Chapter II: Part 2

Madame came graciously towards the group. "Ah! Good afternoon," she said, in a pleasant voice, with only the slightest trace of a French accent. "I am going marketing in Chiswick with Nanette. Nanette cannot speak a word of English, you know." Then she turned to her daughter. "Marjolaine, you may take your book under the tree, if our friends will have you." Marjolaine was talking to Mr. Basil Pringle. "It is nearly time for my singing-lesson, Maman."

"Ah, yes. Mr. Basil, I fear you find her very backward."

Basil could only murmur, "O no, Madame, I assure you--"

It was noticeable that everyone who spoke to Madame did so with a sense of subdued reverence.

Madame turned to Marjolaine. "Ask Miss Barbara to chaperone you, as I have to go out."

"Bien, Maman."

"You are to speak English, dear."

"Bien, Maman--O! I mean yes, mother!"

Sir Peter and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn both sidled up to Madame, while Mrs. Poskett stood utterly neglected and looked on with the air of an injured saint.

"May I not offer you my escort?" said both gentlemen in one breath.

"O no!" laughed Madame. "I have Nanette. Nothing can happen to me while I have Nanette."

"As if anything ever could happen in Chiswick!" said Mrs. Poskett, a little spitefully.

Madame signalled to Nanette to lead the way, and followed her past the Eyesore and out of the Walk, convoyed by the gallant Admiral as far as the corner, where he stood looking after her an appreciable time.

Meanwhile Marjolaine had run up to the railings of Number Three where Miss Ruth Pennymint was sewing in the window.

"Miss Ruth," she cried, "is Barbara busy?"

Miss Ruth looked up from her work with a smile as she saw the eager young face. "She's closeted with Doctor Johnson."

"Will you ask her to come out when she's done?" and Marjolaine came back to the tree. Basil rose from his seat. "Pray don't move," said the young girl, prettily, "Barbara will be here in a moment. She is with Doctor Johnson."

Basil's face was very grave. It looked almost like the face of a man who finds himself in the presence of a great tragedy; or of one who knows he is fighting an insuperable obstacle. "Ah, yes," he sighed, "Doctor Johnson. Surely that is very pathetic." And he turned away and leant disconsolately against the railings, with his eyes fixed on the door of Number Three.

"Come and sit down, Missie, come and sit down," cried the Admiral, heartily.

Marjolaine accepted his invitation. "I used to be so afraid of you, Sir Peter!"

"Gobblessmysoul! Why?"

"You were so angry with us for painting our house white!"

"Hum," coughed the Admiral, looking guiltily at Mrs. Poskett and Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "Ah--hum!--the others were green, ye see. But it's an admirable contrast."

Mrs. Poskett sniffed. She had not forgotten the Admiral's ignominious surrender.

Now Miss Ruth and Miss Barbara came out of their house, hand in hand, as usual. Miss Ruth was, as we are aware, considerably older than her sister, and still treated her like a pet child. Barbara disengaged herself as soon as she caught sight of Marjolaine, rushed at her with bird-like hops, and pecked a little kiss off each cheek as a bird pecks at a cherry.

"Oh, Marjolaine, dearest!" she cried with enthusiasm, "Doctor Johnson has been most extraordinarily eloquent!" The two girls walked away together with their arms gracefully entwined around each other's waists. Ruth joined the others under the tree.

"Good afternoon," she said, "Dear Barbara!--She has just had her hour with the parrot. Her memories of Lieutenant Charles are at their liveliest."

Mr. Basil, who had never taken his eyes off Barbara, heaved a soul-rending sigh, and came up to Miss Ruth.

"Very unwholesome, _I_ think," said Mrs. Poskett, sharply. Miss Ruth explained to Basil: "Lieutenant Charles was in His Majesty's Navy, you know, and dear Barbara was affianced to him."

"So I have heard," answered Basil, coldly. As a matter of fact, he had heard it on an average twice every day. Ruth went on relentlessly, "Unhappily he was abruptly removed from this earthly sphere."

Bare politeness forced Basil to show some interest. After all, Ruth was Barbara's sister. "I presume he fell in battle?"

"Say rather in single combat."

The Admiral with difficulty suppressed a guffaw. He whispered to Basil with a hoarse chuckle, "As a matter of fact he was knocked on the head outside a gin-shop."

"But," the unconscious Ruth went on, "he had bestowed a token of his affection on dear Barbara, in the shape of the remarkable bird you may have seen."

Basil had seen him often and had heard him constantly. For whenever the bird was left alone, he filled the air incessantly with ear-piercing shrieks.

"Doctor Johnson," continued Ruth, "named after the great Lexicographer in consideration of his astonishing fluency of speech. Doctor Johnson is Barbara's only consolation."

Basil suppressed a groan. The obstacle! The obstacle!

"Yes, dear," said Barbara, who had come up with Marjolaine. She spoke with pretty melancholy, but with a side-glance at Basil. "Yes, dear, he speaks with Charles's voice, and says the very things Charles used to say."

Basil moved away. This was almost more than he could bear.

"How lovely!" cried Marjolaine. "I wish I could hear him!"

"Ah, no!" Barbara's chubby face fell into the nearest approach to solemnity she could manage. "Not even you may share that melancholy joy. The things he says are too sacred."

Sir Peter had sidled up to Basil. "I tell you, sir, that bird's language would silence Billingsgate. The atmosphere of that room must be solid, sir--solid." Basil stared at him with amazed reproof, and the Admiral turned to Marjolaine. "Well, Missie, we all hope you 've grown to like the Walk?"

"I love it! And so does Maman."

The Admiral grew enthusiastic. He turned towards the houses glowing in the late sun. "It is a sheltered haven. Look at it! A haven of content! What says the poet? 'The world forgetting, by the world forgot.'"

