Part 9 (1/2)
”I am sure you would,” said Mrs. Parker Bangs, approvingly; while Jane leaned over, at Myra's request, and pinched Billy.
Slash went Ronnie's racket. ”Deuce! deuce!” shouted half a dozen voices.
”They shouldn't say that,” remarked Mrs. Parker Bangs, ”even if they are mad about it.”
Billy hugged his knees, delightedly; looking up at her with an expression of seraphic innocence.
”No. Isn't it sad?” he murmured. ”I never say naughty words when I play. I always say 'Game love.' It sounds so much nicer, I think.”
Jane pinched again, but Billy's rapt gaze at Mrs. Parker Bangs continued.
”Billy,” said Myra sternly, ”go into the hall and fetch my scarlet sunshade. Yes, I dare say you WILL miss the finish,” she added in a stern whisper, as he leaned over her chair, remonstrating; ”but you richly deserve it.”
”I have made up my mind what to ask, dear queen,” whispered Billy as he returned, breathless, three minutes later and laid the parasol in Lady Ingleby's lap. ”You promised me anything, up to the half of your kingdom. I will have the head of Mrs. Parker Bangs in a charger.”
”Oh, shut up, Billy!” exclaimed Jane, ”and get out of the light! We missed that last stroke. What is the score?”
Once again it was Garth's vantage, and once again Ronnie's arm swung high for an untakable smasher.
”Play up, Dal!” cried a voice, amid the general hubbub.
Garth knew that dear voice. He did not look in its direction, but he smiled. The next moment his arm shot out like a flash of lightning. The ball touched ground on Ronnie's side of the net and shot the length of the court without rising. Ronnie's wild scoop at it was hopeless. Game and set were Garth's.
They walked off the ground together, their rackets under their arms, the flush of a well-contested fight on their handsome faces. It had been so near a thing that both could sense the thrill of victory.
Pauline Lister had been sitting with Garth's coat on her lap, and his watch and chain were in her keeping. He paused a moment to take them up and receive her congratulations; then, slipping on his coat, and pocketing his watch, came straight to Jane.
”How do you do, Miss Champion?”
His eyes sought hers eagerly; and the welcoming gladness he saw in them filled him with certainty and content. He had missed her so unutterably during these days. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday had just been weary stepping-stones to Friday. It seemed incredible that one person's absence could make so vast a difference. And yet how perfect that it should be so; and that they should both realise it, now the day had come when he intended to tell her how desperately he wanted her always.
Yes, that they should BOTH realise it--for he felt certain Jane had also experienced the blank. A thing so complete and overwhelming as the miss of her had been to him could not be one-sided. And how well worth the experience of these lonely days if they had thereby learned something of what TOGETHER meant, now the words were to be spoken which should insure forever no more such partings.
All this sped through Garth's mind as he greeted Jane with that most commonplace of English greetings, the everlasting question which never receives an answer. But from Garth, at that moment, it did not sound commonplace to Jane, and she answered it quite frankly and fully. She wanted above all things to tell him exactly how she did; to hear all about himself, and compare notes on the happenings of these three interminable days; and to take up their close comrades.h.i.+p again, exactly where it had left off. Her hand went home to his with that firm completeness of clasp, which always made a hand shake with Jane such a satisfactory and really friendly thing.
”Very fit, thank you, Dal,” she answered. ”At least I am every moment improving in health and spirits, now I have arrived here at last.”
Garth stood his racket against the arm of her chair and deposited himself full length on the gra.s.s beside her, leaning on his elbow.
”Was anything wrong with London?” he asked, rather low, not looking up at her, but at the smart brown shoe, planted firmly on the gra.s.s so near his hand. ”Nothing was wrong with London,” replied Jane frankly; ”it was hot and dusty of course, but delightful as usual. Something was wrong with ME; and you will be ashamed of me, Dal, if I confess what it was.”
Garth did not look up, but a.s.siduously picked little blades of gra.s.s and laid them in a pattern on Jane's shoe. This conversation would have been exactly to the point had they been alone. But was Jane really going to announce to the a.s.sembled company, in that dear, resonant, carrying voice of hers, the sweet secret of their miss of one another?
”Liver?” inquired Mrs. Parker Bangs suddenly.
”m.u.f.fins!” exclaimed Billy instantly, and, rus.h.i.+ng for them, almost shot them into her lap in the haste with which he handed them, stumbling headlong over Garth's legs at the same moment.
Jane stared at Mrs. Parker Bangs and her m.u.f.fins; then looked down at the top of Garth's dark head, bent low over the gra.s.s.
”I was dull,” she said, ”intolerably dull. And Dal always says 'only a dullard is dull.' But I diagnosed my dulness in the train just now and found it was largely his fault. Do you hear, Dal?”
Garth lifted his head and looked at her, realising in that moment that it was, after all, possible for a complete and overwhelming experience to be one-sided. Jane's calm grey eyes were full of gay friendliness.