Part 16 (1/2)

This was a drop of comfort. But as, at the next encounter, he still did not offer to join them--could it, indeed, be expected that he would prefer her company to that of the pretty, grown-up girls he was with?--as he again sidled past, Tilly, who had given him one of her most vivacious sparkles, turned and shot a glance at Laura's face.

”For pity's sake, look a little more amiable, or he won't come at all.”

Laura felt more like crying; her suns.h.i.+ne was intercepted, her good spirits were quenched; had she had her will, she would have turned tail and gone straight back to school. She had not wanted Bob, had never asked him to be 'gone' on her, and if she had now to fish for him, into the bargain...However there was no help for it; the thing had to be gone through with; and, since Tilly seemed disposed to lay the blame of his lukewarmness at her door, Laura glued her mouth, the next time Bob hove in sight, into a feeble smile.

Soon afterwards he came up to them. His cousin had an arch greeting in readiness.

”Well, you've been doing a pretty mash, you have!” she cried, and jogged him with her elbow. ”No wonder you'd no eyes for poor us. What price Miss Woodward's gloves this morning!”--at which Bob laughed, looked sly, and tapped his breast pocket.

It was time to be moving homewards. Tilly and her beau led the way.

”For we know you two would rather be alone. Now, Bob, not too many sheep's-eyes, please!”

Bob smiled, and let fly a wicked glance at Laura from under his dark lashes. Dropping behind, they began to mount the hill. Now was the moment, felt Laura, to say something very witty, or pert, or clever; and a little pulse in her throat beat hard, as she furiously racked her brains. Oh, for just a morsel of Tilly's loose-tonguedness! One after the other she considered and dismissed: the pleasant coolness of the morning, the crowded condition of the street, even the fact of the next day being Sunday--ears and cheeks on fire, meanwhile, at her own slow-wittedness. And Bob smiled. She almost hated him for that smile.

It was so a.s.sured, and withal so disturbing. Seen close at hand his teeth were whiter, his eyes browner than she had believed. His upper lip, too, was quite dark; and he fingered it incessantly, as he waited for her to make the onslaught.

But he waited in vain; and when they had walked a whole street-block in this mute fas.h.i.+on, it was he who broke the silence.

”Ripping girls, those Woodwards,” he said, and seemed to be remembering their charms.

”Yes, they looked very nice,” said Laura in a small voice, and was extremely conscious of her own thirteen years.

”Simply stunning! Though May's so slender--May's the pretty one--and has such a jolly figure ... I believe I could span her waist with my two hands ... her service is just A1--at tennis I mean.”

”Is it really?” said Laura wanly, and felt unutterably depressed at the turn the conversation was taking.--Her own waist was coa.r.s.e, her knowledge of tennis of the slightest.

”Ra-THER! Overhand, with a cut on it--she plays with a 14-oz. racquet.

And she has a back drive, too, by Jove, that--you play, of course?”

”Oh, yes.” Laura spoke up manfully; but prayed that he would not press his inquiries further. At this juncture his attention was diverted by the pa.s.sing of a fine tandem; and as soon as he brought it back to her again, she said: 'You're at Trinity, aren't you?'--which was finesse; for she knew he wasn't.

”Well, yes ... all but,” answered Bob well pleased. ”I start in this winter.”

”How nice!”

There was another pause; then she blurted out: ”We church girls always wear Trinity colours at the boat-race.”

She hoped from her heart, this might lead him to say that he would look out for her there; but he did nothing of the kind. His answer was to the effect that this year they jolly well expected to knock Ormond into a c.o.c.ked hat.

Lunch threatened to be formidable. To begin with, Laura, whose natural, easy frankness had by this time all but been successfully educated out of her, Laura was never shyer with strangers than at a meal, where every word you said could be listened to by a tableful of people. Then, too, her vis-a-vis was a small sharp child of five or six, called Thumbby, or Thumbkin, who only removed her bead-like eyes from Laura's face to be saucy to her father. And, what was worse, the Uncle turned out to be a type that struck instant terror into Laura: a full-fledged male tease.--He was, besides, very hairy of face, and preternaturally solemn.

No sooner had he drawn in his chair to the table than he began. Lifting his head and thrusting out his chin, he sniffed the air in all directions with a moving nose--just as a cat does. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Tilly, who sat next him, went pink.

”What is it, dear?” his wife at last inquired in a gentle voice; for it was evident that he was not going to stop till asked why he did it.

”Mos' extraor'nary smell!” he replied. ”Mother, d'you know, I could take my appledavy some one has been using my scent.”

”Nonsense, Tom.”

”Silly pa!” said the little girl.