Allister remained silent, so Benson replied—“Yes, we got a bit bumped. The road is certainly not a credit to whoever is responsible for keeping it in order. That last drift, after you descend the hill beyond the trees, is a proper boneshaker.”
Mr Mactavish glared. He happened to be responsible for the state of this particular drift, and he looked upon certain repairs recently there effected as a triumph of engineering skill.
At the conclusion of supper, Mr Mactavish, with an attempt at geniality, invited the strangers to accompany him to the residence of the Principal of the Institution, the Rev. Mr Campbell. The visitors were ushered into a sitting-room which was furnished and decorated with exceedingly good taste. Mr Campbell was a widower, and childless. His niece, Jeanie, a girl of nineteen, kept house for him. Benson felt a certain mild curiosity as to what Jeanie Campbell was like. She had been described to him as being a remarkably pretty girl.
Mr Mactavish sat nervously on the edge of a chair which was slightly higher than the others and gazed intently at the closed door. Benson and Allister examined the engravings with which the walls were decorated. Suddenly and noiselessly the door opened and Jeanie entered with smiling face and outstretched hand.
“How do you do, Mr Mactavish—and you are Mr Benson, I’m sure. Oh, there is no need to introduce us. And Mr Allister, welcome to Rossdale. I knew you had both arrived, and was most anxious to see you. How good of you to come over at once.”
Benson for once found the reality transcend the ideal he had formed. Jeanie was remarkably pretty. She had a beautiful figure, with nearly perfect hands and feet. Her eyes were steel-grey, bright with vitality and full of expression; her hair was dark, plentiful and wavy. As is usual in the case of South African girls, her colouring was somewhat wanting in tone, but her skin was smooth and clear and her lips red and tempting. Her mobile face seemed to be constantly changing its expression.
Mr Mactavish shifted his feet, cleared his throat and behaved generally like a nervous schoolboy. He more than once struggled to speak but found the effort beyond his strength. All this amused Benson and Allister vastly. It could be seen at a glance that the elderly boarding-master was in love with the girl, and Benson was fairly dazzled by the possibilities of amusement which the situation promised. He looked at Jeanie and happened to intercept a lightning-like glance from her. She could see that Benson had rightly gauged the situation and a double flash of sympathetic electricity passed between them.
“I’m hopin’, Miss Jeanie, that your tea-meetin’ at the Girls’ School was a successful one,” said Mr Mactavish. This remark suggested, as it were, the mouse brought forth by the mountain, it was so utterly trivial as compared with the labour and trepidation which preceded it.
“Oh,” answered Jeanie, lightly, “it was not either more or less dissipated than usual. Do you like tea-meetings, Mr Benson?”
“It depends, of course, upon who one meets and who pours out the tea. Don’t you think so, Mr Mactavish?”