It was like that, then. I had not been on that chair three minutes when Ben Morgan came and seated himself on the one just next. I was too surprised for words, having had no notion that he was anywhere within miles. His coming in that unexpected and startling fashion knocked all the ideas clean out of my head, except the consciousness of my disgraceful conduct to him the day before. But his tact was marvellous; I always have been struck by it. He never hinted at it by so much as a syllable. And presently, to my absolute amazement, I found myself chattering away as if I had come out for that especial purpose.
We began with what was in the newspaper, which I did not happen to have seen, though, from what I could gather from him, I had not lost much. And then—well then, the subject was changed. A white poodle crossed in front of us, and we began talking about dogs. We were both of us very fond of dogs, and, indeed, all sorts of animals; so that it was a topic which was interesting to us both. Then the subject was changed again. Became personal. Drifted, as it were. I have always laughed at people who did that sort of thing in Kensington Gardens. I never thought I should have done it—never. But it became sunnier and sunnier every moment, until I was looking at everything through a golden haze.
Well—I said I would. And when I confessed my shame and my contrition for my behaviour to him yesterday, he said it did not matter—nothing mattered now. And I was the happiest girl in the world! As for being sorry because that fatal power of mine had endured for so short a time, it was the best thing that could have happened. I was delighted. How awful it would have been if everyone I met had kept on falling in love with me right off—high and low, married and single, young and old—when I wanted to be loved by no one else but Ben.
When I told him, in a muddly way, of what had occurred, you should have seen how deliciously he was amused. Though he did say one ridiculous thing—that he could see nothing miraculous in people falling in love with me at sight, since no man worth his salt could help it. Of course I knew that that was one of love’s sweet perjuries. I am not sure that truth is always the thing which is most to be desired.
He is not at all mis-shapen, really; or, if he is, the tiniest scrap: I love him all the more because of it. To me, he will always be straighter than I am; and, ever since I was the merest tot, for straightness, I have been a perfect grenadier.
He would walk home with me; and he told them about it, then and there. You should have seen mamma and the girls when we walked in together. We had actually forgotten lunch; it was quite late in the afternoon; they were beginning to wonder what had become of me. When they learnt, their faces were a study. But they were positively as nice as possible to both of us. Mamma kissed me, and was quite sweet to Ben; and Audrey, in particular, said some lovely things.
... We are going to have that scrap of paper, on which the writing was, framed, and hung up in—in our bedroom.
[The End]
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES.
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