Part 3 (1/2)
”I am afraid I am the only person who answers to that description.”
There was a good-natured twinkle in his eye, and he had a pleasant smile, but his evident amus.e.m.e.nt abashed her. ”I keep my own house,” he went on.
”Oh, I beg your pardon! I thought there was a Mrs. Hayward!”
”I am sorry to say that there is none. But I am Mr. Hayward, and shall be very glad if I can be of any service to you.”
”I don't want to disturb you,” said Marian, blus.h.i.+ng deeply, while Mr.
Hayward, with, ”Will you allow me?” drew up a chair and sat down, as if to put her more at her ease. ”It is only--only--” here she came to a dead stop. ”I do not want to take up so much of your time,” she confusedly stammered.
”Not at all; I shall be very happy--” he paused too, not knowing how to fill up the blank, and waited quietly, while Marian sought frantically in her little bag for a paper which was, of course, at the very bottom.
”It is only,” she began again--”only to ask you about the character of a chambermaid named Drusilla--yes, Drusilla Elms. I think it must be you she refers to; at least I copied the address from the reference she showed me; here it is,” handing him the slip of paper; and as he took out his eyegla.s.s to study it, ”only I couldn't tell--I didn't know--whether it was Mr., or Mrs., or what it was before the name, I am very sorry.”
”So am I. It has been the great misfortune of my life, I a.s.sure you, that I write such a confounded--such an execrable hand. Pray accept my apologies for it.”
”Oh, it was not a bad hand!--not at all! It was my own stupidity! I suppose you really did give her the character, then?”
”In spite of your politeness, I am afraid I too plainly recognise the bewildering effect of my own scrawl. I think I must have given her the reference, though I don't remember doing so.”
”The name is so peculiar----”
”Yes; but the fact is that our old Catherine, who has been cook here for a longer time than I can reckon, generally engages our other maid for us, and she dislikes to change the name, and calls them all Margaret. I think we had a very nice Margaret two years ago, but I will go and ask Catherine; she may recollect.”
”Oh, don't trouble yourself! I have no doubt that you are quite right--none at all!”
”But I have so many doubts, I should like to be a little surer; and if you will excuse me for a moment--well! _What_, in the devil's name, are you up to now?”
It must be explained that by this time he had reached the further door, and that the sudden close of his speech was addressed, not to Marian, but to some invisible person, or rather persons; for the subdued laughter which responded, the very equivalent to a girlish giggle, surely came from more than one pair of boyish lungs. Some stifled speech, too, was heard, to which the master of the house replied, ”Go to ----, then, and be quick about it!” as he closed the door behind him, leaving Marian trembling with apprehension lest he might be mad or drunk. And yet if this were swearing, and she feared it was, there was something gratifying in the sound of a good, round, mouth-filling oath, especially when contrasted with the extreme and punctilious deference of his speech to her. He came back in a moment, and, standing before her with head inclined, said, as if apologising for some misdeed of his own:
”I am very sorry, but Catherine is out, doing her marketing. She will probably return soon, if you do not mind waiting.”
”Oh, no!” said Marian, shocked with the idea that her presence might be inconvenient; ”I could not possibly wait! I am in a very great hurry.”
”Then, if you will allow me to write what she says? I promise,” he added, with another humorous twinkle in his eye, ”to try and write my very best.”
”Thank you, if it is not too much trouble,” said Marian, rising, and edging toward the door as if she had some hopes of getting off unnoticed. It was confusing to have him follow her with an air of expectation, she could not imagine of what, though she had a consciousness, too, of having forgotten something, which made her linger, trying to recollect it. He slowly turned the handle of the outer door, and, opening it for her exit, seemed waiting for her to say something--what, she racked her brains in vain to discover. He looked amused again, and as if he would have spoken himself; but Marian, with a sudden start, exclaimed, ”Oh, dear, it rains!” She had not noticed how dark the sky was growing, but to judge by the looks of the pavement, it had been quietly showering for some time.
”So it does!” said he. ”That is a pity. I fear you are not very well protected against it.”
”Oh, it doesn't matter!” cried Marian, recklessly; ”it is only a step to the horse-cars.”
”Enough for you to get very wet, I am afraid.”
”It isn't of the least consequence. I have nothing on that will hurt--nothing at all!”
Mr. Hayward looked admiringly and incredulously at the lilacs on her bonnet. ”I can hardly suppose your flowers are real ones, though certainly they look very much like them; if they are not, I fear a shower will scarcely prove of advantage to them. You must do me the honour of letting me see you to the car.” As he spoke he extracted from the stand an enormous silk umbrella with a big handle, nearly as large as Marian herself.
”I could not think of it!” she cried, and hurried down the wet steps, sweeping them with the dainty plaiting round the edge of her silvery skirt.
”Oh, but you must!” he went on in a tone of lazy good humour, yet as one not accustomed to be refused. There was something paternal in his manner gratifying to her, for as he could not be much over fifty, he must think her much younger than she really was.