Part 3 (1/2)
”But really, you know,” said my cousin Melville, protesting in the name of reason and the nineteenth century--”a tail!”
”I patted it,” said Mrs. Bunting.
IV
Certain supplementary aspects of the Sea Lady's first conversation with Mrs. Bunting I got from that lady herself afterwards.
The Sea Lady had made one queer mistake. ”Your four charming daughters,”
she said, ”and your two sons.”
”My dear!” cried Mrs. Bunting--they had got through their preliminaries by then--”I've only two daughters and one son!”
”The young man who carried--who rescued me?”
”Yes. And the other two girls are friends, you know, visitors who are staying with me. On land one has visitors----”
”I know. So I made a mistake?”
”Oh yes.”
”And the other young man?”
”You don't mean Mr. Bunting.”
”Who is Mr. Bunting?”
”The other gentleman who----”
”_No!_”
”There was no one----”
”But several mornings ago?”
”Could it have been Mr. Melville?... _I_ know! You mean Mr. Chatteris! I remember, he came down with us one morning. A tall young man with fair--rather curlyish you might say--hair, wasn't it? And a rather thoughtful face. He was dressed all in white linen and he sat on the beach.”
”I fancy he did,” said the Sea Lady.
”He's not my son. He's--he's a friend. He's engaged to Adeline, to the elder Miss Glendower. He was stopping here for a night or so. I daresay he'll come again on his way back from Paris. Dear me! Fancy _my_ having a son like that!”
The Sea Lady was not quite prompt in replying.
”What a stupid mistake for me to make!” she said slowly; and then with more animation, ”Of course, now I think, he's much too old to be your son!”
”Well, he's thirty-two!” said Mrs. Bunting with a smile.
”It's preposterous.”
”I won't say _that_.”