Part 37 (1/2)
”You certainly were very brave about it,” she said, in the most friendly way; ”you never once grumbled when the sandwiches got damp--not once.”
And so the three of them kept gayly and carelessly talking and chatting together, as the long train thundered away to the south; while ever and anon they could turn their eyes to that changing phantasmagoria of the outer world that went whirling by the windows. It was rather a wild-looking day, sometimes brightening with a wan glare of sunlight, but more often darkening until the country looked like a French landscape, in its sombre tones of gray and black and green. Yet, nevertheless, there was a sort of picturesqueness in the brooding sky, the russet woods, the purple hedges, and the new-ploughed furrows; while now and again a distant mansion, set on a height, shone a fair yellow above its terraced lawn. Scattered rooks swept down the wind and settled in a field. The moorhens had forsaken the ruffled water of the ponds and sought shelter among the withered sedge. Puffs of white steam from the engine flew across and were lost in the leafless trees. Embankments suddenly showed themselves high in the air, and as suddenly dipped again; then there were long stretches of coppice, with red bracken, and a sprinkling of gold on the oaks. To Lionel the time went by all too quickly; before he had said the half of what he wanted to say, behold!
here they were at Preston Park.
”You are at least remaining over until to-morrow?” Lady Cunyngham asked him.
”Well, no,” said he, ”I did not think of coming down until this morning, and so I had made no arrangements. I should think it hardly likely there would be a vacant bedroom at the Orleans Club at this time of year--no, in any case, I must get back by the 8.40 to-night.”
”And in the meantime,” she asked again, ”have you any engagement?”
”None. I dare say I shall have a stroll along the sea-front, and then drop in for lunch at the Orleans.”
”You might as well come down now and lunch with us,” said she, simply.
Lionel's face brightened up amazingly; he had been looking forward to saying good-bye at the station with anything but joy.
”I should be delighted--if I am not in the way,” was his prompt answer.
”Oh, Honnor and I are entirely by ourselves at present,” said this elderly lady with the silver-white hair. ”We are expecting Lady Adela and her sisters this week, however; and perhaps my son will come down later on.”
”Are they back from Scotland?”
”They arrive to-morrow, I believe.”
”And Lady Adela's novel?”
”Oh, I don't know anything about that,” said she, with a good-humored smile. ”Surely she can't have written another novel already!”
When they got into the station, a footman was awaiting them, but they had no bags or baggage of any description; they walked a little way along the platform and entered the carriage; presently they were driving away down to the sea-front. What Honnor Cunyngham thought of the arrangement, it is impossible to say, but the invitation was none of her giving: no doubt it was merely a little compliment in acknowledgment of Mr. Moore's kindness of the preceding night. However, when the barouche pulled up in front of a house in Adelaide Crescent, Mr. Moore had his own proposal to make.
”It seems so pleasant down there,” said he, looking towards the wide stretches of greensward and the promenade along the sea-wall, where the people, just come out of church, were strolling to and fro; ”every one appears to be out--don't you think we should have a little walk before going in?”
Honnor Cunyngham said nothing; it was her mother who at once and good-naturedly a.s.sented; and when they had descended from the carriage they forthwith made their way down to mix in this idle throng. It was quite a bright and pleasant morning here--a stiff southwesterly breeze blowing--a considerably heavy sea thundering in and springing with jets of white spray into the air--the sunlight s.h.i.+ning along the yellow houses of Brunswick Terrace, where there were cheerful bits of green here and there in the balconies. Then the crowd was rather more gayly dressed than an English crowd usually is; for women allow themselves a little more lat.i.tude in the way of color during the Brighton season, and on such a morning there was ample excuse for a display of sunshades. And was it merely a wish to breathe the fresh-blowing wind and to listen to the hissing withdrawal and recurrent roar of the waves that had induced Lionel to ask his two companions to join in this slow march up and down?
Young men have their little vanities and weaknesses, like other folk.
Rumor had on more than one occasion coupled his name with that of some fair damsel; what if he were to say now, ”Well, if you will talk, here is one worth talking about.” He was conscious on this s.h.i.+ning morning that Miss Cunyngham--the more beautiful daughter of a beautiful mother--was looking superb; he remembered what Miss Georgie had said about Honnor's proud and graceful carriage. He knew a good many of the people in this slow-moving a.s.semblage; and he was not sorry they should see him talking to this tall and handsome young Englishwoman--who also appeared to have a numerous acquaintances.h.i.+p.
”Why, you seem to know everybody, Mr. Moore?” she said to him, with a smile.
”You would think all London was here this morning--it's really astonis.h.i.+ng!” he made answer.
Occasionally they stopped to have a chat with more particular friends; and then Lionel would remain a little bit aside; though once or twice Lady Cunyngham chose to introduce him, and that pleased him, he hardly knew why. But at last she said,
”Well, I think we must be getting home. Properly speaking we have no right to be in the prayer-book brigade at all, for we have not been to church this morning.”
Not unlikely the squire of these two ladies was rather loath to leave this gay a.s.semblage; but he was speedily consoled, for, to his inexpressible joy, he found, when they got in-doors, that there was no one else coming to lunch--these three were to be quite by themselves.
And of what did they not talk during this careless, protracted, idling meal? Curiously enough, it was Nina, not Miss Burgoyne, who appeared to have chiefly impressed the two visitors on the preceding evening; and when Lady Cunyngham discovered that she was an old companion and fellow-student of Lionel's, she was much interested, and would have him tell her all about his experiences in Naples. And again Miss Honnor recurred to the difference between amateur and professional acting, that seemed to have struck her so forcibly the previous night.
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”_'Why, you seem to know everybody, Mr. Moore!' she said to him, with a smile._”]