“I thought you might object. But—how do you know I indulge in the chimney trick?”
“Object? No, I’m not so selfish as that. And as for how I knew, I might answer all men do, but I won’t. The fact is, you made a quite unconscious and mechanical dive at your pocket, and brought out half a pipe. I’ll give you credit that the move was quite unconscious.”
“It was, upon my honour. What a magician you are—you notice everything.”
It has been stated that Lilian Strange possessed an extraordinarily dangerous and captivating smile. She was in one of her softest moods now, thoroughly enjoying the fresh air and wild, extensive scenery; and the drive, the impromptu picnic à deux, and above all her late emancipation from distasteful drudgery amid uncongenial surroundings, and the prospect of two months’ rest from the same. Then she had taken a great liking to her travelling escort; short as had been the period of their acquaintance. So that now as she lay back, laughing over the quaint dryness of the said escort’s remarks, it could not be but that her winning and attractive spell should weave itself around him to the full. This girl was something quite new in Claverton’s experience. The soft, sweet tones of her voice, her glorious beauty, her very ways and movements, seemed to cast a glamour over him such as he had never known before in the course of his life. Bright, teasing Ethel Brathwaite, blue-eyed, sunny, impulsive, seemed poor clay when contrasted with this new arrival with the lovely, expressive face and the undulating, sensuous form—so stately and yet so unaffected and appreciative—so cold of demeanour, at times, and withal so sweet and considerate. Yet nineteen men out of twenty would have given the preference to Ethel; but then it may be that this other one would have favoured the nineteen with the coldness devoid of the consideration.
Be this as it may, Claverton was certainly the twentieth in both senses, and, as they sat there, resting in the golden sunshine, the drowsy air around them made musical by the whistling of spreuws and the hum of summer insects, he, at any rate, found himself wishing that that hour might last throughout an eternity.
And the curious part of it was that he had not known her for hours enough to make a double figure.
But time cannot be trifled with, and they were due at Seringa Vale before dark. So the horses were put to in a trice.
“Can’t I help you in any way?” said Lilian. “It seems so hard that you should have all the trouble while I sit still and look on.”
“It’s no trouble at all,” answered the other, tugging vigorously at a refractory strap. “I wouldn’t let you bother about this sort of thing for the world. In fact, I am only too glad that you are not tired to death with the long, hot ride. And I think we’ll put the hood up, for there’s no shade between this and the next outspan.”
Now came the hottest stage of the journey. The full glare of the sun focussed down into the broad valley, beat fiercely upon the tent of the buggy, and, but for the rapid movement creating its own draught, there was not a breath of air. Lilian began to feel drowsy and could have pleaded guilty to an incipient headache, but she did not complain. Her companion, however, detected the tired look in her eyes, and was greatly concerned; but she laughed it off. She would be all right again when it got cooler, she said. It was really very silly of her, but she was just a trifle below par.