Part 71 (1/2)

”Beloved!”

”My own!”

”Are you ready to start?”

”I'll see if they've packed the luncheon.”

”One moment. Where are we going today?”

”Llansallas; three miles from here.”

”What's it like?” she asked.

”The loveliest place they knew of.”

”How wonderful! And we'll have the whole day there?”

”Only you and I,” he said softly.

”Be quick. Don't lose a moment, sweetheart. I dislike being alone--now.”

”Why?” he asked.

Mavis dropped her eyes.

”Adorable, modest little Mavis,” he laughed. ”I'll see about the grub.”

”You've forgotten something,” she pouted, as he moved towards the door.

”Your kiss!”

”Our kiss.”

”I hadn't really. I wanted to see if you'd remember.”

”As if I'd forget,” she protested.

Their lips met; not once, but many times; they seemed reluctant to part.

Mavis was alone. She had spoken truly when she had hinted how she was averse to the company of her own thoughts. It was then that clouds seemed disposed to threaten the sun of her joy.

She went to the window of the hotel sitting-room, which overlooked the narrow road leading to Polperro village; beyond the cottages opposite was bare rock, which had been blasted to find room for stone habitations; above the naked stone was blue sky. Mavis tried to think about the sky in order to exclude a certain weighty matter from her mind. She had been five days in Cornwall, four of which had been spent with Perigal in Polperro. Mavis did her best to concentrate her thoughts upon the cerulean hue of the heavens; she wondered why it could not faithfully be matched in dress material owing to the peculiar quality of light in the colour of the sky. It was just another such a blue, so she thought, as she had seen on the morning of what was to have been her wedding day, when, heavy-eyed and life-weary, she had crept to the window of her room; then the gladness of the day appeared so indifferent to her sorrow that she had raged hopelessly, helplessly, at the ill fortune which had over-ridden her. This paroxysm of rebellion had left her physically inert, but mentally active. She had surveyed her life calmly, dispa.s.sionately, when it seemed that she had been deprived by cruel circ.u.mstance of parents, social position, friends, money, love: everything which had been her due. She had been convinced that she was treated with brutal injustice. The joyous singing of birds outside her window, the majestic climbing of the sun in the heavens maddened her. Her spirit had been aroused: she had wondered what she could do to defy fate to do its worst. The morning's post had brought a letter from Perigal, the envelope of which bore the Polperro postmark. This had told her that the despairing writer had gone to the place of their prospective honeymoon, where the contrast between his present agony of soul and the promised happiness, on which he had set so much store, was such, that if he did not immediately hear from Mavis, he was in danger of taking his life. There had been more to the same effect. Immediately, all thought of self had been forgotten; she had hurried out to send a telegram to Perigal, telling him to expect a surprise to-day.

She had confided her dear Jill to Mrs Farthing's care. After telling her wondering landlady that she would not be away for more than one night, she had hurried (with a few belongings) to the station, ultimately to get out at Liskeard, where she had to take the local railway to Looe, from which an omnibus would carry her to Polperro.

Perigal had met her train at Liskeard, her telegram having led him to expect her.

He was greatly excited and made such ardent love to her that, upon her arrival at Looe, she already regretted her journey and had purposed returning by the next train. But there was nothing to take her back before morning; against her wishes, she had been constrained to spend the night at Looe.

Here Perigal insisted on staying also.