Part 19 (1/2)

”Indeed,” answered Stella, who did not seem much impressed.

”My brother and I hope to call upon Mr. Fregelius and yourself as soon as possible, but I thought I would not wait for that to have the pleasure of making your acquaintance.”

”You are very kind indeed,” said Stella simply. ”At present, I am afraid, it is not much use calling upon my father, as he is in bed with a broken thigh; also, we are not at the Rectory. Until he can be moved we are only guests at the Abbey,” and she looked at Morris, who added rather grumpily, by way of explanation:

”Of course, Miss Layard, you have heard about the wreck of the Trondhjem, and how those foreign sailors saw the light in my workshop and brought Mr. Fregelius to the Abbey.”

”Oh, yes, Mr. Monk, and how they left Miss Fregelius behind, and you went to fetch her, and all sorts of strange things happened to you. We think it quite wonderful and romantic. I am writing to dear Miss Porson to tell her about it, because I am sure that you are too modest to sing your own praises.”

Morris grew angry. At the best of times he disliked Miss Layard. Now he began to detest her, and to long for the presence of Mary, who understood how to deal with that not too well-bred young person.

”You really needn't have troubled,” he answered. ”I have already written.”

”Then my epistle will prove a useful commentary. If I were engaged to a modern hero I am sure I could not hear too much about him, and,” fixing her eyes upon the black silk fichu, ”the heroine of the adventure.”

Meanwhile, Stella was being engaged by the brother, who surveyed her with pale, admiring eyes which did not confine their attentions to the fichu.

”Monk is always an awfully lucky fellow,” he said. ”Just fancy his getting the chance of doing all that, and finding you waiting on the s.h.i.+p at the end of it,” he added, with desperate and emphatic gallantry.

”There's to be a whole column about it in the 'Northwold Times'

to-morrow. I wish the thing had come my way, that's all.”

”Unless you understand how to manage a boat in a heavy sea, and the winds and tides of this coast thoroughly, I don't think that you should wish that, Mr. Layard,” said Stella.

”Why not?” he asked sharply. As a matter of fact the little man was a miserable sailor and suspected her of poking fun at him.

”Because you would have been drowned, Mr. Layard, and lying at the bottom of the North Sea among the dogfish and conger-eels this morning instead of sitting comfortably in church.”

Mr. Layard started and stared at her. Evidently this lady's imagination was as vivid as it was suggestive.

”I say, Miss Fregelius,” he said, ”you don't put things very pleasantly.”

”No, I am afraid not, but then drowning isn't pleasant. I have been near it very lately, and I thought a great deal about those conger-eels.

And sudden death isn't pleasant, and perhaps--unless you are very, very good, as I daresay you are--what comes after it may not be quite pleasant. All of which has to be thought of before one goes to sea in an open boat in winter, on the remotest chance of saving a stranger's life--hasn't it?”

Somehow Mr. Layard felt distinctly smaller.

”I daresay one wouldn't mind it at a pinch,” he muttered; ”Monk isn't the only plucky fellow in the world.”

”I am sure you would not, Mr. Layard,” replied Stella in a gentler voice, ”still these things must be considered upon such occasions and a good many others.”

”A brave man doesn't think, he acts,” persisted Mr. Layard.

”No,” replied Stella, ”a foolish man doesn't think, a brave man thinks and sees, and still acts--at least, that is how it strikes me, although perhaps I have no right to an opinion. But Mr. Monk is going on, so I must say good-morning.”

”Are many of the ladies about here so inquisitive, and the young gentlemen so?”--”decided” she was going to say, but changed the word to ”kind”--asked Stella of Morris as they walked homeward.

”Ladies!” snapped Morris. ”Miss Layard isn't a lady, and never will be; she has neither birth nor breeding, only good looks of a sort and money.

I should like,” he added, viciously--”I should like to shut her into her own coal mine.”