So much for Beke indeed! Apparently Ronnie’s appeal had fallen flat; there was not a word about India. Alas! that door of escape was closed. As I turned my face towards the village, and contemplated the hateful, too familiar and forbidding path across the dried-up marshes, a memory suddenly flashed into my mind:
“Over the meadows that blossom and wither
Rings but the note of a sea-bird’s song;
Only the sun and the rain come hither.
All year long.”
I asked myself impatiently how long was I to lead this empty, dull existence? A life given over to the monotonous duties of an alien household and to pandering to the vanity of a garrulous old man! My school-fellows wrote to me from time to time. Several had asked me to visit them, but Aunt Mina vetoed all such hospitalities. “These people,” she said, “were not in our set. You must remember that your grandmother was a duke’s daughter and only associate with your own class, not with second-rate acquaintances.” It was evident that she liked to play dog-in-the-manger, and would neither suffer me to stay with others nor offer me an invitation herself!
As I strolled along in a melancholy mood, musing on the misery of my virtual internment, an acute sense of homelessness overcame me. My eyes were dim with tears of self-pity, when, through these tears, I discerned a distant speck on the pathway; it approached, gradually grew larger, and presently materialised into the figure of a man, tall, square-shouldered, and carrying a gun under his arm. Nearer and nearer he strode, and when within ten yards I saw that he was a well set-up, soldierly individual, in orthodox shooting garb, with dark, rather sleepy eyes and a masterful chin. He looked me straight in the face, as we passed almost touching—the sole human beings within sight over miles of space. Kipper, with his hackles on end, sniffed suspiciously at the man’s leggings, and then, so to speak, “accepted him,” and I proceeded homewards, listening to the steady tramp of a pair of heavy shooting boots till the sound had ceased. I had advanced a certain distance, when an imperative curiosity impelled me to halt and look back—I am well aware that this was a most unladylike action; nevertheless I fell! To my horror and embarrassment, I discovered that the stranger was doing precisely the same thing, standing apparently immovable as a milestone. Undoubtedly our curiosity and, I think I may say, interest, had been mutual! I was sincerely thankful that the distance was too great for us to distinguish one another’s features, and felt deeply ashamed, exquisitely flattered, and painfully shy. Before I could turn he had snatched off his cap and waved it to me! What audacious impertinence! My heart beat unusually fast, and my face flamed. Here was an adventure at last, and although its form was highly indiscreet—nevertheless I liked it!
Possibly it may not be surprising when I state that I thought of the stranger all the way home; my mind was so full of him that the monotonous miles seemed as yards. I recalled his upright bearing, his handsome eyes, his kindly word to Kipper. Was this the hero that every girl of nineteen sees in her dreams? It is a remarkable fact that at dinner I, who usually poured out my budget of small news—such as, how someone had broken Mrs. Hogg’s window, the postman’s baby had croup, or a party of motorists had stopped to tea at “The Beetle”—never once mentioned my experience, but kept it locked up in my heart; yes, even from Tossie, who brought all her joys and sorrows to me. Behold my first secret! After all how puny and insignificant; nevertheless, I hugged it like a child with her first doll! On Slacklands Flats I had encountered a good-looking stranger—no doubt one of the guns at Myson—who had stared hard, looked after me, and signalled a gay greeting. “Ships that pass in the night”—“a couple who pass at sundown.” I must confess that I allowed my mind to dwell on the adventure as I sewed, as I listened to the professor’s plays, yes, even in church, when naturally I ought to have been engrossed in holy thoughts and the rector’s short, crisp sermon.
CHAPTER IV
A DANCE AT “THE PLOUGH”
Before Christmas my relations departed to Nice. Aunt Mina, who suffered from bronchitis, went in search of a little sun, my cousins in quest of amusement. The Riviera was gay, and they were by all accounts a large and congenial party. Perhaps their consciences may have troubled them with regard to me, for they sent me unusually nice presents—a large box of chocolate, a fan, and a gay parasol. There was not much occasion for these latter at Beke in winter time, but one must not look a gift-horse in the mouth! Our Christmas was profoundly dull, not to say depressing; it was cold work decorating the bleak old church—assisted by Lizzie, the schoolmistress, the landlady of “The Beetle,” and many others, including Tossie and her most recent admirer, a smart young “vet” from Newmarket.