Volume II Part 45 (1/2)

Eleanor's smile and answer were as cool as if her whole nature had not been in a stir of excitement.

”What in the world do _you_ expect to do there?” said her host with a strong tone of disapprobation. ”'Wasting sweetness on the desert air'

is nothing to it; this is positive desecration!”

Eleanor let the opinion pa.s.s, and eat the pineapple which he gave her with an apparently unimpaired relish.

”You don't know what sort of a place it is!” he insisted.

”I cannot know, I suppose, without going.”

”Suppose you stay here,” said Mr. Esthwaite; ”and we'll send for anybody in the world you please! to make you comfortable. Seriously, we want good people in this colony; we have got a supply of all other sorts, but those are in a deficient minority.”

”In that case, I think everybody that stays here is bound to supply one.”

”See here--who is that gentleman that is so fortunate as to be expecting you? what is his name?”

”Mr. Esthwaite! for shame!” said his wife. ”I think you are a very presuming cousin.”

Mr. Esthwaite knew quite well that he was, but he smiled to himself with satisfaction to see the answer his question had called up into Eleanor's cheeks. The rich dye of crimson was pretty to behold; her words were delayed long enough to mark either difficulty of speaking or displeasure at the necessity for it. Mr. Esthwaite did not care which it was. At last Eleanor answered, with calm distinctness though without facing him.

”Do you not know the name?”

”I--I believe Mrs. Caxton must have mentioned it in one of her letters.

She ought, and I think she did.”

An impatient throb of displeasure pa.s.sed through Eleanor's veins. It did not appear. She said composedly, ”The name is Rhys--it is a Welsh name--spelled R, h, y, s.”

”Hm! I remember. What sort of a man is he?”

Eleanor looked up, fairly startled with the audacity of her host; and only replied gravely, ”I am unable to say.”

Mr. Esthwaite at least had a sense of humour in him; for he smiled, and his lips kept pertinaciously unsteady for some time, even while he went on talking.

”I mean--is he a man calculated for savage, or for civilized life?”

”I hope so,” said Eleanor wilfully.

”Mr. Esthwaite! you astonish me!” said his wife.

Mr. Esthwaite seemed however highly amused. ”Do you know what savage life is?” he said to Eleanor. ”It is not what you think. It is not a garden of roses, with a pineapple tucked away behind every bush. Now if you would come here--here is a grand opening. Here is every sort of work wanting you--and Mr. Rhys--whatever the line of his talents may be. We'll build him a church, and we'll go and hear him, and we'll make much of you. Seriously, if my good cousin had known what she was sending you to, she would have wished the 'Diana' should sink with you on board, rather than get to the end of her voyage. It is quite self-denial enough to come here--when one does not expect to gain anything by it.”

”Mr. Esthwaite! Egbert!” cried his wife. ”Now you are caught!

Self-denial to come here! That is what you mean by all your talk about the Colonies and England!”

”Don't be--silly,--my dear,” said her husband. ”These people would think it so. I don't; but I am addressing myself to their prejudices.

Self-denial is what they are after.”

”It is not what I am after,” said Eleanor laughing. ”I must break up your prejudices.”

”What are you after, then. Seriously, what are you going to those barbarous islands for--putting friends.h.i.+p and all such regards out of the question? Wheat takes you there,--without humbug? You must excuse me--but you are a very extraordinary person to look at,--as a missionary.”