All had turned with him. They were just an ordinary, every-day set of people. There was not a poet among them, if we except Basil, and yet the Walk, basking in the evening sun, touched some chord in each heart. The Admiral saw his flag drooping in the still air, and remembered his fighting days; Mrs. Poskett thought of Sempronius, and her tea-kettle simmering on the hob; Ruth was grateful for the shelter her little house had given her in her misfortune; Barbara thought of Doctor Johnson and--must I say it?--of Basil; Basil thought of Barbara; Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn thought of patient, unattractive Selina, and the four baby girls; Marjolaine, in her fresh girlhood, could only think of how pretty the flowers looked in the window.

Barbara exclaimed, "When the sunlight falls on it so, how lovely it is!"

Basil looked into her blue eyes, and murmured, "It reminds me of the music I am at work on."

"What is that?" cried Marjolaine. "It sounds beautiful--through the wall."

The musician's enthusiasm was kindled; he grew eloquent. "It is by a new German composer: a man called Beethoven. My old violin-master, Kreutzer, sent it me.--Ah! These new Germans! They are so complicated; so difficult. I am old-fashioned, you know. I had the honour of playing under Mr. Haydn at the Salomon concerts. Yes! and in the very first performance of his immortal Oratorio, 'The Creation,' at Worcester. So perhaps I am prejudiced. Yet this new music is very wonderful; very heart-searching." He stopped abruptly, realising he was talking to deaf ears. Sir Peter came to his rescue.

"I don't know anything about your new-fangled fiddle-faddles; but, by Jehoshaphat, Pringle, play me a hornpipe, and I 'll dance till your arms drop off!"

He hummed the tune, and with amazing agility sketched a few steps, while Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn put up his quizzing glass and eyed him with a superior smile. "Oh!" laughed Marjolaine, clapping her hands, "you must teach me!"

"That I will, Missie! and the sooner the better."

Mrs. Poskett was furious. "No fool like an old fool," she whispered in Ruth's ear.

Barbara, who had been up to Mrs. Poskett's gate to stroke Sempronius, came running down with a little cry of horror. She pointed to the frouzy figure of the Eyesore. "Look! The Eyesore 's going to smoke!"

And, sure enough, after removing an indescribable handkerchief, a greasy newspaper, obviously containing his lunch, half an apple, a large piece of cheese, a huge pocket-knife, and a lump of coal he had picked up in the road, the Eyesore had dragged out a horrible little clay pipe and a dreadful little paper packet of tobacco. The Walk stood petrified. When the Eyesore smoked, everybody had to go indoors and shut their windows.

"His poisonous tobacco!" cried Ruth. "Can you not speak to him, Admiral?"

"I can, Madam, but he'll answer back."

"And then," said Mrs. Poskett somewhat tartly, "of course you are helpless."

"Not at all, ma'am. I hope I can swear with any man; but--the ladies!"

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had been observing the Eyesore. "Thank heaven," he whispered, "his pipe won't draw."

For the Eyesore was trying to blow through the stem, was knocking his pipe on the palm of his hand, was endeavouring to run a straw through it: all without success. Finally, in an access of rage, he tossed it aside and sullenly resumed his fishing. A sigh of relief went up from the whole Walk. They were saved.

Now a quaint figure came slowly round the corner. "Ah!" cried Basil, "here is our good Doctor Sternroyd!"

"With his books, as usual," added Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "What a brain!"

"Old dryasdust!" laughed Sir Peter. But pointing to the Doctor, Basil motioned them all to silence.

And, to be sure, the Doctor was worth looking at. He was dressed in the fashion of fifty years before. Indeed, I should doubt whether in all those fifty years he had had a new suit of clothes. On his head was a venerable hat of indefinite shape; under his left arm a great bundle of old books; under his right a venerable umbrella of generous proportions, which had once been green. Fortunately his coat had originally been snuff-coloured, so that the spilled snuff made no difference to it. His small-clothes were shabby; his lean shanks were encased in grey worsted stockings, and the great silver buckles on his shoes were tarnished.

At the present moment, however, it was not so much his appearance as his actions that arrested the Walk's attention. He had come in dreamily as usual with his lack-lustre eyes seeing nothing in spite of their great silver-rimmed spectacles. Suddenly his attention was attracted by something lying at his feet. He stopped, picked it up laboriously, and examined it minutely, pushing his spectacles over his forehead for the purpose.

"Bless the man!" cried Mrs. Poskett. "He 's picked up the Eyesore's filthy pipe!"

And now he was exhibiting all the symptoms of frantic joy. Utterly unconscious of the people watching him, he indulged in delighted chuckles, and his withered old legs quite independently of their master's volition executed a sort of grotesque dance. He looked very much like a crane that had caught a fish.

"But why the step-dance?" exclaimed Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, with a laugh.

Sir Peter hailed him. "Doctor Sternroyd, ahoy!"

The Doctor looked from one to the other in genuine amazement. It was evident his mind had been wandering in some remote world.

"Dear me! Tut, tut!" he stammered. "I had not observed you!" Then, with a radiant face, "Ah, my friends, congratulate me!"

All gathered round him, and the Admiral asked, "What about, Doctor?"

"This," said the reverend gentleman, holding up the trophy. "This. A beautiful specimen of an early Elizabethan tobacco-pipe!"

It was with the greatest difficulty the Admiral restrained a great burst of laughter from the onlookers. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn got as far as "That, sir? Why, that's--" when a tremendous dig from the Admiral's elbow deprived him of his wind, and sent him backward clucking like an infuriated turkey-cock.

"I do not wonder at your surprise," continued the antiquary. "Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, they are sometimes found in the alluvial deposit of the Thames; but even my friend, the Archbishop of Canterbury, whose specialty they are, does not possess so perfect a specimen in his entire collection."

Again the Admiral was obliged to exercise all his authority in order to suppress unseemly mirth or explanations. Doctor Sternroyd went on with the tone of regret assumed by a man of learning in the presence of an ignorant and unappreciative audience. "Ah, you don't understand the value of these things. Out of this fragment it is possible to reconstruct an entire epoch. I see Sir Walter Raleigh's fleet bringing home the fragrant weed from the distant plantations; I see him enjoying its vapours in his pleasaunce at Sherborne; I see Drake solacing himself with it on board the Golden Hind. Yes, yes, I shall read a paper on it.--Ah! if only my dear wife, my beloved Araminta, were here now!" With mingled melancholy and triumph he drifted across the lawn and into his house--the last house of the crescent.

