Part 10 (2/2)
In the idiom of those old days he was ”off,” he was ”down.”
Afraid of moving, to snap off the lights, lest she might disturb the sleeper, she sat on, watching that peaceful face, that broad chest heaving rhythmically. She sat, watching him; or letting her glance take in the room with his neat, soldier-like appointments; his folding-case for brushes and shaving-kit, his one photograph (obviously of his mother) in a celluloid glazed frame, his leather writing-case, with his name and the name of his Corps printed in ink on the cover. Her eyes upturned to him, as she sat--thinking ... thinking....
It was nearly five o'clock when the door opened cautiously, and Captain Ross, that adequate campaigner, entered, with a Service dressing-gown over his zebra-stripes, and carrying two steaming cups of excellently-made tea. His glance fell upon Jack Awdas, slumbering like a child. Mrs. Cartwright, rather cramped, rather chilled, and rather drawn in the face between her straight-falling plaits of hair, was still sitting there like a statue, in a white robe with gold patterns, from the folds of which there peeped an end of narrow pink ribbon--the ribbon which held, hidden at her breast, and all unsuspected, a Charm.
CHAPTER VII
THE SPREADING OF THE CHARM
”When England needs The sons she breeds, And there's fighting to be done, No matter where, You will find him _there_, The Man behind the Gun....
It's Bill, Bill, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy, Billy Brown, Of Putney, Piccadilly, Camden Town; Why! It's Mister---- Bill, Billy Brown---- Of London!”
Fragson's Song.
The following morning brought a small disappointment to that little plotter for the commonweal, Olwen Howel-Jones.
No Mrs. Cartwright at _dejeuner_!
Olwen (knowing nothing of that vigil of the night before, or of the slumber into which the woman, drained of vitality, had dropped as soon as she returned to her room) imagined her working through luncheon-time.
Too bad! For now it must be postponed, the sight of how that Charm, given to the writer, would affect Professor Howel-Jones. It could not begin at once then, that Darby-and-Joan pairing-off that so suitable match which little Olwen had planned. What a pity! Still it was not put off for long, she cheerfully hoped.
The other wearer of the Charm was also absent from the midday gathering in the _salle_, but that was all to the good, Olwen had pa.s.sed Miss Walsh, with her hair done in that new way! speeding off as excitedly as an Early Victorian to her first dance; speeding down to the pier, where the motor-boat awaited her, with Sergeant Tronchet. Madame Leroux had put up a basket of provisions for them, and they were going to make a picnic of their excursion across the lagoon.
Captain Ross came in to lunch with his friend Mr. Awdas, but so late that the two young men crossed the path of Olwen and her Uncle (who had finished their meal early) in the hall. The girl had paused here for a moment to slip into the Red Cross collection-box that hundred-franc note which had been bestowed upon her yesterday by Miss Walsh.
Captain Ross noticed her action.
”You're making a mistake, Miss Howel-Jones,” he said banteringly, and smiled as he might have smiled at one of the little pigtailed daughters of the manageress. ”That's not the box you put ten centimes into and get two sticks of candy.”
Olwen, half in delight that he had spoken to her, half in resentment that it was in the tone he might have used to a child, raised her pointed chin on its white childish neck, looked down under her lids, and demanded, with what she considered great stateliness, ”Who wants _candy_?”
”All little girls, I guess,” returned Captain Ross, his robin's eyes twinkling, his perfect teeth flas.h.i.+ng in another teasing smile. Olwen, glancing under those dropped lids at this somewhat showy vision of black-and-white-and-brown-and-scarlet-and-khaki, felt that she would die for him.
There was a magic about him, she thought; even if he were dictatorial or teasing, or seemed to think rather a lot of himself--a magic! At the same instant she remembered that, yes! There was a secret magic about her too, now. A magic that had proved itself unmistakably once; a Charm that she herself was wearing. Confidence seemed to rush, in a warming flood, about her heart.
Quite defiantly she tilted her black head, and looking straight over Captain Ross's shoulder, she laughed, for pure joy of her secret.
”_You_ don't know everything about girls!” she told the finest judge of women in Europe.
And before the young Staff-Officer could retort, before he could even open his eyes over the temerity of this chit, this schoolgirl, who had said this thing to him (_Him!_), those little French boots of hers had skipped away, carrying her upstairs towards the study where she must type out the notes which she had taken down for her Uncle in shorthand that morning. Those boots fitted the chit's ankles like a coat of black paint, he noticed as he looked after her, too amused to be annoyed, of course. The piece of Impertinence----! Awfully neat.... They disappeared, the little twinkling heels. He went on to join Jack Awdas at table.
Olwen, at an angle in the corridor a floor higher, ran into the young _femme-de-chambre_ for that floor, carrying over her arm a khaki tunic.
They stopped to smile and to exchange ”_bonjours_,” these two girls much of an age and much of a race, for Marie came from Brittany, and already the Professor and his niece had amused themselves by finding out how many Welsh words the Breton maid could understand; the simple words which were the same in her own tongue.
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