Part 16 (1/2)

”I think,” said Jenny, conscientiously, ”there's figs.”

”You do not wish any figs to-night, Jenny,” declared Miss Carstairs, rather more severely than mere figs seemed to warrant.

”_No'm!_ I thought maybe he might want some.”

”I doubt if I'll take any figs to-night, either,” laughed Varney. ”But mayn't I get something for you, Miss Carstairs? I'm happy to say that the chocolate is holding out better than we feared.”

”Thank you,” she said, apparently addressing the child, ”I don't believe I wish anything.”

Jenny here produced and handed around a small, rather dangerous-looking paper-bag, which proved, upon investigation, to contain marshmallows.

Miss Carstairs declined. Varney, to show how unimpeachable he considered his standing with the party, gratefully accepted.

”I'm afraid,” he said, looking at Miss Carstairs, ”that Mr. Hare's admirers are likely to detain him some time. If you don't care to wait so long, perhaps you would again give me the pleasure of supplanting him and taking you home--you and Miss--Miss Jenny?”

”No, thank you--I am sure he will be out soon ... You look awfully trampled on and--mashed, Jenny,” she continued, twitching the child's hat on straight. ”And _my dear! Don't_ eat so fast.”

Despite himself, Varney felt his blood rising a little. ”Miss Carstairs,” he said slowly, ”I must tell you that I came with Miss Jenny on purpose to see you. There is something that I wanted to say.”

She raised her eyes then, and though their look was very young and embarra.s.sed, he felt himself lose something of his composure under it.

”You wanted to say something--to me?”

”A good deal. I have an explanation to make--”

”I'm afraid that I have not time to--listen--Mr. Hare--”

”You must listen--to be fair,” he said slowly. ”I have to blame myself for it, but you are doing me an injustice at this moment. I am not--that man.”

She made no answer. Beside them, Miss Jenny ate ice-cream succulently.

All around them were people jostling this way and that, laughing, shouting: but they might have been alone on a mountain-top for all either was aware of them.

”Since I have been in Hunston--just a day,” Varney said easily, ”I seem to have done nothing but explain over and over that I am not Mr.

Stanhope. I got awfully tired of it, Miss Carstairs; it seemed so horribly useless. Like the others, you insisted that I was he. You candidly didn't believe me--”

”No,” she said, ”that is true.”

”I shall make you believe me now,” said Varney.

A great hullabaloo suddenly arose around them. Four or five men broke pellmell, and for the most part backwards, out of the swing-doors, evidently ejected from within. A lonely-looking policeman, on guard at the entrance, charged them. The lobby was already thronged; now people retreating before that violent infusion of arms and legs crowded them close.

Varney, standing in front of Miss Carstairs, s.h.i.+elded her from the press, her capable buffer. Soon he noticed that that part of the wall upon which she leaned was not a wall, but a door. He reached past her, turned the k.n.o.b, revealed a brilliantly-lit little room.

”Ah!... A haven, Miss Carstairs.”

She stepped backward, into the tiny box-office where Ryan had stood two hours before and cynically waited for his sport to begin. It was empty now, offering a perfect refuge. Varney followed and stood with his hand on the k.n.o.b just inside the door.

”Thank you,” said Miss Carstairs, breathing a little rapidly. ”The meetings have never been as bad as this before. But--I must not lose sight of Jenny.”