"Amazing!" said Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn; "but why would n't you let me tell him, Sir Peter?"

There was a wistful look on Sir Peter's face as he replied. "Ah, Brooke! We all live on our illusions. The more we believe, the happier we are!"

This was beyond Brooke; but Miss Ruth understood and sighed her assent.

*CHAPTER IV*

*CONCERNING A MYSTERIOUS LADY, AND AN ELDERLY BEAU*

This was evidently to be a memorable afternoon in the annals of Pomander Walk; for no sooner had it recovered from its mirth over the Doctor's antiquarian discovery than Jim, who had been training the sweet peas at the corner of the Admiral's house, shouted hoarsely:

"Admiral! Pirate in the offing!"

Such a startling announcement was well calculated to silence all laughter; and the imposing figure who now appeared round the corner certainly did nothing to encourage mirth: a very tall, very gaunt, very bony lady, severely but richly dressed; her face hidden in the remote recesses of a more than usually capacious poke bonnet. She was followed by an enormous footman carrying a gold-headed cane in one hand, while a fat pug reposed on his other arm. The Walk was paralysed and could only stare and gasp. Who was she? Where did she come from? Whom did she want?

She stopped and examined the Eyesore through her uplifted _face-a-main_, as if he had been some strange, unpleasant animal. "Fellow," she said, "is this Pomander Lane?" A shudder ran through the Walk. Pomander _Lane_, indeed!--The only answer the lady got from the Eyesore was that at that precise moment he found it agreeable to scratch his back. With an exclamation of disgust she turned from him only to find herself face to face with Jim. Now Jim was not pretty to look at.

"Fellow, is this Pomander Lane?" she repeated.

"You 've a-lost yer bearin's, mum," replied the old tar huskily and not too cordially.

"What savages!" muttered the Lady as she turned to Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. "You! Is this Pomander Lane?"

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn had laid himself out to fascinate her with his courtliest manner, but the "You!" with which she addressed him aroused the turkey-cock within him, and it was an icy and raging Brooke-Hoskyn who replied, "This, ma'am, is Pomander _Walk_!"

"Same thing," said the Lady contemptuously.

"Excuse me, ma'am--!" exclaimed Sir Peter hotly.

But she waved him aside and proceeded in a tone intended to be ingratiating, and therefore more offensive than any tone she could have chosen, "My good people"--imagine the Walk's feelings!--"I have undertaken to look after the morals of this part of your parish. I have made it my duty to give advice and distribute alms."

Morals--parish--advice--alms! Had the Walk ever heard such words uttered within its genteel precincts? The Lady turned to Ruth, who happened to be at her side. "Where are your children?"

Ruth stood aghast. She could only breathe indignantly, "I am a spinster."

"Are there no children?" said the Lady reproachfully.

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's nurse happened to pass at the moment on her way into the house. The Lady stopped her. "Ah, yes." Mrs. Poskett and the Admiral had sunk in helpless surprise on the bench under the elm. The Lady turned to them. "The father and mother, I suppose?"

Mrs. Poskett and the Admiral started apart, as if they had been shocked by a galvanic battery. Mrs. Poskett uttered an indignant scream; the Admiral could only gasp, "Gobblessmysoul!"

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn, purple in the face, came clucking down. "This, ma'am, is my youngest. The youngest of four--at present."

The Lady looked him up and down. "I will give your wife instructions about their management--"

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn danced with rage. "You'll--haha!--She'll teach Selina!--Hoho!--Oh, that's good!"

But the Lady had caught sight of Marjolaine, who with Barbara was standing by the Gazebo. Both young ladies, I regret to say, were laughing immoderately. Brushing the Admiral aside, she sailed imposingly across to them and addressed Marjolaine, who was by this time looking demure, and overdoing it.

"What do I see?" said the Lady severely, examining Marjolaine through her glasses. "Curls? At your age, curls? Fie!" Then shaking a lank finger at her, "Mind! your hair must be quite straight when next I come."

To the delight of the Walk Marjolaine made a pretty and submissive curtsey, and answered, "Yes, ma'am; but don't come again in a hurry. Give me lots and lots of time!"

Meanwhile Mrs. Poskett and Ruth had been urging the Admiral on. Now he approached the Lady in his quarter-deck manner, and said,

"Madam--hum--we give alms, and we do not take advice. You 're on the wrong tack. You 're out of your reckoning." Then, pointing grandly to the only entrance to the Walk, "That is your course for Pomander Lane."

"Yes," said Brooke-Hoskyn, with the same action, "That!"

"Yes," said all the ladies, pointing melodramatically to the corner, "That!"

"Jim," ordered the Admiral, "pilot the lady out."

"Ay, ay, sir."

The Lady eyed them all in turn through her _face-a-main_. "Very well," she said, with magnificent scorn. "I was told I should have difficulty here. I was told you only go to church twice on Sundays. I did not expect to find you so bad as you are. I shall come again. I am not so easily beaten. I shall certainly come again!"

In grim silence she gathered her skirts about her and departed as she had come, followed by the footman and the fat pug.

When she had turned the corner the Walk once more indulged in a burst of laughter.

"What a figure of fun!" cried Ruth.

"I gave here her sailing orders--what?" chuckled the Admiral.

And Mrs. Poskett gazed into his face with admiration.

"What a wonderful man you are, Sir Peter!"

When they had all recovered, Basil came to Marjolaine and eagerly reminded her it was high time for her singing-lesson.

Marjolaine appealed to Barbara: "Maman told me to ask you to come with me."

Barbara gave a little hop of delight, but Ruth exclaimed, "Shall I take your place, dear?"

"No, no," cried Barbara, almost as if she were in a fright, "I love to hear her." Barbara, Marjolaine, and Basil moved slowly towards Number Three, while Ruth approached Mrs. Poskett. "Will you come in and take a dish of tea?"

"No," replied Mrs. Poskett, "no, thank you," and then, with a giggle, "I'm going--you'll never guess!--I 'm going to comb my wig."

