Chapter VI: The First Arrival

WHEN Thursday came I could see that Aunt Patty looked forward with some nervousness to the arrival of her guest. Everything was in readiness. The Professor would be hard to please if he did not like the pleasant room, to which aunt had added a bookcase and a writing-table, and contrived to give quite the appearance of a sitting-room.

"Will he care for any flowers, do you think, Nan?" aunt asked, as we put the finishing touches to its arrangement.

"Not if he is like the Vicar," I replied.

"He may surely have scholarly habits without being exactly like Mr. Upsher," aunt said with a smile. "I should put a few if I were you. A room looks so bare and unhomelike without them."

So I went into the garden and picked half-a-dozen of the lovely daffodils, which by this time had opened more freely, and put them, with some of their lance-like leaves, in a tall, slender vase which I placed on the Professor's writing-table.

I had been in the woods that morning and had brought home some of the first primroses, smelling so freshly of their mother Earth. Pleased with the effect of the daffodils, I brought a little bowl which I had filled with primroses resting amid tiny sprays of ivy, and stood it on the top of the low bookcase.

"The room does look nice," I said to myself then, "almost too nice for a dry old professor." I gave the fire a stir and went away to change my dress, for we did not expect our visitor till close upon dinner-time. He was coming by the six o'clock train, and Jack had volunteered to meet him and bring him to "Gay Bowers."

I made my toilet carefully enough to satisfy even Olive. The pretty evening blouse I wore, with transparent yoke and sleeves, was her handiwork, and I had the satisfaction of knowing that I looked well in it. My chestnut-brown hair, which Olive thought pretty, was deftly coiled, and I observed with some pleasure how well it contrasted with my black dress, yet I am certain that no idea of pleasing Professor Faulkner's eye ever crossed my mind. I never imagined that his mighty intellect could bend to observe the details of a girl's dress.

When I went downstairs I found Aunt Patty reading a letter, from which she looked up with an eager, excited countenance.

"The Vicar has been in," she said; "he came from Chelmsford and brought me this letter. When he was at the post-office on his own account, he thought he might as well ask if there were any letters for 'Gay Bowers.'"

"You don't mean it!" I exclaimed. "Really I should never have expected him to be so thoughtful."

"You are too hard on Mr. Upsher, Nan," said Aunt Patty. "I know he is often dreamy and absent-minded; but when there is a strong necessity for action, or real trouble anywhere, no one can be more kind and helpful."

"I am glad to hear it," I said. "But, auntie, the letter? It is surely not another application?"

"It is," she said, smiling, "and from an American gentleman! His name is Josiah Dicks, and he wants to know if I can accommodate him and his daughter, or rather, he calmly announces that they are coming here on Saturday, hoping to find that I can take them in. If not, he supposes they can put up at the village inn!"

"The village inn!" I exclaimed with a laugh. "That is hardly the place to suit a rich American; but, of course, there is a good hotel at Chelmsford. Is he rich, though?"

"I should imagine so," said my aunt, "since he says that he and his daughter have been 'all over Europe,' and now want to see a little of English rural life. It seems too that he is somewhat of an invalid and country air has been prescribed for him."

"How strange!" I exclaimed. "'Gay Bowers' seems about to be turned into a convalescent home. But I suppose the daughter is not an invalid. I shall be glad to have a girl here, if she is nice."

"The ways of American girls do not, I believe, always accord with English notions of what is becoming," said my aunt; "but I cannot speak from personal experience."

"Nor can I," was my reply. "I have never known an American girl intimately. Well, I hope they may prove desirable, for Mr. Josiah Dicks and his daughter would be a set-off to the Professor."

"You seem to be making rather a bugbear of that Professor, Nan," said my aunt.

"Not at all," I replied. "I expect him to be an amiable but rather melancholy individual with a yellow parchment-like skin and a chronic liver complaint."

I had hardly said the words when I heard the sound of wheels on the gravel outside. Aunt went quickly out and met Professor Faulkner in the hall. The rich deep tones in which he responded to her greeting came agreeably to my ears. Sweep had sprung forward barking angrily, as she did at every intruder, but was almost instantly quelled. I heard the stranger speak to her in tones that seemed to accompany a caress, and Sweep's bark was changed to a whine of pleasure. This was wonderful, for since uncle's death Sweep had shown herself antagonistic to all mankind. I began to feel curious, and I went forward, meaning to have a word with Jack ere he went away.

I could have laughed to think how different from my pre-conception of him was the individual my aunt now introduced to me. I saw a man rather above the middle height, upright, of energetic bearing, and looking little more than thirty years of age. His features were strong and regular; his eyes, of a deep sea-blue, had a very direct and searching gaze; his complexion was pale, but devoid of any tinge of yellow. He had fair hair, which he wore rather long. But detailed description must fail to portray the vivid, powerful personality with which I then made acquaintance. I thought later that he reminded me of an old picture of a Viking king which I had seen somewhere. He looked daring and resolute enough to be a leader of men. A scholar he certainly was; but no mere book-worm or dreamy idealist.

His appearance so took me by surprise that I hardly knew what to say, and blushed and stammered as I tried to welcome him, while his eyes searched my face as if they could read all that was passing in my mind. The evening had set in wet, but he did not seem to mind the rain in the least.

"A little water will not hurt me," he said, as Jack helped him off with his overcoat, "but I must confess I am rather sensitive to cold. That is the effect of a residence in India; but I shall soon get over it."

"And you are not afraid of the rigours of country life?" aunt said.

