He turned on his heel, and went swinging away down the avenue, singing a song softly to himself as he went. The girl stood looking after him for a moment—stood quite still until Comethup touched her arm and recalled her to herself.
“Come, it’s late,” he said.
“Yes, it’s late,” she answered, almost mechanically. She did not put her hand again on his arm as they walked toward the house, and, at the foot of the steps leading to the balcony, when he would have drawn her into his arms, she put out her hands and held him gently away from her. “You have had kisses enough for one day,” she said; “you will tire of me if I yield always so easily. Good-night!”
He looked at her wistfully for a moment, and then raised her hands to his lips and let her go. She ran up the steps and in through the window without once looking round at him.
A letter from Miss Charlotte Carlaw, written in the stiff round hand which the use of the writing frame demanded, awaited him at the captain’s cottage. She was suddenly possessed by an idea, she wrote, to visit the old town and to make the acquaintance of ’Linda Vernier, quite in an informal fashion, for herself. But she wanted her boy’s arm to lean upon, and she did not care to make the journey alone. Would he come to town to fetch her? If he could tear himself away from his sweetheart for so long, and would come to London the next day, he could sleep in town that night and they could go down together on the day following. She knew, she added, that the captain’s house was a small one, and would be glad, therefore, if Comethup would take rooms for her at the best inn he could find.
Comethup, reproaching himself that he had of late left her so much alone, showed the letter to the captain, who immediately proposed to turn out of his own house for her accommodation. But Comethup laughingly assured him that his aunt would never consent to that; the only question was about the choice of an inn. To take her to the Bell was clearly impossible, since Mr. Robert Carlaw and his son were apparently firmly established there. Finally, it was decided to engage rooms at a smaller place, the captain assuring the young man that the accommodation, although limited, was of the best. The next morning Comethup started for London.
Miss Charlotte Carlaw was filled with a pleasurable excitement at the prospect of meeting the girl—talked of nothing else, in fact, on the journey down. They came in the old fashion to Deal, and thence drove, arriving at the inn late in the afternoon. It had been arranged that Miss Carlaw, after tea and a rest, should proceed to the captain’s house for dinner; on this point the captain had firmly insisted, and had spent two sleepless nights over a consideration of the courses. There ’Linda was to meet her. Comethup had posted a letter to her before leaving for London explaining his hurried departure, and begging that she would meet his aunt, as suggested, at the captain’s house.
Miss Carlaw, who had asked a casual question as to why rooms had not been taken at the Bell, and had been informed that those she had formerly occupied were engaged, presented herself punctually at the hour appointed for dinner, supported by Comethup. The captain was in something of a flutter, and kept trotting in and out of the room and holding whispered consultations with Homer. ’Linda had not arrived, and Comethup glanced more than once anxiously at his watch. At last Miss Carlaw, seated in the chair of state and leaning her chin upon her stick, faced round upon him a little impatiently.
“Punctuality is a virtue, my dear boy,” she exclaimed, “and that lady-love of yours is twenty minutes late. I can understand modesty and shyness and all that kind of thing, although I don’t think I ever suffered with those complaints myself; but the captain’s dinner is spoilt, and I’m ravenously hungry. I think you had better go and look for her.”