"You are exquisite in your womanliness, as you are exquisite in everything else," he had replied. "I am grateful for any bone of comfort you throw me, Kitty dear."
She was going away then to West Africa, as has been related above, and the man saw her off from the landing stage. She returned the waving of his handkerchief. "Now, if you had abused me for my indecision, and said you would either be engaged or not engaged, I believe I'd have married you out of hand if you'd wanted me. But you didn't seem able to clinch things, and so anyhow you're pigeon-holed for the present. I'm glad I made you keep our little matter secret."
The man's name was Austin. Many times during the voyage south through the Bay, and down the Trades from the Islands, Kate told herself she ought to announce the fact that she was engaged. But on every occasion her femininity got up in arms. "Certainly not," said this intangible force. "Mr. Austin is a man, and if he cares to be a man and gossip, why let him. But a woman by reason of her sex is not called upon to say more than she needs." So Kate held her tongue, and regretted more and more every day that—well—that she should have cause for regrets.
When she got back to England, a day ahead of time, Aunt Jane happened to be in London, but Austin had a wire from Point Lynas and was there on the landing stage to meet her. He wanted to kiss her there before the world, but she had the advantage of height, and avoided him skilfully and without advertisement. Their subsequent handshake was somewhat of a failure.
"Hullo, Henry," said Miss O'Neill, "fancy seeing you here. I suppose you will try and make out you came down here to the landing stage on purpose to meet me? How abominably hot Liverpool is, and how atrociously the Mersey smells after that nice clean Smooth River. Have you caught me any butterflies? I've brought four cases full home from the Coast, and I honestly believe I've got two unnamed specimens. If they turn out new, I shall christen one after myself—something O'Neillii. There's vanity for you! And now for the Customs House."
"Is that all you have to say to me, Kitty? I've been just hungry all the time to see you again. I don't think a single hour of a single day has passed but what I have thought of you, and where you were, and what you were doing."
"Well, Henry, that's more than I could say. Here, wait till I catch that porter's eye. He's taking my cabin trunk to the wrong heap. About what was in my head between here and the Coast, I'll not say, but once out there, I'll tell you frankly I gave little enough thought to anything except Coast interests. The first place I went ashore at after Sierra Leone was our own factory at Smooth, and they'd had a fight there which only ended up when our whistle blew. The clearing between the factory buildings and the forest was full of dead men. I found out that no fewer than 800 Okky savages had attacked the place, and they were all held off by one of our clerks with a couple of Winchesters, and a half-caste girl who loaded for him. It sounds like a tale out of a book, and you needn't believe it unless you like; I don't think I should believe it unless I had seen things for myself, but I did see the men who had been actually shot when they tried to rush the place, and I can guarantee the truth of the story."
"Don't tell me there's a romance between you and your clerk."
"There wasn't room for one. He was engaged to the heroine already, and was as consistently rude to me as he knew how. But I don't mind telling you he was a magnificent fellow. He was a gentleman, too, which is rather a rare thing to find on the Coast. But you're letting me do all the talk. You haven't told me about yourself. What have you been doing?"
"The usual work of a busy solicitor; getting new clients, and sticking to the old ones. I can report good, steady success, Kitty. We can start pretty comfortably."