Part 61 (1/2)

”I don't think it will fail,” she said, looking at the flas.h.i.+ng sea. A curious tingling sensation of fright had seized her--something entirely unknown to her heretofore. She spoke again because frightened; the heavy, hard pulse in breast and throat played tricks with her voice and she swallowed and attempted to steady it: ”I--if--if I ever forget, you will know it as soon as I do--”

Her throat seemed to close in a quick, unsteady breath; she halted, both small hands clinched:

”_Don't_ talk this way!” she said, exasperated under a rush of sensations utterly incomprehensible--stinging, confused emotions that beat chaotic time to the clamour of her pulses. ”Why d-do you speak of such things?” she repeated with a fierce little indrawn breath--”why do you?--when you know--when I said--explained everything?” She looked at him fearfully: ”You are somehow spoiling our friends.h.i.+p,” she said; ”and I don't exactly know how you are doing it, but something of the comfort of it is being taken away from me--and don't! don't! don't do it!”

She covered her eyes with her clinched hands, stood a moment, motionless; then her arms dropped, and she turned sharply with a gesture which left him standing there and walked rapidly across the beach to the pavilion.

After a little while he followed, pursuing his way very leisurely to his own quarters. Half an hour later when she emerged with her maid, Selwyn was not waiting for her as usual; and, scarcely understanding that she was finding an excuse for lingering, she stood for ten minutes on the step of the Orchils' touring-car, talking to Gladys about the lantern fete and dance to be given that night at Hitherwood House.

Evidently Selwyn had already gone home. Gerald came lagging up with Sheila Minster; but his sister did not ask him whether Selwyn had gone.

Yesterday she would have done so; but to-day had brought to her the strangest sensation of her young life--a sudden and overpowering fear of a friend; and yet, strangest of all, the very friend she feared she was waiting for--contriving to find excuses to wait for. Surely he could not have finished dressing and have gone. He had never before done that. Why did he not come? It was late; people were leaving the pavilion; victorias and beach-phaetons were trundling off loaded to the water-line with fat dowagers; gay groups pa.s.sed, hailing her or waving adieux; Drina drove up in her village-cart, calling out: ”Are you coming, Eileen, or are you going to walk over? Hurry up! I'm hungry.”

”I'll go with you,” she said, nodding adieu to Gladys; and she swung off the step and crossed the sh.e.l.l road.

”Jump in,” urged the child; ”I'm in a dreadful hurry, and Odin can't trot very fast.”

”I'd prefer to drive slowly,” said Miss Erroll in a colourless voice; and seated herself in the village-cart.

”Why must I drive slowly?” demanded the child. ”I'm hungry; besides, I haven't seen Boots this morning. I don't want to drive slowly; must I?”

”Which are you most in a hurry for?” asked Eileen curiously; ”luncheon or Boots?”

”Both--I don't know. What a silly question. Boots of course! But I'm starving, too.”

”Boots? Of course?”

”Certainly. He always comes first--just like Captain Selwyn with you.”

”Like Captain Selwyn with me,” she repeated absently; ”certainly; Captain Selwyn should be first, everything else second. But how did you find out that, Drina?”

”Why, anybody can see that,” said the child contemptuously; ”you are as fast friends with Uncle Philip as I am with Boots. And why you don't marry him I can't see--unless you're not old enough. Are you?”

”Yes... . I am old enough, dear.”

”Then why don't you? If I was old enough to marry Boots I'd do it. Why don't you?”

”I don't know,” said Miss Erroll, as though speaking to herself.

Drina glanced at her, then flourished her be-ribboned whip, which whistling threat had no perceptible effect on the fat, red, Norwegian pony.

”I'll tell you what,” said the child, ”if you don't ask Uncle Philip pretty soon somebody will ask him first, and you'll be too late. As soon as I saw Boots I knew that I wanted him for myself, and I told him so.

He said he was very glad I had spoken, because he was expecting a proposal by wireless from the young Sultana-elect of Leyte. Now,” added the child with satisfaction, ”she can't have him. It's better to be in time, you see.”

Eileen nodded: ”Yes, it is better to be in plenty of time. You can't tell what Sultana may forestall you.”

”So you'll tell him, won't you?” inquired Drina with business-like briskness.

Miss Erroll looked absently at her: ”Tell who what?”

”Uncle Philip--that you're going to marry him when you're old enough.”