Seeing the ladies all strolling towards their houses the Admiral once more challenged Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn to play off the rubber at quoits. But he declined. "I think not, Sir Peter. Selina will be expecting me."

Mrs. Poskett stopped. "I wonder you can bear to leave her so much alone."

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn felt the implied reproach. With a countenance full of woe, he replied, "It tears my heart-strings, ma'am; but she will have it so. 'Brooke,' she says--or 'Jerome,' as the case may be--'your place is in the fashionable world, among the hote tonn.' So I sacrifice my inclination to her pleasure."

"How unselfish of you!" said Ruth.

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued more cheerfully. "She has many innocent pastimes. At the present moment the dear soul is joyously darning my socks."

By this time Mrs. Poskett and the other ladies were on their respective door-steps. Mrs. Poskett gave a startled cry and called the Admiral's attention to the corner of the Walk, where four men in livery had just deposited a sedan chair. "Company, Sir Peter!" she cried.

Sir Peter turned abruptly and examined the person who was with difficulty emerging from the sedan. "Eh?-- Gobblessmysoul! Is it possible?-- My old friend, Lord Otford!" He bustled up to the newcomer, shouting "Otford! Otford!"

Now the name had had a magical effect on Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn. At the sound of it the colour had all vanished from his fat cheeks, the strength seemed to have gone out of his legs, and his knees were knocking together. "Lord Otford, by all that's unlucky!" he exclaimed.

Mrs. Poskett had swept back to the elm. She happened to have a very becoming dress on, and she was determined the noble lord should see it. She caught sight of Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's face. "What's the matter?"

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn pulled himself together with a mighty effort. "Nothing, ma'am." Then with great dignity, "He and I differ in politics. There might be bloodshed." And while Mrs. Poskett exclaimed "Well, I never!" he had dashed into his house as a rabbit dashes into its burrow.

Mrs. Poskett sailed up to her house trying to catch his lordship's eye. I am afraid all the ladies were anxious to be noticed, for all lingered at their doors. A real, live lord was not an ordinary sight in Pomander Walk. And this one happened to be a handsome one; well set up, dressed in the height of fashion, yet quietly, as a gentleman should dress; and carrying his forty-five years as though they had been no more than thirty.

"You're looking well, Peter!" he exclaimed, still shaking the Admiral by the hand.

"My dear Jack! My dear old Jack!" cried the latter. "Here! come into the house!"

"No, no," laughed his friend, with a suspicious glance at the diminutive window. "Stuffy. No. Looks pleasant under the elm."

"Why, come along, then!" shouted the Admiral, dragging him towards the tree.

Lord Otford took off his hat to Mrs. Poskett with an elaborate bow. "I say, Peter, in clover, you rascal!"

"Dam fine woman--what?"

Here Lord Otford caught sight of Marjolaine just disappearing in the doorway of Number Three. He stopped short. "Ay, and pretty gel on door-step." Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, "By Jove!"

"Dainty little thing, eh?" said the Admiral with a chuckle.

"Yes," replied the nobleman, pensively. "Reminds me vaguely--" but he changed the subject. "Well! You're hale and hearty!"

"Nothing amiss with you, neither," laughed Sir Peter, sitting on the bench and drawing his friend down beside him. "I am glad to see you! Thought you was in Russia."

"Got home a month ago, Peter. Not married yet?"

"Peter Antrobus married? That's a good 'un." Up went the Admiral's finger to his nose. "No, my Lord. All women, yes. One woman, no!"

"Sure nobody can hear us?"

Sir Peter looked round cautiously. Save for the Eyesore, absorbed in his placid effort to catch fish, there was no sign of life in the Walk. Nobody was visible at the windows. From Number Three came the sound of a fresh young voice singing scales and arpeggios.

"Quite safe, Jack," said he.

"Peter, I want your help."

"Woman?" asked Sir Peter.

"Yes. Not my woman, though, this time. It's about my boy--Jack."

"Aha! Got into a mess? Chip of the old block--what?"

"No, no. Marriage."

"Gobblessmysoul! How old is he?"

"Twenty-five."

"Good Lord!"

"I want to see Jack settled. There 's the succession to think of."

"You talk as though you was a king."

"Well, so I am, in a small way. Think of the estate! I want Jack to take the reins."

"How can he, when he 's on the sea?"

"He's to retire as soon as he gets his Captaincy."

The Admiral jumped up. "Retire! Now! With Boney ready to gobble us up!"

Otford drew him down again. "Don't you see? With all this battle and bloodshed, now's the time for Jack to give me a grandson. He 's my only child, remember. Why, hang it, man, if he was to die without issue, the title and the estates would go to that infernal whig scoundrel, James Sayle."

"That won't do," Sir Peter assented, wisely nodding his head.

"Of course it won't. Now, there's old Wendover's gel--Caroline Thring."

The Admiral made a wry face. "Caroline Thring? I've heard of her. Never seen her: but heard of her. Eccentric party, ain't she? And did n't I hear there was an affair with Young Beauchamp?"

"That's fallen through. She's an estimable person."

"Ugh," said the Admiral.

"People call her eccentric," Lord Otford continued, hotly, "because she goes about doing good--distributing alms--"

The Admiral was about to exclaim, but Otford gave him no time. "You 're prejudiced, you old reprobate. Wendover 's willing, and there's nothing in the way. The estates join. She's sole heiress. Gad, sir, that alliance would make Jack the biggest man in the Three Kingdoms."

"Is Jack fond of her?"

"Does n't object to her. Hesitates. Says he don't want to marry at all. Says he has n't had his fling."

"Well--what's it all got to do with me?"

"Ever since Jack's been home on leave, he's done nothing but talk about you--"

"Good lad!" cried Sir Peter, slapping his thigh. "I loved him when he was a middy on board the _Termagant_."

"And he loves you. Coming to look you up. To-day, very likely. When he comes, refer to Caroline--carelessly. Say what a fine gel she is. Don't say a word about the estate. These young whipper-snappers have such high-and-mighty ideas about marrying for money. Refer to young Beauchamp. Say in your time young fellers did n't let other young fellers cut 'em out. See?"

