2
A large rosy flare, wavering steadily against the distant trees showed up for a moment the shapes and traceries of climbing plants surrounding their retreat. A moment afterwards with a dull boom a group of white stars shot up into the air and hovered, melting one by one as the crowd below moaned and crackled its applause.
Miriam laughed abruptly. “That’s jolly. How clever people are. But it’s much better up here. It’s like not being too near at the theatre.”
“I think we’ve got the best view certainly.”
“But we shall miss the set pieces.”
“The people down there won’t see the rosary.”
“What’s that black thing on our left down there?”
“That’s the toboggan run. We ought to go on that.”
“What is it like?”
“It’s fine; you just rush down. We must try it.”
“Not for worlds.”
Mr. Parrow laughed. “Oh you must try the toboggan; there’s no noise about that.”
“I really couldn’t.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. I mean it. Nothing under the sun would induce me to go on a toboggan.”
They sat watching the fireworks until they were tired of the whistling rockets, showers of stars and golden rain, the flaming bolts that shot up from the Battle of the Nile, the fizzlings and fire spurtings of the set pieces and the recurrent moanings and faint patterings of applause from the crowd.
“I wish they’d do some more coloured flares of light up the trees like they did at first. It was beautiful—more real than these things. ‘Feu d’artifice’ artificial fire—all these noisy things. Why do people always like a noise? Men. All the things men have invented, trains and cannons and things make a frightful noise.”
“The toboggan’s not noisy. Come and try the toboggan.”
“Oh no.”
“Well—there’s the lake down there. We might have a boat.”
“Do you know how to manage a boat?”
“I’ve been on once or twice; if you like to try I’ll manage.”
“No; it’s too dark.” What a plucky man. But the water looked cold. And perhaps he would be really stupid.
A solitary uniformed man was yawning and whistling at the top of the deserted toboggan run. The faint light of a lamp fell upon the square platform and the little sled standing in place at the top of a shiny slope which shot steeply down into blackness.
“We’d better get on,” said Miriam trembling.
“Well, you’re very graceful at giving in,” remarked Mr. Parrow, handing her into the sled and settling with the man.
He got that sentence out of a book, thought Miriam wildly as she heard the man behind them say “Ready? Off you go!” ... Out of a book a book a book—Oh—ooooh—how absolutely glorious, she yelled as they shot down through the darkness. Oh, she squealed into the face laughing and talking beside her. She turned away, shouting, for the final rush, they were flying—involuntarily her hand flung out, they were tearing headlong into absolute darkness, and was met and firmly clasped. They shot slackening up a short incline and stood up still hand in hand, laughing incoherently.
“Let’s walk back and try again,” said Mr. Parrow.
“Oh no; I enjoyed it most frightfully; but we mustn’t go again. Besides, it must be fearfully late.”
She pulled at her hand. The man was too near and too big. His hand was not a bit uncertain like his speech, and for a moment she was glad that she pulled in vain. “Very well,” said Mr. Parrow, “but we must find our way off the grass and strike the pathway.” Drawing her gently along, he peered about for the track. “Let me go,” said her hand dragging gently at his. “No” said the firm enclosure, tightening “not yet.” What does it matter? flashed her mind. Why should I be such a prude? The hand gave her confidence. It was firm and strong and perfectly serious. It was a hand like her own hand and comfortingly strange and different. Gently and slowly he guided her over the dewy grass. The air that had rushed so wildly by them a few minutes ago was still and calm and friendly; the distant crowd harmless and insignificant. The fireworks were over. The pathway they had missed appeared under their feet and down it they walked soberly, well apart, but still hand in hand until they reached the borders of the dispersing crowd.