"Oh, no; I was brought up in the country, and I love it!" he answered heartily.

Then aunt took him upstairs to his room, and I was left alone with Jack, who looked rather out of humour.

"How different from the dry-as-dust old professor we expected!" I said to him. "He looks quite young."

"He says he is thirty-two," replied Jack. "I don't call that exactly juvenile."

"It may not seem so to eighteen," I responded loftily.

"I shall be nineteen in July," said Jack hastily, "and you are only a few months older, so there, Nan."

"I am aware of the fact," I said calmly, "and I consider myself quite old enough. We were not discussing my age but Professor Faulkner's."

"He does not like to be called Professor Faulkner," said Jack. "He told me so."

"Did he?" I said. "That is rather sensible of him. He seems very nice."

"Oh, of course, you'll think him so," said Jack impatiently. "Girls are always taken with a fellow who gives himself airs like that."

"Airs like what?" I asked, but Jack vouchsafed no reply, and aunt coming downstairs the next moment, he at once said that he must be off. She detained him while she told him about the Americans, a piece of news which seemed to cheer him somewhat. Then she reminded him that he and his father were to dine with us on the following evening, and he departed.

"Oh, auntie, how different from what we expected!" I said, as soon as we were alone in the drawing-room. "He is not in the least like the Vicar."

"Very different from what you expected," she retorted. "He is so pleased with his room, Nan. He says he feels that he has come to a haven of rest."

"How nice of him!" I said. "You like him, do you not, Auntie?"

"Yes," she said decidedly. "I feel sure that we shall find him easy to get on with, and I am not often mistaken in first impressions."

Our guest did not join us till the dinner-gong sounded. When he entered the dining-room I was glad that I had taken pains with my toilet, for he was carefully dressed, and a little cluster of my primroses adorned his dinner-jacket. He saw my eyes rest on them, and said with a smile:

"You cannot think how pleased I was to find some primroses in my room. It is years since I plucked an English primrose."

"You will be able to do so here," said my aunt; "they are coming out in our woods, and will be plentiful in a week or two."

"I am so glad to hear it," he said simply. "They will be a delight to me."

"Then you are not like the immortal Peter Bell?" I said, speaking my thought almost involuntarily.

"By no means," he said, smiling, "since all the joys of my childhood seem to live again for me when I see a primrose."

We got on marvellously well together on that first evening. Aunt and I found him such an interesting companion that we almost forgot how recent our acquaintance was. He talked a good deal about his life in India, and it was evident that he had relinquished his work there with great reluctance. He had met with sundry adventures there, too, of which he spoke in the simplest fashion, but which showed me he was a man of fine courage and a good sportsman. I thought that Jack would like him better when he came to know more about him.

He made very light of the health failure which had brought him home. It was the result of the warm, moist climate of the place of his sojourn. He had got the better of the feverish attacks which had prostrated him. What he lacked now was nervous strength, and that he believed the fresh air and repose of the country would soon restore.

When he said this, Aunt Patty explained that I too was suffering from nervous exhaustion, and, rather to my vexation, told the story of my disappointment. But as I met his look of perfect comprehension and sympathy, I felt that I did not mind in the least.

"Ah, Miss Nan, don't I know what that meant for you!" he said. It was strange how from the first he fell into the way of addressing me as "Miss Nan," just as if he had known me all my life. And stranger still it was that, though I was rather wont to stand on my dignity, I felt no inclination to resent his thus dispensing with ceremony.

"It did seem hard at first," I murmured, "but now I don't mind."

"I know," he said. "It went sorely against the grain with me when I found that I must resign my post at the college, and go back to England. My students were very dear to me, and I hoped that I was impressing some of them for good. But there was no alternative—if I would go on living. So you and I have the same duty before us at present—to lay up a fresh store of energy."

"I have found it an easy duty so far," I said cheerfully.

"Indeed, in this fair home, with the spring unfolding about us, and all the lovely summer to come, it promises to be a delightful one," was his ready response.

So a bond of mutual comprehension was at once established between me and Alan Faulkner.

Aunt Patty got on with him equally well, and I could see by the way in which he listened to her and deferred to her that he felt the attraction of her unaffected goodness and kindness.

Nor was the Vicar less pleased when he made the acquaintance of our guest on the following evening. He found an affinity with the Professor at once, and showed a desire to monopolise his attention; but whenever, as we sat at the table, their talk threatened to become too abstruse, Mr. Faulkner would seek, by some explanatory word, to draw me and aunt into it, or would try to divert it into a more ordinary channel. How deep they plunged, or how far back in human history they went after we left them to themselves, I cannot say. Their conversation soon wearied Jack, for within five minutes, he joined us in the drawing-room.

Jack was in rather a perverse mood.

"I suppose that is the sort of chap the governor would like me to be," he growled, "able to jaw on learned subjects in that conceited fashion."

"Then I am afraid he will be disappointed," I said severely; "for even if you succeed in passing your exam, you will never be in the least like Mr. Faulkner."

"I am exceedingly glad to hear it!" he said with a disagreeable laugh.

It was so odd of Jack to take such a dislike to the Professor. I never saw the least trace of conceit in his bearing, and he showed the utmost consideration for Jack. I was vexed with the boy for being so unreasonable; but it was of no use my saying anything—he only grew worse.

For my part the more I saw of Alan Faulkner, the better I liked him. I was glad we had time to get well acquainted with him before any other guests arrived. For aunt's sake I was, of course, glad, but otherwise I could have regretted that the Americans were coming on the morrow.