“Good-night, ’Linda,” he said.
She slipped her fingers round his, and drew nearer to him. “Don’t be cross,” she said, in a whisper. “I love all my friends. You may kiss me if you like.”
She turned one cheek toward him, and he bent forward reverently and touched it with his lips. Then, waving her hand to him, she sped away between the trees toward the house. He stood for some moments looking after her, and then turned and walked back to the captain’s cottage, with his head in a whirl. He was quite certain of two things: that ’Linda was the most beautiful woman in the world, and that he was desperately in love with her and would be prepared to face all things for her sake, and perform prodigies of valour for her, and go out, if need be, a lonely exile, carrying a broken heart in his bosom and a stern yet gentle face to his fellows—all of which he knew was the proper thing to do, from the manly standpoint, in the present state of his feelings.
He saw ’Linda almost every day during his stay in the old town; they walked and drove with the captain, and came, toward the end of the week, to renew something of the old happy familiarity of their childhood. Comethup suffered all the tortures and all the ecstasies of a boy in his condition; was set walking upon air by a word from her, or a pressure of her fingers; or was plunged into the depths of misery by a rebuff, however slight or meaningless. But, being young and wonderfully healthy, he slept well and did not lose his appetite; and the matter, serious as he thought it, had no great effect upon him.
The day came when he was to start for London to join his aunt. He had decided to drive to Deal, as she had done, and there take a train for London; the fly was to come for him and his belongings immediately after breakfast. ’Linda breakfasted with them that morning, and seemed, Comethup thought miserably, brighter and happier than usual. For himself, he wondered what he should say to her, or what she would have to say to him, when the moment for parting came.
When the fly drew up at the door, he shook hands with the captain and then turned toward the girl. With downcast eyes she offered him her cheek and gave him her hand; but the captain cried: “Lips, you rogue; the boy’s not kissing his grandmother!”
Blushingly she turned her face, and their lips met; and Comethup stumbled somehow out of the house. As he was getting into the fly she ran out of the garden and came close to him.
“Comethup!” she whispered.
He turned, and leaned toward her. “Yes, ’Linda; what is it?”
“You’re going to London; you may meet—may see Brian; oh, please carry my—my good wishes to him, and say I want to know what he is doing and if he is prospering. You will, won’t you, Comethup?”