks and stepping-stones on the way.
She was in a quandary: dared not reveal to him her true self. She had
learnt enough of him to know that if she ran up her own flag, one glance
at the masthead would mean his sheering right away.
She was not at all anxious that that should happen; did not want to lose
him. She had grown to--to--to more than like him. Why, she asked herself
petulantly, why could he not be as other men?
The rain held off till they reached her gate. There they said good-bye,
shaking hands for the first time. The touch thrilled them both. As an
outcome he saw possibilities; felt what their meeting might possibly
lead to. It was a pleasant feeling. Things were coloured by it--colour
of the rose.
Her good-bye was spoken lightly. Instinctively she tried to counteract
that thrill. Yet there was a lingering tone in her voice as she said,
finally:
"Till eight o'clock."
Then came Gracie's turn. He stooped down, lifted and kissed her. She
said--
"Good-bye, Prince Charlie. I shan't see you in the evening because I go
to bed at half-past seven."
"My word! Half-past seven! How late for a little girl to sit up!"
She exclaimed indignantly at so gross an insult:
"I'm not a little girl! I'm nearly five!"
Her indignation was a fleeting one. He held her away; threw her up in
the air till she screamed with the delight of the pleasant fear. Then
caught and kissed her and set the mite on her feet again.
So he dealt with the child. Then, raising his hat, gave a final kindly
smile in the direction of the governess; nodded and said a final
good-bye.
Such was their parting. Each was full of thoughts of the other. He
walked home wonderingly, thinking, why--for what reason--she had said
eight o'clock. It sounded so--then he laughed at his stupid thought.
So life touches life a moment, thrills and bids it stay--as two drops of
water in a peaceful stream may touch for an instant and in the next be
parted by the waving reeds.
What of after meetings? Would they be guided to one another by that
strange fate that we call Destiny?