Part 47 (1/2)

”Did they know you?”

”_Did_ they know me!”

”Were they awfully pleased?”

”They were ever so jolly; even Tony shouted.”

At the lodge they met the Squire. Jan introduced Peter and explained that he had just come down for a few days' fis.h.i.+ng and was staying at ”The Green Hart.” The Squire proffered advice as to the best flies and a warning that he must not hope for much sport. The Amber was a difficult river, very; and variable; and it had been a particularly dry June.

Peter bore up under this depressing intelligence and he and Jan walked on through warm, scented lanes to Wren's End; and Peter looked at Jan a good deal.

Those who happened to be in London during the season of 1914 will remember that it was a period of powder and paint and frankest touching-up of complexions. The young and pretty were blackened and whitened and reddened quite as crudely as the old and ugly. There was no attempt at concealment. The faces of many Mayfair ladies filled Peter with disrespectful astonishment. He had not been home for four years, and then nice girls didn't do that sort of thing--much.

Now one of Jan's best points was her complexion; it was so fair and fresh. The touch of sunburn, too, was becoming, for she didn't freckle.

Peter found himself positively thankful to behold a really clean face; a face, too, that just then positively beamed with warm welcome and frank pleasure.

A clean face; a cool, clean frock; kind, candid eyes and a gentle, sincere voice--yes, they were all there just as he remembered them, just as he had so often dreamt of them. Moreover, he decided there and then that the Georgian ladies knew what they were about when they powdered their hair--white hair, he thought, was extraordinarily becoming to a woman.

”You are looking better than when I was in Bombay. I think your leave must have done you good already,” said the kind, friendly voice.

”I need a spell of country air, really to set me up,” said Peter.

They had an hilarious tea with the children on the Wren's lawn, and the tamest of the robins hopped about on the step just to show that he didn't care a fig for any of them.

Meg was just going to take the children to bed when Mr. With.e.l.ls brought Hugo back. It was an awkward moment. Peter knew far too much about Hugo to simulate the smallest cordiality; and Hugo was too well aware of some of the things Peter knew to feel at all comfortable in his presence. But he had no intention of giving way an inch. He took the chair Meg had just vacated and sat down. Mr. With.e.l.ls, too, sat down for a few minutes, and no sooner had he done so than William dashed out from amongst them, and, returning, was accompanied by Captain Middleton.

”No tea, thank you. Just got down from town, came with a message from my uncle--would Miss Ross's friend care for a rod on the Manor water on Monday? A brother officer who had been coming had failed at the last minute--there was room for four rods, but there wasn't a chance of much sport.”

Miles was introduced to Peter and sat down by him. The children rushed at Miles and, ably impeded by William, swarmed over him in riotous welcome, wholly regardless of their nurse's voice which summoned them to bed.

Meg stood waiting.

”Miss Morton's father lives in Cheltenham,” Jan said to Mr. With.e.l.ls, who seemed rather left out. ”She's going to see him on Tuesday--to spend the day.”

”Then,” said Mr. With.e.l.ls in his clear staccato, ”she must take the 9.15--it's much the best train in the day. And the 4.55 back. No other trains are at all suitable. I hope you will be guided by me in this matter, Miss Morton. I've made the journey many times.”

So had Meg; but Mr. With.e.l.ls always irritated her to such an extent that had it been possible, she would have declared her intention to go and return by quite different trains. As it was, she nodded pleasantly and said those were the very trains she had selected.

Miles thrust his head out from among the encompa.s.sing three and respectfully implored Mr. With.e.l.ls' advice about trains to Cricklade, which lay off the Cheltenham route, even going so far as to note the hours of departure and arrival carefully in a little book.

Finally Meg came and disenc.u.mbered Miles of the children and bore them away.

When her voice took on a certain tone it was as useless to cope with Meg as with Auntie Jan. They knew this, and like wise children gave in gracefully.

Elaborate farewells had to be said to everybody, and with a final warm embrace for Miles, little Fay called to him ”Tum and see me in my baff.”

”Captain Middleton will have gone long before you are ready for that,”

Meg said inhospitably, and trying to look very tall and dignified she walked up the three steps leading to the nursery. But it is almost impossible to look imposing with a lagging child dragging at each hand, and poor Meg felt that her exit was far from effective.