Part 35 (1/2)

Why, they'd stick in your nails and tangle up all your traps so that you'd wish you were dead ten times a day, or else they'd make you say 'Hang!' and things.”

”Very well,” said Prissy, with sweetest resignation, ”then I will take them for myself, but I did think you would have liked them!”

”Did you, Priss--you are a good sort!” said Hugh John, patting his sister on the cheek.

His sister felt that after such a demonstration of affection from him there was little left to live for.

”Good-night, you dear,” she said; ”I'll wake you in the morning, and have your bath ready for you at eight.”

”Good old girl!” said Hugh John tolerantly, and went to bed, glad that he had been so nice to Prissy about the brush-covers. Such a little makes a girl happy, you know.

Perhaps, all things being considered, it was for the good of our hero's soul at this time that Cissy Carter was on hand to take some of the conceit out of him.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

”GIRLS ARE FUNNY THINGS.”

”Girls are funny things” was Hugh John's favourite maxim; and he forthwith proceeded to prove that boys are too, by making a point of seeing Cissy Carter several times a week during his entire vacation.

Yet he was unhappy as often as he went to Oaklands, and only more unhappy when he stayed away. On the whole, Cissy was much less frigid than on that first memorable evening. But she never thawed entirely, nor could Hugh John discover the least trace of the hair-brained madcap of ancient days for whom his whole soul longed, in the charmingly attired young lady whose talk and appearance were so much beyond her years. But he shaved three or four times a day with his new razors, sneaking hot water on the sly in order to catch up.

The last time he could hope to see her before going back to school for his final term, was on the evening of a day when Hugh John had successfully captained a team of schoolboys and visitors from the surrounding country-houses against the best eleven which Edam could produce. Cissy Carter had looked on with Mr. Courtenay Carling by her side, while Captain (once General Napoleon) Smith made seventy-seven, and carried out his still virgin bat amid the cheers of the spectators, after having beaten the Edamites by four wickets, and with only six minutes to spare in order to save the draw.

”Oh, well played!” cried Mr. Carling patronisingly, as Hugh John came up, modestly swinging his bat as if he did as much every day of his life; ”I remember when I was at the 'Varsity----”

But Hugh John turned away without waiting to hear what happened to Mr.

Carling at the 'Varsity which he had honoured with his presence. It chanced, however, that at that moment the young gentleman with the moustache saw on the other side of the enclosure a lady of more mature charms than those of his present companion, whose father also had a great deal of influence--don't you know?--in the county. So in a little while he excused himself and went over to talk with his new friend in her carriage, afterwards driving home with her to ”a quiet family dinner.”

Thus Cissy was left to return alone with Sammy, and she gathered up her sunshade and gloves with an air of calm and surprising dignity.

Hugh John had meant to bid her an equally cool good night and stroll off with the wors.h.i.+pful Toady Lion--who that day had kept wickets ”like a jolly little brick” (as his brother was good enough to say), besides making a useful six before being run out. But somehow, when the hero of the day went to say good-bye, he could not quite carry out his programme, and found himself, against his will, offering in due form to ”see Miss Carter home.”

Which shows that Hugh John, like his moustache, was growing up very rapidly indeed, and learning how to adapt himself to circ.u.mstances. He wondered what Ashwell Major would say if he knew. It would make him sick, Hugh John thought; but after all, what was a fellow to do?

For the first mile they talked freely about the match, and Cissy complimented him on his scoring. Then there fell a silence and constraint upon them. They were approaching the historic stile. Hugh John nerved himself for a daring venture.

”Do you remember what you once made me say here, Cissy?” he said. Miss Carter turned upon him a perfectly well-bred stare of blankest ignorance.

”No,” she said, ”I don't remember ever being here with you before.”