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AFTER lunch they all, Claudine, Andrée, and Edna, dressed themselves in their ceremonial garments, the modish and immaculate white required by the gold-providing Gilbert, and went down to the railway station to meet him. There were other wives there, and other children, and a little swarm of bucolic onlookers. And there was also the “breath of life” in tramping outfit, with immense waterproof boots and a new Panama hat. He came over to them immediately.
“I’m taking the next train up,” he said, with his invariable assumption that everyone was interested in his doings. “They say there’s an old fellow away up in the mountains who’s a regular wild man. An Italian; he used to lead round one of those dancing bears, but it got away one night and he went into the woods after it, and never wanted to come back. Two or three people have told me about him. His hair’s got long, and he has a beard down to his waist. They say he won’t speak, but I guess I can make him. He runs away and tries to hide.”
“That sounds more like the bear,” said Edna. “Perhaps he ate the man and they’re both merged into one.”
He laughed.
“Well, I’m ready for bears, too,” he said. “I’ve got the best kind of rifle made, and I know how to use it.”
“Everything you have is the best there is, isn’t it?” said Andrée scornfully.
He reddened, but he answered cheerfully:
“You bet! And I’m proud of ’em, too. I earned ’em. They weren’t given to me by anyone else.”
Andrée turned away.
“Let’s walk up and down, Mother!” she said. “It’s so much hotter standing still.”
Claudine very willingly assented; the last thing in the world she wanted was for Gilbert to find them talking to that young man. He would be angry, and not without cause, for this was certainly not the sort of acquaintance for the mother of two young daughters to cultivate. Edna might talk to him with impunity, her sensible ideas and her humour legitimatized almost anything. She put her arm through Andrée’s and they began to saunter up and down, keeping a discreet distance from Mr. Stephens.
“He needs to be sat on!” said Andrée, with a frown.
“I don’t believe you can do it!” said her mother, smiling.
“He is a thick-skinned little beast. He’s insufferable!”
“I don’t think so. He’s polite enough, if he’s treated politely.”
“But I’m not going to treat him politely.... There’s the train!”
They halted and stood watching, while the engine roared past them and stopped neatly at the proper spot, and the handful of passengers alighted.
“O Lord!” groaned Andrée. “Again!”
For she had seen the gaunt, ungainly form of Mr. MacGregor coming down the steps, bag in hand. He lifted his hat and came toward them.
“I am charged with a very unwelcome message, I’m afraid,” he said. “Mr. Vincelle is unable to get away this week, and he asked me to come down, and see if I could be of any service to the ladies!”
Oh, cowardly Gilbert! Claudine could have laughed at his infantile ruse. She welcomed Mr. MacGregor with cordiality and beckoned to Edna, who came, but who naughtily brought the little man with her.
“Look here, Mrs. Vincelle!” he said, eagerly. “I’ve been talking to Miss Edna.... As long as your husband didn’t come out, you’re all more or less free, aren’t you? No plans made, I mean? Well, won’t you all be my guests on a little picnic?”
“I’m very sorry—” Claudine began, but he was not to be stopped.
“Why not?” he said. “It’s a hot afternoon, and I’ll show you a fine, cool spot. I’ll arrange everything. I’ll see to the supper, and everything else. All you have to do is just get your bathing suits—”
“Bathing!” said Edna. “I didn’t know there was any in this place!”
“There’s a wonderful swimming pool. And I can lend you a bathing suit,” he said, looking directly at Mr. MacGregor, to whom he had not been, and never was to be, introduced.
“I’m afraid we’re not the same size,” said Mr. MacGregor.
“Doesn’t matter. You can get into it. We can start about four and come home by moonlight.”
The girls were both frankly pleased with the idea; Claudine confessed to herself that it was an attractive prospect. But impossible! They couldn’t be the guests of this man, they couldn’t really, openly, admit that he existed. She looked covertly at Mr. MacGregor, hoping for support, for some grown-up, tactful remark that should help her to get away. But he had taken it for granted that Mr. Stephens was a friend of the family, and he wanted to go on that picnic.
“Some other time—” Claudine began, with her most condescending affability, but Edna broke in, with a wail.
“Oh, Mother, I’m so longing for a swim! Do let’s go!”
“It’ll be very nice, I promise you!” said Mr. Stephens, solemnly. “I’ll take all the responsibility for seeing that you all enjoy yourselves.”
“After all, Mother, why not?” murmured Andrée, in her ear. “I’d like to eat somewhere except in that disgusting dining-room for once. And a moonlight walk!”
“I’m afraid Mr. MacGregor wants to rest after his journey,” said Claudine, and her tone was threatening. But Mr. MacGregor did not understand; he thought that he was expected not to want to rest, and he insisted that he longed for this picnic.
Claudine was miserably conscious of her lack of character; at her age she had no business to allow herself to be entrapped into so undignified a position. She knew she should have prevented this thing, that even now she ought to destroy the project, but she was quite unable to do so. She was committed....