"You 're a wily old fox, Jack. But, hark'ee! Sure he's not in love with anybody else?"

"He says he is n't. Oh, there may be a Spanish Senorita!--Gad! I should almost be ashamed of him if there wasn't!--But there's no--no--"

"No Lucy Pryor?" said the Admiral carelessly.

The name seemed to fall on Lord Otford like a blow. He sat quite still a moment, looking straight before him into who knows what memories. At last he said very sadly, "No. No Lucy Pryor."

The Admiral realised his own tactlessness. He took Lord Otford's hand. "I beg your pardon, Jack. I 'm sorry."

"It still hurts, Peter," said his Lordship with a wistful smile. "Like an old bullet.--Well! You 'll do what you can, eh?--I don't want you to overdo it. Just edge him in the right direction."

"Keep his eye in the wind, what?"

"That's it.--Well? Any new-comers in the Walk?"

"Yes," chuckled the Admiral, "two oil lamps. One in front of my house, and one in front of Sternroyd's. They wanted to give us their new-fangled, stinking gas, but the whole Walk mutinied."

"Very fine, but--"

"They 're only used when there's no moon."

"But I meant new people!"

"Oh! Ah! Yes!--" Then with a sort of smack of the lips indicative of the highest appreciation, "A French widow and her daughter."

At once Lord Otford showed a lively interest. "French, eh?--What? the little gel I saw going in?"

"Yes," answered the Admiral, rising and leading his friend towards the Gazebo where his whisper would no longer make the windows of the Walk rattle. "Yes. They're not really French, y' know. Mother's the widow of a Frenchman. Madame Lachesnais."

This sounded very dull. His Lordship stifled a yawn, but he noticed the Admiral's kindling eye, and felt constrained to continue the subject.

"Pleasant?"

"De-lightful!" answered Sir Peter, kissing the tips of his fingers at an imaginary ideal. "The Walk was shy of 'em at first. So was I. Thought they was foreigners. Foreigners are all very well for you and me, Jack. We 're men o' the world. But think of Mrs. Poskett! Think of the Misses Pennymint! Think of Mr. and Mrs. Brooke-Hoskyn!"

Lord Otford started slightly at the last name.

"Eh? Mr. and Mrs. what?"

"Brooke-Hoskyn. Sh!" pointing to the house with his thumb. "Very distinguished man. Moves in the highest circles. Hote tonn, Jack. Dines in town regularly four times a week."

"Man of family?" asked Lord Otford.

"Family?" roared the Admiral. "Well, I should say so. Four little gels in five years, and more to come! Never met him?"

"I seem to remember a man called Hoskyn," said his friend nonchalantly.

The Admiral shook his head in dismissal of the undistinguished Hoskyn. "No, no. This is Brooke-Hoskyn; Brooke--h'm--Hoskyn; with a hyphen."

Lord Otford had had enough of Brooke-Hoskyn. "Go on about the French widow."

"Well, one morning their shay was signalled from the back of the Misses Pennymint. We'd all been watching for their coming, y' know, because of their house having been painted white--but that's another yarn altogether. Shays can't get beyond the corner of Pomander Lane; so I had time to put on my uniform, and my medals, and my cocked hat--"

"Meant to show 'em you was Admiral on your own quarter-deck, eh?"

"That's it. And then--" the Admiral glowed with enthusiasm--"well, then Madame came round the corner; and then Mademerzell. They did n't walk, Jack, they floated. And what did I do? I just sneaked back into harbour, and struck my colours. Yes!-- She was the most gracious creature I 'd ever seen. And the gel--! Well, you saw her." He paused for a moment, and then added in a curiously subdued voice: "They brought something new into the Walk."

Lord Otford looked at him enquiringly. "What do you mean?"

It was some little time before Sir Peter answered. He sat gazing into vacancy a moment, like a man who is remembering happier things, calling up a mental picture of a beautiful landscape--or perhaps of a beautiful face--suddenly smitten by the recollection of his own youth. At last, with something like a sigh he went on.

"We're rather an elderly lot, y'know. Beyond our springtime, Jack, and that's the truth. When we sit and think, we think of the past, and try not to think of the future. And, suddenly, here was this Grace and Beauty and Youth in the midst of us. It gave the Walk a shock, I can tell ye. All the women lay-to in repairing-dock for days. Mrs. Poskett never showed her nose till she 'd got a new wig from town; Pringle tells me he caught poor little Barbara Pennymint looking at herself in the glass and crying; and Brooke-Hoskyn says his wife, who had watched 'em come from her window, not being able to get downstairs, poor soul, sobbed her heart out and made him swear he loved her."

"By Jove!" cried Lord Otford, "you make me want to see these paragons!"

"Well, Madame 's only gone shopping. She 'll be back directly. Wait, and I 'll present you."

"No," said his friend, signalling to the sedan-bearers. "Not to-day. I'm on my way to old Wendover, at Brentford."

"Ah! That marriage! Well, I hope I shall see Jack soon."

"You'll help me, won't you?"

"I will. I will. God bless you."

Sir Peter escorted his friend to the sedan; saw him safely into it and walked at its side until it turned the corner. As he came back he found himself face to face with Marjolaine, who had finished her lesson and was coming out of Number Three with a book in her hand.

"There, now, Missie," he cried, "if you'd come a moment earlier, I'd have presented you to a very great man!"

"Oh?"

At his door the Admiral put his hand up to his mouth and whispered confidentially--a confidential whisper which could have been heard the other side of the river--"I say!--We 'll have a go at that horn-pipe by-and-by--what?" And chuckling he went into his house.

Marjolaine came slowly to the elm, seated herself, and proceeded to read the "Adventures of Telemachus."

*CHAPTER V*

*CONCERNING WHAT YOU HAVE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR*

The sun shone; the thrush sang; the leaves of the elm rustled; the great river flowed silently; the breeze came and kissed Marjolaine and whispered "Wake up! Wake up! Something is going to happen!" But she could not hear. She only thought Telemachus was even duller than usual, and as she read of Mentor she thought of the Reverend Doctor Sternroyd. Presently--whether it was the breeze that blew her thoughts away, or the singing of the thrush, I cannot say--she lost the thread of the story; stopped thinking at all; and just sat with her elbow on her knee and her chin in her hand, looking with her great brown eyes into--what?

