The Firing Line Part 79

"Mr. Portlaw!"--so suddenly swinging on him that he lost all countenance and blurted out:

"I--I only want to make amends and be friends."

"I expect you to make amends," she said in a significantly quiet voice, which chilled him with the menace of damages unlimited. And even in his perturbation he saw at once that it would never do to have a backwoods jury look upon the fascinating countenance of this young plaintiff.

"Alida," he said sorrowfully, "I am beginning to see things in a clearer light."

"I think that light will grow very much clearer, Mr. Portlaw."

He repressed a shudder, and tried to look reproachful, but she seemed to be very hard-hearted, for she turned once more to her hammering.

"Alida!"

"What?"--continuing to drive tacks.

"After all these years of friends.h.i.+p it--it is perfectly painful for me to contemplate a possible lawsuit--"

"It will be more painful to contemplate an actual one, Mr. Portlaw."

"Alida, do you really mean that you--my neighbour and friend--are going to press this unnatural complaint?"

"I certainly do."

Portlaw shook his head violently, and pa.s.sed his gloved hand over his eyes as though to rouse himself from a distressing dream; all of which expressive pantomime was lost on Mrs. Ascott, who was busy driving tacks.

"I simply cannot credit my senses," he said mournfully.

"You ought to try; it will be still more difficult later," she observed, backing her horse so that she might inspect her handiwork from the proper point of view.

Portlaw looked askance at the sign. It warned people not to shoot, fish, cut trees, dam streams, or build fires under penalty of the law; and was signed, "Alida Ascott."

"You didn't have any up before, did you?" he asked innocently.

"By advice of counsel I think I had better not reply, Mr. Portlaw. But I believe that point will be brought out by my lawyers--unless"--with a brilliant smile--"your own counsel sees fit to discuss it."

Portlaw was convinced that his hair was stirring under his cap. He was horribly afraid of the law.

"See here, Alida," he said, a.s.suming the bluff rough-diamond front which the alarm in his eyes made foolish, "I want to settle this little difference and be friends with you again. I was wrong; I admit it.... Of course I might very easily defend such a suit--"

"But, of course"--serenely undeceived--"as you admit you are in the wrong you will scarcely venture to defend such a suit. _Your_ lawyers ought to forbid _you_ to talk about this case, particularly"--with a demure smile--"to the plaintiff."

"Alida," he said, "I am determined to remain your friend. You may do what you will, say what you wish, yes, even use my own words against me, but"--and virtue fairly exuded from every perspiring pore--"I will not retaliate!"

"I'm afraid you can't, William," she said softly.

"Won't you--forgive?" he asked in a melting voice; but his eyes were round with apprehension.

"There are some things that no woman can overlook," she said.

"I'll send my men down to fix that bridge--"

"Bridges can be mended; I was not speaking of the bridge."

"You mean those sheep--"

"No, Mr. Portlaw."

"Well, there's a lot--I mean that some little sand has been washed over your meadow--"

"Good night," she said, turning her horse's head.

"Isn't it the sand, Alida?" he pleaded. "You surely will forgive that timber-cutting--and the shooting of a few migratory birds--"

"Good night," touching her gray mare forward to where he was awkwardly blocking the wood-path.... "Do you mind moving a trifle, Mr. Portlaw?"

"About--ah--the--down there, you know, at Palm Beach," he stammered, "at that accursed lawn-party--"

"Yes?" She smiled but her eyes harboured lightning.

"It was so hot in Florida--you know how infernally hot it was, don't you, Alida?" he asked beseechingly. "I scarcely dared leave the Beach Club."

"Well?"

"I--I thought I'd just m-m-mention it. That's why I didn't call on you--I was afraid of sunstroke--"

"What!" she exclaimed, astonished at his stuttering audacity.

He knew he was absurd, but it was all he could think of. She gave him time enough to realise the pitiable spectacle he was making of himself, sitting her horse motionless, pretty eyes bent on his--an almost faultless though slight figure, smooth as a girl's yet faintly instinct with that charm of ripened adolescence just short of maturity.

And, slowly, under her clear gaze, a confused comprehension began to stir in him--at first only a sort of chagrin, then something more--a consciousness of his own heaviness of intellect and grossness of figure--the fatness of mind and body which had developed so rapidly within the last two years.

There she sat, as slim and pretty and fresh as ever; and only two years ago he had been mentally and physically active enough to find vigorous amus.e.m.e.nt in her company. Malcourt's stinging words concerning his bodily unloveliness and self-centred inertia came into his mind; and a slow blush deepened the colour in his heavy face.

What vanity he had reckoned on had deserted him along with any hope of compromising a case only too palpably against him. And yet, through the rudiments of better feeling awakening within him, the instinct of thrift still coloured his ideas a little.

"I'm dead wrong, Alida. We might just as well save fees and costs and go over the damages together.... I'll pay them. I ought to, anyway. I suppose I don't usually do what I ought. Malcourt says I don't--said so very severely--very mortifyingly the other day. So--if you'll get him or your own men to decide on the amount--"

"Do you think the amount matters?"

"Oh, of course it's principle; very proper of you to stand on your dignity--"

"I am not standing on it now; I am listening to your utter misapprehension of me and my motives.... I don't care for any--damages."

"It is perfectly proper for you to claim them, if," he added cautiously, "they are within reason--"

"Mr. Portlaw!"

"What?" he asked, alarmed.