Now I am here, it would be rude not to go in and see old Dering. I do. He is most cordial. Am I alone down here? Critical, this. After all, I am alone—in my lodgings. "Then I must come to luncheon on board the Amaryllis to-morrow." Ethel (I must get into the way of thinking of her as "Miss Dering") looks as if she expects me to accept. I had better go, and find an opportunity of telling her about Louise—who knows—they might become bosom friends. No, hang it, that's out of the question!
The Derings' private room opens on to the Esplanade; old Dering comes to the French windows, and calls out after me, "Don't forget. Lunch at two. On board the Amaryllis—find her at the quay." "Thanks very much—I won't forget. Good-night!" "Good-night!" Someone is waiting for me under a lamp. It is Alf, but I did not know him at first. "Why, where on earth!"—I begin. He regards me reproachfully with his one efficient eye, and I observe his nose is much swollen. Good heavens, I see it all—I have knocked down my future brother-in-law! Well, it serves him right.
He explains, sulkily; he meant no harm; never thought anyone would be offended by being spoken to civil; he never met girls like that before (which is likely enough); and to think I should have treated him that savage and brutal—it was that upset him. Tell him I am sorry, but I can't help it now. "Yes you can," he says, hoarsely. "You know this girl—this Miss Derin'," (he has followed us, it appears, and caught her name)—"you don't ought to play dog in the manger now—I want you to introduce me in a reg'lar way. I tell yer I'm down-right smitten." Introduce him—to Ethel! Never, not if I won the V.C. for it! "Then you look out!"
He has gone off growling—the cub! He will tell Louise. On second thoughts, his own share in the business may prevent that—but it is unfortunate.
Next Day.—Have got leave of absence (without mentioning reason). I believe I pleaded the Drama, as usual, and I have jotted down a line or two. Am dressing for luncheon—somehow I take longer than usual. Ready at last; the coast is clear, I am a trifle early, but I can stroll gently down to the quay.... Turn a corner, and come upon Ponking, with Louise. Fancy both look rather confused, but they are delighted to see me. "Was I going any where in particular?" "No—nowhere in particular." "Then I'd better come along with them—they have dined early, and are doing the lions." Louise makes such a point of it that I can't refuse—must watch my chance, and slip off when I can.
Later.—We have done an ancient gaol, the church, and a fishermen's almshouse—and I have not seen my chance yet. Ponking determined to see all he can for his money. Louise, more demonstrative than she has been of late, clings to my arm. It is past two, but we are working our way, slowly, towards the quay. Ponking suggests visit to Fisherring Establishment. Now is my chance; say I won't go in—don't like herrings—will wait outside. To my surprise, they actually meet me half-way! "If you want to get back to your play-writing, old chap," says Ponking (really not a bad fellow, Ponking!) "don't you mind us—we'll take care of one another!" Just as deliverance is at hand, that infernal Alf comes up from the quay, with an eye that is positively iridescent! "Oh, look at his poor eye!" cries Louise. I look—and I see that he means "being nasty." He addresses me: "Why ain't you on board your swell yacht, taking lunch along with that girl, eh?" he inquires. Exclamations from Louise: "Girl? yacht? who? what?" and then—it all comes out!
Painful scene; fortunate there are so few looking on. Louise renounces me for ever opposite the Town-hall. "She knew I was a muff, but she had thought I was too much the gentleman to act deceitful!" Ponking is of opinion I "haven't a gentlemanly action in me." So is Alf, who adds that he "always felt somehow he could never make a pal of me." There is balm in that!
Thank goodness, it is over! I am free—free to think of Ethel as much as I like! I see now what a wretched infatuation all this has been. I can tell her about it some day—if I think it necessary. I am not sure I shall think it necessary—at all events, just yet.