The Eyesore saw her. I cannot dip into the Eyesore's mind. I cannot tell you what influenced him. I only know he grew restless. He looked at her over his shoulder once or twice as she sat there, "In maiden meditation, fancy free," and suddenly he got up, laid his rod carefully across the chains, and stole out on tip-toe. Was it a glimmering sense that he was no company for this pretty maid lost in thought? Was it a dim realisation that his ungainly figure had no business to intrude on her meditations? Whatever the cause, he stole out on tip-toe and was lost to sight. Perhaps he was only thirsty.

Marjolaine did not notice his going. Nor did she see Jack come. Jack came apparently out of the river. As a matter of fact he tied his boat to a ring at the foot of Pomander Stairs and leaped on shore. A delightful young fellow, the sort of young man you take to, the moment you set eyes on him. Obviously a sailor. His lieutenant's undress jacket was over his arm. A wiry figure, lissome as a willow and as tough as steel; a face tanned by many suns; true sailor's eyes looking frankly and fearlessly at the world.

He was evidently in search of something or somebody. He came down the Walk examining all the houses curiously; and suddenly he found himself face to face with Marjolaine.

His shadow fell across her book. She looked up; and their eyes met.

Marjolaine was much too well-bred to show any surprise, but, as a matter of fact, she was very much surprised indeed. Here was a new and terrible situation. A total stranger standing looking at her; her mother and Nanette gone to Chiswick; the Admiral shut in his house; and not another soul in sight. Even the Eyesore would have been a sort of moral support, but even the Eyesore had deserted her. However: Courage! If she went on with her book the stranger would go. So she went on with her book, grimly.

But the stranger did not move. When a young sailor-man sees an extremely pretty girl, his instinct is to stand still and look. Jack stood still. I will not say he was not nervous. He was. But he conquered his nervousness, like the brave fellow he was, and stood his ground.

Marjolaine began to get angry. This was an outrage. She looked up at him once more, and this time there was a flash in her eyes which was meant to annihilate him. It did. If she had not looked up, he might ultimately have gone reluctantly away. But this look finished him and rooted him to the spot.

Marjolaine returned to her book. But Telemachus had taken on a new shape. He had laughing blue eyes and he carried a naval jacket with gold buttons over his arm. Also he stood looking at her. This was intolerable. If the stranger would not move, she must. It went horribly against her pride to retreat in the face of the enemy, but if the enemy would n't retreat, what were you to do?

She closed the book with an angry bang and rose to her feet. The movement roused Jack to a sense of his own inexplicable behaviour.

"I beg your pardon!" he stammered, involuntarily.

Marjolaine eyed him haughtily from head to foot. She had read somewhere that this is what a well-bred young woman should do under similar circumstances.

"Why?" said she, raising her eyebrows.

"Oh, I'm so glad you said 'Why?'" cried Jack, with evident relief.

Marjolaine had not expected this. She was genuinely puzzled and a little off her guard. She could only repeat, but this time quite naturally, "Why?"

"Well," said Jack, very volubly, "if you'd said, 'There's no occasion,' or if you hadn't said anything, our conversation would have been finished, you know."

Marjolaine could have stamped with vexation. Of course she ought to have said nothing. And here she was entrapped into what this very bold young man described as a "conversation"!

"The conversation is finished," she said, trying to pass him.

But he held up his hand. "No. It's my turn to ask you a question!"

"_Hein?_" she cried, more than ever on her dignity. He had the impudence to accuse her of asking him a question!

Jack remembered his manners. With a low bow he presented himself. "I 'm Jack Sayle, at your service. I 'm a lieutenant in the Navy; and I 've just rowed down from Richmond--three miles. I 'm home on leave; and I 'm looking for an old friend."

"All that is very interesting," said Marjolaine, "but it is n't a question," and once more she tried to get by.

Jack felt rather injured. She might have shown a little more interest in the autobiography he had just favoured her with. "I thought it was polite to tell you who I was. As for the question: it 's uncommon hot, and when I saw this terrace I said there 'd be sure to be one here. Is there?"

"What?" cried Marjolaine, this time really stamping her foot.

"An inn?"

"Certainly not."

"Can't you tell me where there is one?"

"I do not frequent them," answered she, freezingly.

"No?" said Jack, crestfallen. "Sorry. I am dry. You see, I 've rowed all the way from Richmond. Five miles."

Marjolaine had manoeuvred safely inside her own gate. She felt she could afford a parting shot at him. "I 'm afraid you 'll have to row all the way back again. Good afternoon." By this time her hand grasped the handle of the door.

Jack addressed the world in general. "Curious, how different everything is."

Marjolaine turned. "Different what is?"

"Why, if I 'd met an old gentleman outside his house in Spain, and he 'd seen how I was suffering, he 'd have said his house was mine."

Marjolaine indignantly came down one step. "I am not an old gentleman; I haven't any house in Spain; and it's a shame to say I 'm inhospitable!"

Jack's face wore an inscrutable smile. He protested. "I didn't. I only said it was different."

Marjolaine came back to the gate.

"Are you really suffering?" she asked.

Jack turned away to hide an unmistakable grin. He spoke in a hollow voice. "Intolerably." Then he turned to her with a haggard countenance. "Look at my face!"

Marjolaine came out of the gate. Ah, Marjolaine! The moth and the candle!

"I can't ask you in, because Maman and Nanette are out."

Jack staggered to the seat under the elm, and sank on it like a man in the last stage of exhaustion. "It's of no consequence. I must row back. Seven miles. Against the tide. Ah, well!"

Marjolaine was genuinely sorry for him. He really was very good-looking.

"I'm sure Maman would ask you in, if she were here."

"I 'm quite sure of that."

"And I think she would not like me to be--as you say--inhospitable."

"I didn't say it; but I'm quite sure she would n't."

