“Oh, Regy,” I burst out, clasping my hands together, “was there ever, ever anything like that?”
“Yes, isn’t it pretty?” said he, smiling at my enthusiasm. “I don’t think it any great shakes myself, because I’ve seen the Mississippi, and Niagara, and the Rhine, and all those places; but most people go into raptures over it. Aunt Kate thinks, like you, that it beats everything. I suppose the old Thames is as fine a river as many, after all.”
“A river!” I echoed, thinking of that little watercourse between Narraporwidgee and Booloomooloo, over which the gum-trees shook hands, and which was crossed by fallen logs in all directions. “Oh Regy, what a river!” I wondered if Tom had ever seen it from this point; and I mentally determined that, when the time came for him to ask me where I would like to spend my honeymoon, I would propose a sojourn in Richmond, that we might come and sit on the terrace every day.
I gazed and gazed, until Regy and his horses got fidgety together, and the former reverted to the previous question. “You’d better let me take you to the Star and Garter, Kitty, and get you some lunch. It won’t take any time, and these poor little beggars”—indicating the horses—“will be glad of a mouthful, too.”
When he mentioned the horses I had nothing more to say, for I had been brought up to a sense of the sacred duty of taking care of those valuable commodities, and they were his, and I was, in a manner, his guest. But it was with great reluctance that I dismounted from my seat and allowed him to lead me into the hotel, feeling instinctively that the nature of the excursion was changed.
“Sit down and rest yourself, Kitty,” said he, brightly, coming towards me down the long room, after a short conference with a waiter at the door.
“No, thank you,” I replied, nervously; “I’m not tired. I suppose we shall not wait more than a few minutes?”
“Oh, no—they are very quick, these people. Lunch will be on the table in a moment. But you may as well make yourself comfortable; take off your hat, won’t you?”
“Oh dear no, thank you. Regy, you are not going to have a sit-down lunch for me, I hope? A glass of wine and a biscuit is all I care for—really.”
“A biscuit—nonsense!” said Regy; “you just now said you were hungry.” And then a waiter came in and cut short my protest. The table was laid—very quickly, it is true, but with all the appointments of a formal meal. Regy stood on the hearthrug and put his hands in his pockets, and meanwhile surveying me with such an aggravating smile under his little silky moustache that, though I was angry to feel myself at a disadvantage, I scorned to let him suppose I thought the matter of the least consequence. I turned to look out of the window on that lovely, lovely valley, and I asked him some questions as to the various objects in the landscape, but somehow I had not the same heart to admire it now, for I kept saying to myself, “Mother would not like me to be here alone with Regy—I am sure she would not like it.” However, I could not help it now, and I did not know how much it really mattered. The dishes were placed on the table, and our chairs handed for us; I was ravenously hungry, and some fish was uncovered just under my nose, smoking hot in its white napkin, that was more delicious than anything I had ever tasted. Though I was not quite easy in my mind I made an excellent meal, and felt all the better for it.