Part 109 (2/2)

”But where are we going?”

”Wait and see.”

The stopped at Victoria, and d.i.c.k sought tickets. For less than half the fraction of an instant it occurred to Maisie, comfortably settled by the waiting-room fire, that it was much more pleasant to send a man to the booking-office than to elbow one's own way through the crowd. d.i.c.k put her into a Pullman,--solely on account of the warmth there; and she regarded the extravagance with grave scandalised eyes as the train moved out into the country.

”I wish I knew where we are going,” she repeated for the twentieth time.

The name of a well-remembered station flashed by, towards the end of the run, and Maisie was delighted.

”Oh, d.i.c.k, you villain!”

”Well, I thought you might like to see the place again. You haven't been here since the old times, have you?”

”No. I never cared to see Mrs. Jennett again; and she was all that was ever there.”

”Not quite. Look out a minute. There's the windmill above the potato-fields; they haven't built villas there yet; d'you remember when I shut you up in it?”

”Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.”

”She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a trusting nature in those days.”

They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with many reminiscences. d.i.c.k fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie's cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening would bring him a great reward.

When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs.

Jennett.

”Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?” said d.i.c.k, with mock terror.

”I should make a face.”

”Show, then,” said d.i.c.k, dropping into the speech of childhood.

Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and d.i.c.k laughed.

”'This is disgraceful,'” said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett's tone.

”'Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle for the next three Sundays. After all I've taught you, too, and three helps every Sunday at dinner! d.i.c.k's always leading you into mischief.

If you aren't a gentleman, d.i.c.k, you might at least...'”

The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used.

”'Try to behave like one,'” said d.i.c.k, promptly. ”Quite right. Now we'll get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,--unless you'd rather drive there?”

”We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!”

They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they pa.s.sed a confectioner's shop much considered in the days when their joint pocket-money amounted to a s.h.i.+lling a week.

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