Marjolaine's kind little heart was quite melted. This good-looking young man spoke so very humbly.

"I might--I might bring you out something--"

A gleam of triumph crossed Jack's face, but he answered with the air of a martyr: "Oh! don't trouble!"

Marjolaine's sense of the proprieties got the better of her again. "What would the neighbours say if they saw me feeding an entire stranger?"

Jack leaped up in indignant protest. "But I 'm not! I 've told you my name. That's as much as anybody ever knows about anybody!"

Marjolaine was now in the shadow of the elm. She examined every house in the Walk. "Number One 's asleep; Number Two 's combing her wig; Number Three 's working; Number Five's nursing one of the four; and Number Six"--poor Doctor Sternroyd!--"doesn't matter. I 'll risk it." She turned to go in, but stopped. "What would you like?"

Jack protested, "Oh, my dear young lady!--It's not for me to say. Anything you offer me--anything!"

Ticking the items off on her pretty fingers, Marjolaine enumerated the various beverages stored in her mother's cupboard. "We have elderberry wine; cowslip wine; red-currant wine; and gooseberry wine."

Jack's face was a study. It had grown so long that Marjolaine exclaimed with genuine sympathy, "Why, you look quite ill! Which do you say?"

It was a choice between poison and discourtesy, but Jack was equal to it. "I 've been brought up very simply. I should never have the presumption to ask for any of those. Have n't you any ale?"

"Ale!" cried Marjolaine, "how low!"

"I said I 'd been brought up simply."

"We have no ale."

Before he could stop himself Jack had cried "And this is England!"

But Marjolaine had had an idea. "I know! There 's Maman's claret. She takes it for her health. What do you say to _that_?"

Jack had not tried it, and did n't know what he might be likely to say to it. He could only stammer, "Oh, it's better than--better than--" he was going to add elderberry, or cowslip, but caught himself up in time--"better than ale."

"Ah!--Now, will you wait a moment under the tree?"

"I'll wait hours, anywhere!"

Marjolaine caught sight of a figure moving about in Number Three. She came on tip-toe to Jack. You see, by this time there was quite a conspiracy between them.

"No! Better!" she whispered. "Go into the Gazebo."

Jack could only stare at her. "Into the what?"

She ran across to the summer-house, Jack following her.

"Here," she cried, "in the summer-house. And keep quite still."

For a moment a horrible suspicion crossed Jack's mind. "I say! You will come back? You 're not going to leave me here to perish of thirst?"

"That would be a good joke!" she laughed.

"I 'll carve your name while you 're gone!"

"No, you won't!"

"Why not?"

"Because you don't know it!--_Voila_!"

And before he could stop her she had tripped into the house.

Jack sat for a moment in a sort of silent rapture.

Then all he said to himself was "By George!" three times repeated; and if you don't know what that exclamation meant, I 'm sure I can't tell you.

Marjolaine had left the "Adventures of Telemachus" on the seat in the Gazebo. Under ordinary circumstances Jack would have avoided picking up a book; but this was her book; it had been in her hands; her eyes had looked at it; it was not so much a book as a part of the little goddess; so he picked it up tenderly and tenderly opened it. There, on the fly-page, was a name.--"Lucy Pryor"--Of course! Her name! Lucy Pryor--just the sort of pretty, simple name she would have. Aha! but now he'd astonish her! She should find he had carved her name, after all! Out came his sailor's knife, and to work he went, and as he carved he sang a little song to himself, the words of which were, "Lucy, Lucy, Lucy Pryor." He was not a poet.

The Eyesore came slowly round the corner. Seeing the little lady was no longer on the seat, he drew his line out of the water--I need hardly record the fact that there was no fish on it. With a sigh he seated himself on his box, with his back to the Walk; patiently he placed a new worm on the empty hook, and in a moment he was immersed in his contemplative occupation. There was utter silence in the Walk.

Then the upstairs window of Number Five was thrust open and Mr. Jerome Brooke-Hoskyn, at his ease in his shirt-sleeves, and enjoying a church-warden pipe, leant out. He was evidently conversing with his wife, and was in his tenderest mood.

"What a pity, my dearest Selina, you are temporarily deprived of the use of your limbs! The river is flowing by--What? Do I expect it to stop? No, of course I don't. Why check my musings? I say, the river is flowing by. Not a living thing is in sight except the Eyesore; and he enhances the beauty of his surroundings by sheer contrast. My smoke does not incommode you, my own?--You can bear it?--Dear soul! Am I the man to deprive you of an innocent pleasure?--"

He might have gone on all the afternoon in this strain, but at this moment Marjolaine came very cautiously out of her house carrying a tray on which was a bottle of claret, a tumbler, and a cake. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was immediately absorbed in this new and inexplicable phenomenon. What could it mean? He watched Marjolaine half-way across the lawn. Then in his softest and most caressing tones he exclaimed, "Why, Miss Marjory--!" Marjolaine gave a little cry and very nearly let all the things drop. She stood aghast.

Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn continued, "Is your mother in the Gazebo?"

Before Marjolaine could think of anything to say she had said "No."

"Indeed?--Then why this genteel refection?" Here Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn was forced to look over his shoulder into the room and answer the invisible Selina. "Yes, my own. I am speaking to Miss Marjory."

Meanwhile Jack was signalling frantically to Marjolaine, who, on her part, was as frantically motioning him to keep still. Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn again leant forward, and Jack vanished only just in time.

Marjolaine explained. "I--I always take a little refreshment at this hour."

It was quite obvious that Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn did not believe her.

"How singularly unobservant I am! I have never noticed it. Wait one moment. I 'll come and help you."

This would never do. "No, thank you," cried Marjolaine, "I am sure your wife wants you." And she added, as a parting shot, "She sees so little of you!"

Then taking her courage in both hands she hurried into the Gazebo, where she and Jack stood, pictures of horror, silently awaiting Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's next move.

The latter leant far out of his window vainly endeavouring to peer round the corner. "Curious, very curious," he muttered.

"Did you hear him?" asked Marjory, in a tragic whisper.

"If he comes here I 'll punch his head," growled Jack.

