Part 16 (1/2)

He wore a smart, close-fitting brown racing overcoat, which reached to his ankles; and for her he brought his fur-lined ulster.

”Here I am,” he said cheerfully. ”Get into this,” and he held out the ulster.

She put her arms into the sleeves, and he drew it around her and b.u.t.toned it up.

”You are a kind boy,” she said, with a little break in her voice. A sudden strong but inexplicable impulse moved Tinker; he bent forward and kissed her on the lips.

While you might count a score the children stood quite still, staring at one another with eyes luminous in the starlight. Elsie's face was one pink flush, and Tinker was scarlet.

”That--that was a very funny kiss,” she said in a curious voice.

”Oh, what's a kiss?” said Tinker, with forced bravado, consumed with boyish shame for the lapse.

”I--I--liked it,” said Elsie. ”No one has kissed me since father died.” And her breath seemed to catch.

”Girls like kissing,” said Tinker in a tone of a dispa.s.sionate observer. Then he seemed to thrust the matter away from him with some eagerness: and, slipping her arm through his, he said, ”Come on, let's walk up and down.”

They walked up and down, chattering away, till eight o'clock. Then he said, ”My father will be expecting me; he dines at eight. Won't you come too?”

”No, no, thank you. I must wait for Uncle Richard; I must really.”

But her arm tightened round his involuntarily.

Tinker thought a while. The gardens were brighter now. The stars were s.h.i.+ning with their full radiance, and the lamps were alight, so that even their retired corner was faintly bright.

”Well, you go on walking up and down. You won't feel so lonely as sitting still, and I'll be back as soon as I can;” he said, and off he went.

He found his father and Lord Crosland beginning their soup, and, sitting down, he told them of Elsie's plight. They were duly sympathetic; and his father at once gave him leave to take some dinner to her, and dine with her. Thereupon, after a brief but serious conference with the manager, Tinker departed, again followed by a waiter with a tray. Elsie had not looked for his return for a long while; and she was indeed pleased to be so soon freed from the struggle against her timidity.

They ate their dinner with great cheerfulness and good appet.i.te, and for an hour after it they chattered away happily. Then Elsie grew drowsy, very drowsy, indeed, and presently, nestled against Tinker, she fell asleep. Fortunately, the southern night was warm, and, in the fur-lined ulster, she could take no harm. He sat holding her to him, listening to her breathing, looking out over the sea, and revolving many memories and more schemes, till, at last, the lights began to dance before his eyes, and he, too, fell asleep.

He knew no more until he was awakened by someone shaking his arm, and found his father and Lord Crosland standing over them.

The lamps of the Casino and the gardens were out; only the dim starlight lighted the scene. The two children sat up and stared about them--Elsie sleepily, Tinker wide awake.

”We've found you at last. Hasn't your little friend's uncle come for her?” said Sir Tancred.

”No one has come,” said Tinker.

Sir Tancred and Lord Crosland looked at one another.

”Desertion,” murmured Lord Crosland softly.

”Well, come along,” said Sir Tancred cheerfully. ”We must put her up for to-night.”

The children slipped off the seat; Tinker put Elsie's arm through his, and, holding her up when she stumbled over the long ulster, followed his father and Lord Crosland.

There were some empty bedrooms in their corridor, and Elsie was settled for the night in one of them.

Tinker awoke next morning, very cheerful at the thought of having a companion to join in his amus.e.m.e.nts. He made haste to knock at Elsie's door, and bid her come out for a swim before their coffee. She was soon dressed and found him waiting for her. She flushed a little as she greeted him, and he greeted her with a seraph's smile.

”I thought you'd like a bathe before our coffee,” he said.