Chapter I: SEEM to have wandered a long way from Eileen, but it was really she (5)

At first, conversation seemed all on my side: they sat stiffly on the extreme edge of their chairs, while Dick answered in monosyllables, Mick seeming permanently tongue-tied! But the Head of Affairs produced cigars warranted to banish all nervous embarrassment and to induce a man to sit comfortably anywhere; and soon they were giving us details of their homes and relatives—small things, perhaps, that are apparently the same the world over, but mean so much to each individual. It was still Dick who did most of the talking. He was undoubtedly the more attractive of the two.

As they were constantly making wild clutches at their parcels which threatened to tumble off their knees without the slightest provocation, we offered to put them on the table. But Dick explained, with almost child-like confusion, that they were presents for me and the other lady. And would I mind taking them? He made Mick open his bundle first. There came to light an anchor, the like of which I had never seen before, though I had heard of their existence. It was about eighteen inches long, made of red velvet stuffed with sawdust so as to form an immense pin cushion. This was most elaborately decorated with beads—as I thought at first—but it proved to be pins with coloured glass heads. Lengthwise down the anchor was this inscription, carried out in large white-headed pins,

“AFFECTION’S OFFERING.”

There were various ribbon bows, and ends and tags finished off with beads, and a cord for hanging it on the wall; altogether, it was a most ornate, glittering creation!

Keeping company with the anchor was a wooden rolling pin, that had been enamelled a delicate pink, with hand-painted sprays of forget-me-nots at intervals. This also had bows and ends and a ribbon to hang it on the wall; it likewise bore an inscription:

“TO GREET YOU.”

While I praised the colouring, and the workmanship of both, I promptly chose the rolling pin.

Mick looked a trifle disappointed, and explained that he had really intended the anchor for me; and thought the rolling pin would be nice for the lady who had sent the cakes.

But I clung to the rolling pin; even though it wasn’t quite in line with my ideas of decorative art, its sentiment was so non-committal! Besides, I wanted Abigail to have the anchor. Even though it be but a passing incident, it is pleasant to receive an “affection’s offering” occasionally, when we are young.

Dick’s parcel contained a large box covered with shells, and very pretty it was. In a smaller packet he had a coral necklace. I chose—and praised—the box with a perfectly clear conscience this time. You have to go to a great deal of trouble before you can vulgarise a sea-shell; and, fortunately, the box-maker hadn’t taken any trouble at all; he had merely stuck them haphazard over the cardboard lid, with a border of small ones round the edges, and the effect was lovely. I also knew that Abigail would much prefer the necklace. You can’t carry a big box about with you, to display it casually to your friends.

My genuine pleasure over the presents thawed them to such an extent, that Dick then explained they had come round with the intention of taking us out to a picture palace; Mick wanted to take me, and he, Dick, would take Miss Abigail. But, he added hesitatingly, that perhaps, after all, that wasn’t the sort of thing I would care about; and he looked rather beseechingly at the Head of Affairs, hoping we should understand what he couldn’t manage to put very clearly into words.

We did understand. Gratitude is none too plentiful in these days that we could afford to flout it because it chanced to appear in unconventional guise. We appreciated all that they had planned to do by way of saying thank you for what we had done for them—and it was little enough we had done, when one considers our debt to such men as these!

I explained that though _I_ was engaged that evening, Abigail was not; and they must now show her those parcels.

She had no knowledge that they were in the house; and you should have seen her face when she answered the bell and I introduced Mr. Dick and Mr. Mick.

In reply to my inquiries as to what she could do in the way of hospitality, she was certain that cook could get a really nice meal ready for them in a few minutes; and if even cook couldn’t she, Abigail, could, and Pamela had just come in, and she would help; it wasn’t the slightest trouble—and she looked positively radiant as she took the two in tow.

Having told them that we would wait on ourselves for the rest of the day, and no one need stay in, I was not surprised to hear a gay party setting off a little later on; but I _was_ surprised to see that it was Pamela, and not cook, who made the fourth in the quartette!

Pamela and Abigail hadn’t spoken since the episode previously mentioned. It was curious that she should have chanced to call for the purpose of burying the hatchet, the very afternoon that the “common sailors,” as she had called them, should be there!

For the time of the sailors’ leave I cut the housework down to the minimum and arranged a week of cold dinners, Spartan-like in their simplicity, for ourselves, so that “evenings out” could be taken as often as my household assistants pleased.

I hoped to find the kitchen radiating sunshine in consequence. Picture my consternation, therefore, when I came upon Abigail weeping her eyes out in their sitting-room one afternoon (when only half of the leave had expired too!), the coral necklace flung into one corner, and “affection’s offering” lying face downwards under the table.

To give her opportunity to pull herself together, I picked up the coral necklace and inquired what Mr. Dick would be likely to think if he saw it there. She sobbed that she didn’t know and she didn’t care.

“That Pamela——” Then I saw it all in a flash!

Well, to make a long story short, Pamela, whom I had long known to be as unscrupulous as she was good-looking, had stepped in and carried off Dick right from under Abigail’s nose! She had seen the two men arrive on the previous Saturday afternoon, and that accounted for her unexpected call. She had appropriated Dick from the first minute she saw him.

“And now,” said Abigail into her handkerchief, “just ten minutes ago, when I ran out to post some letters, who should I see coming out of The Gables, but Dick and that creature, starting off together for all the world as though they had known each other all their lives. Only last night she had the sauce to say _she_ was going out to Canada when the war was over!”

I felt truly sorry for the girl, and it was some satisfaction to me to reflect that Pamela wasn’t quite as successful as she imagined!

“I don’t think she will see much of Dick even if she does go out to Canada,” I said; “I don’t think his wife would have a room to spare to invite her there—with seven children. I daresay Dick told you that the lady in the checked apron was Mrs. Dick?” I stooped to pick up the forlorn anchor, and dusted it most carefully, to give her time to recover.

“No!” she gasped, and then went on bitterly, “he hasn’t had a chance to tell me a _thing_, with Pamela talking to him the whole time! But, of course, I guessed all along he was married.” She meant to take her disappointment bravely. “_I_ don’t want to marry anyone; men are all alike. But it does make you wild, when——”

I was facing the window, but Abigail had her back to it. Therefore she did not see what I saw coming along the road—a large bunch of flowers, surmounted by Mick’s round, jovial face.

“I think I should hang this up,” I interrupted her, having thoroughly dusted the anchor; “after all, Mick has no wall of his own to hang it on; he isn’t like Dick, with a home and wife and family—and one doesn’t get ‘affection’s offering’ every day!”

“Oh, but that wasn’t really meant for me,” and Abigail’s grief threatened to break out afresh. “Mick was so taken with the lovely parcels you sent, and he thought as you lived with me you were a widow, and——”

Fortunately, I was spared the rest, for the downstairs door bell rang with a vehemence that was now most familiar, and Abigail, patting her hair and her cap into shape, went smilingly down the passage to answer the side door.

XIV

The Bonfire