"Be quiet!"--And again they both listened.

But Mr. Brooke-Hoskyn's attention was engaged by Selina, and it was clear from his remarks that the dear lady was not in her pleasantest humour. "No, my dear, of course I did n't mean to go.--_Do_ you think her an ugly little thing?--Matter of taste.--Oh, come! Not jealous, my own one?--Hold your hand?--Oh, certainly, if you wish it!" And down came the window with a crash and what sounded very like a fine Saxon monosyllable.

Marjolaine and Jack, hearing the window close, uttered a sigh of relief.

"Thank goodness!" cried Marjolaine; and then, being a daughter of Eve, "Now you see what you 've done!"

"'Pon my honour, I 've done nothing. Just waited hours."

"Hours, indeed!" said the girl, scornfully.

"It seemed hours," answered Jack, insinuatingly. "It seemed hours--Miss--Lucy Pryor."

"Lucy Pryor? Oh! you got that out of the book! That was Maman's name before she married. My name's Lachesnais."

"Beg pardon?"

"La-ches-nais. Marjolaine Lachesnais. You don't pronounce the middle _s_."

"Are you French?"

"My father was." She had filled the tumbler with claret and was holding it out to Jack. "Never mind about all that. Make haste."

Jack rose to his feet, tumbler in hand.

"Marjolaine--? That means Marjoram, does n't it?"

"Do you know French?"

Jack bowed as he swallowed the claret. He swallowed unwisely. It was a lady's claret, and that and a lady's cigar are things to be avoided by the judicious. Indeed Jack was shaken from head to foot by a convulsive shudder. "Oh Lord!" said he involuntarily. But he pulled himself together like a man. "I beg pardon!--Know French? Very little. Marjoram--sweet Marjoram--how appropriate!"

Marjolaine was eyeing him with grave suspicion. "You are not drinking. It is Maman's claret!"

Jack gazed stonily at his half-empty tumbler. "Does she--does she take this for her health?"

"Yes. As medicine."

"As medicine--I understand."

"You said you were thirsty."

"It's a wonderful wine. Quenches your thirst at once." He put the glass away from him.

"Take some cake?" said Marjolaine.

She had forgotten to bring a knife, so Jack, sailorlike, broke the cake in two pieces.

"I say!" he cried, "you must have some too, or I shall feel greedy!" And there they sat, like two children, contentedly munching and swinging their legs.

"I shall call you Marjory," said Jack, between two bites.

"They all do," answered Marjolaine, with her mouth full.

"Do they?" asked Jack ferociously. "Who?"

Marjolaine waved her cake at the Walk in general. "Oh--the neighbours."

"Impudence!" growled Jack. But he recovered quickly. "I say! Isn't this delightful?"

"It's very strange. Do you know, you are the first young man I 've ever spoken to, in all my life?"

Jack's eyes expressed his joy. "No!--that's first-rate!"

Marjolaine stared at him with astonishment. "Why?"

"Oh, I don't know. I hate young men."

"Then you ought to live here. Here--everybody is--oh!--so old!"

"Poor little girl," said Jack, with deep sympathy.

"Why?"

"Must be so lonely."

"Oh, no! One cannot feel lonely where there 's a river. Twice every day it brings down news from the meadows, where the flowers are, and the cattle, standing knee-deep in its margin, and the _demoiselles_--how do you say?--dragonflies--and the willows, dipping their branches in it. And then, when the tide turns, it comes back from the great town, and sings of the ships and the crowded bridges, and the King and Queen taking their pleasure in great, golden barges. And the sea-gulls come with it, and it sings of the sea!"

Her eyes were flashing; her face was transfigured; Jack was leaning forward eagerly, and if there had been any loophole of escape for him before, there was certainly none now.

"Do you love the sea?"

"What do I know of it?" said she, coming to earth again. "I have only crossed from Dunkerque to Tilbury. But that was lovely! It was very rough; and I stood against the mast, and my hair blew all about, and I shouted for joy!--Oh! I should love to be a pirate!"

"Fine!" cried Jack, as excited as she. "Tell you what! We 'll charter a ship, and sweep the seas, and bang the enemy!"

"'We'?--Why, you're going away in a minute, and I shall never see you again."

There was a pause. Marjolaine's words had brought them both to a sense of reality. Finally Jack spoke, and his voice had a new ring of earnestness.

"Marjory--do you mean that?"

She turned wonderingly innocent eyes on him. "Why should you come again?"

"Think a moment. Let us both think. We are very young, and I know I 'm hasty. Let us sit quite still, and think hard whether we 'd like to meet again. Let us look at each other and not speak."

She met his look quite frankly for a moment--but only for a moment. Slowly her head sank and her eyes half closed, and when she spoke, she spoke very shyly. "I do not see why you should not come again," she whispered.

"I see why I should! I must!--But it must be differently."

"Differently--?"

"I mustn't come on the sly. I'll get an introduction."

"But none of your friends are likely to know anybody in Pomander Walk!"

Jack leaped up. "Is this Pomander Walk?" he almost shouted. "Why, that 's what I Ve been looking for all the afternoon. That's where my friend lives--the Admiral!"

It was Marjolaine's turn to be astonished.

"Not Sir Peter Antrobus!"

"Yes!--Do you know him?"

"Why, he's the King of the Walk! He lives at Number One. If you 're quite quiet you can almost hear him snoring!"

"Why, there we are then! I'm introduced! I'm on a proper footing! The whole thing's ship-shape! O Marjory, what a relief!"

"But I don't understand--"

"Yes, you do. He 's my father's oldest friend. I served under him as a middy on board the _Termagant_. I 'm very fond of him. I 'll come and see him to-morrow!"

Marjolaine clapped her hands. "And then he can introduce you to Maman!"

"Don't you see? It's grand! I'll come and see him often--every day--twice a day. If he 's out, I can sit under the elm and wait for him--with you. Oh! are n't you glad?"

"I'm very glad you 've found your old friend," she answered demurely.

"What's to-day?"

"Quintidi. Fifth Prairial. Year Thirteen--" she replied without thinking.