Part 8 (1/2)

”Oh, indeed, sir!” she mocked, secure behind her leafy screen, nodding her head at his unconscious back; ”so you've actually thought better of it, have you?”

Here Barnabas turned.

”Really, sir, you will even trouble to come all the way back, will you, just to learn her name--or, perhaps to--indeed, what condescension. But, dear sir, you're too late; oh, yes, indeed you are! 'for he who will not when he may, when he will he shall have nay.'

I grieve to say you are too late--quite too late! Good morning, Master s.h.i.+ll-I-shall-I.” And with the word she turned, then hastily drew a certain lace handkerchief from her bosom, and set it very cleverly among the thorns of a bramble, and so sped away among the leaves.

CHAPTER VII

IN WHICH MAY BE FOUND DIVERS RULES AND MAXIMS FOR THE ART OF BOWING

”Now, by the Lord!” said Barnabas, stopping all at once, ”forgetful fool that I am! I never bowed to her!” Therefore, being minded to repair so grave an omission, he turned sharp about, and came striding back again, and thus it befell that he presently espied the lace handkerchief fluttering from the bramble, and having extricated the delicate lace from the naturally reluctant thorns with a vast degree of care and trouble, he began to look about for the late owner.

But search how he might, his efforts proved unavailing--Annersley Wood was empty save for himself. Having satisfied himself of the fact, Barnabas sighed again, thrust the handkerchief into his pocket, and once more set off upon his way.

But now, as he went, he must needs remember his awkward stiffness when she had thanked him; he grew hot all over at the mere recollection, and, moreover, he had forgotten even to bow! But there again, was he quite sure that he could bow as a gentleman should?

There were doubtless certain rules and maxims for the bow as there were for mathematics--various motions to be observed in the making of it, of which Barnabas confessed to himself his utter ignorance.

What then was a bow? Hereupon, bethinking him of the book in his pocket, he drew it out, and turning to a certain page, began to study the ”stiff-legged-gentleman” with a new and enthralled interest.

Now over against this gentleman, that is to say, on the opposite page, he read these words:--

”THE ART OF BOWING.”

”To know how, and when, and to whom to bow, is in itself an art. The bow is, indeed, an all-important accomplishment,--it is the 'Open Sesame' of the 'Polite World.' To bow gracefully, therefore, may be regarded as the most important part of a gentlemanly deportment.”

”Hum!” said Barnabas, beginning to frown at this; and yet, according to the t.i.tle-page, these were the words of a ”Person of Quality.”

”To bow gracefully,”--the Person of Quality chattered on,--”the feet should be primarily disposed as in the first position of dancing.”

Barnabas sighed, frowning still.

”The left hand should be lifted airily and laid upon the bosom, the fingers kept elegantly spread.

The head is now stooped forward, the body following easily from the hips, the right hand, at the same moment, being waved gracefully in the air. It is, moreover, very necessary that the expression of the features should a.s.sume as engaging an air as possible.

The depth of the bow is to be regulated to the rank of the person saluted.”

And so forth and so on for two pages more.

Barnabas sighed and shook his head hopelessly.

”Ah!” said he, ”under these circ.u.mstances it is perhaps just as well that I forgot to try. It would seem I should have bungled it quite shamefully. Who would have thought a thing so simple could become a thing so very complicated!” Saying which, he shut the book, and thrust it back into his pocket, and thus became aware of a certain very small handful of dainty lace and cambric, and took it out, and, looking at it, beheld again the diminutive stain, while there stole to his nostrils a perfume, faint and very sweet.

”I wonder,” said he to himself. ”I wonder who she was--I might have asked her name but, fool that I am, I even forgot that!”

Here Barnabas sighed, and, sighing, hid the handkerchief in his pocket.

”And yet,” he pursued, ”had she told me her name, I should have been compelled to announce mine, and--Barnabas Barty--hum! somehow there is no suggestion about it of broad acres, or knightly ancestors; no, Barty will never do.” Here Barnabas became very thoughtful.

”Mortimer sounds better,” said he, after a while, ”or Mandeville.

Then there's Neville, and Desborough, and Ravenswood--all very good names, and yet none of them seems quite suitable. Still I must have a name that is beyond all question!” And Barnabas walked on more thoughtful than ever. All at once he stopped, and clapped hand to thigh.