Part 11 (1/2)
”Yes; but perhaps it may turn out differently. You are sure to get on, whatever happens. It is about Raymond I am so afraid. I cannot imagine him in an office in Harstone.--How that girl is staring at me, Reginald, and the boy too. Is it at my hair?”
”Come along,” said Reginald; ”don't look at them.”
He turned towards the low wall which skirts the side of the down where the high rocks, through which the river runs, rise to a considerable height on the Roxburgh side. Reginald leaned with folded arms against the wall, and Salome, uncomfortably conscious that her hair was floating over her back in most dire confusion, stood by him, never turning her head again. At last Salome heard a voice close to her say,--
”Yes, I am sure it is, Digby. Let me ask her.”
”Nonsense. You can't be sure.”
There was a moment's silence, and then Kate Wilton seized on her chance.
Salome's pocket-handkerchief, as she turned at a sign from Reginald to walk away, fell from the pocket at the side of her dress.
”I think this is yours,” said Kate, ”your pocket-handkerchief; and I think you are my cousin. We--we came to see you at Maplestone two years ago.”
The brightest colour rose to Salome's face, and she said, ”Yes, I am Salome Wilton. Reginald!”--for Reginald had walked on, resolutely determined not to believe they had any kins.h.i.+p with the boy and girl who had stared at them--”Reginald,” Salome said, overtaking him, ”do stop;”
adding in a lower voice, ”It's so uncivil.”
Reginald, thus appealed to, was obliged to turn his head, and in the very gruffest voice said, ”How do you do?” to Digby, who advanced towards him.
”I am so glad we met you,” Kate said. ”I have been watching you for ever so long. Something made me sure you were our cousin. I was not so sure about your brother. I daresay he has very much grown in two years, but you are so little altered, and”--Kate paused and laughed--”I knew your hair; it is such wonderful hair. Don't you remember how you used to let it down at Maplestone, and make me guess which was your face and which was the back of your head? It was not so long then.”
Salome felt more and more uncomfortable about her hair, and said, ”I am quite ashamed of my untidiness; but I have lost all my pins, and my hair is such a dreadful bother.”
”It is beautiful,” said Kate. ”I am sure I should not call it a bother.
I wish you could give me some; but we have all scraggy rats' tails. We should like to walk with you, if we may,” Kate continued. ”Which way are you going?”
”Oh, no way in particular. Reginald and I came out for a walk. We have had such dreadful weather since we have been here.”
”Yes; and Digby and I, like you and your brother, were tired of staying at home. It is so dull for the boys when they have bad weather in the holidays. I hope it is going to clear up now.”
Salome hoped so too, and then there was silence. But Kate soon broke it with some trivial remark, and the girls made more rapid advances towards friends.h.i.+p than the boys. Kate was pleasant and good-tempered, and was easy to get on with. But Salome listened in vain for much conversation between the boys. All the talk came from Digby, and she felt vexed with her brother for his ungraciousness. But boys are generally more reticent than girls, and have not so many small subjects to discuss with each other on first acquaintance, till they get upon school life and games.
”I hope you will come home with us,” Kate said, after a pause, during which she had been calculating the time of her mother and Louise's departure to luncheon at a friend's house in the neighbourhood. A glance at the clock of a church they pa.s.sed rea.s.sured her. ”They were certain to have started,” she thought. ”Aunt Betha would not mind if I took home half-a-dozen people to luncheon.”
”You are going out of your way, Salome,” said Reginald. ”We ought to turn up this way to Elm Fields.”
”I want them to come home to luncheon, Digby. Do make them.”
”Oh yes, pray, come,” said Digby, ”unless you have anything better to do.”
”Oh no,” said Salome simply. ”Reginald and I were going to get some buns at a shop. We did not intend to go back till--”
A warning, not to say angry, glance from Reginald stopped Salome, and she added,--
”Perhaps we had better not come, thanks. Mamma and Ada and the children are coming this afternoon, and Reginald has to be at the station at five o'clock to meet them.”
”Well, as it's not one o'clock yet,” said Digby, ”there's time, I should think, for both.” He changed companions as he spoke, and, leaving Kate to Reginald, walked briskly on with Salome towards Edinburgh Crescent.
The bell was ringing for the ”children's dinner” as the four cousins were admitted by the ”boy in b.u.t.tons” who answered the doctor's bell, and had in truth time for little else than swinging back that door on the hinges and receiving patients' notes, telegrams, and messages.