Adam Johnstone's Son Part 19

"Well--not exactly!" he answered. "But I did hope that you would hear me and know that I was about--wis.h.i.+ng you would come."

"I always come out in the morning," she replied with sudden demureness.

"Indeed--I wondered where you were. Let us go out, shall we?"

"We might go for a walk," suggested Brook.

"It is too late."

"Just a little walk--down to the town and across the bridge to Atrani, and back. Couldn't we?"

"Oh, we could, of course. Very well--I've got a hat on, haven't I? All right. Come along!"

"My people are coming to-day," said Brook, as they pa.s.sed through the door. "I've just had a telegram."

"To-day!" exclaimed Clare in surprise, and somewhat disturbed.

"Yes, you know I have been expecting them at any moment. I fancy they have been knocking about, you know--seeing Paestum and all that. They are such queer people. They always want to see everything--as though it mattered!"

"There are only the two? Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone?"

"Yes--that's all." Brook laughed a little as though she had said something amusing.

"What are you laughing at?" asked Clare, naturally enough.

"Oh, nothing. It's ridiculous--but it sounded funny--unfamiliar, I mean.

My father has fallen a victim to knighthood, that's all. The affliction came upon him some time ago, and his name is Adam--of all the names in the world."

"It was the first," observed Clare rea.s.suringly. "It doesn't sound badly either--Sir Adam. I beg his pardon for calling him 'Mr.'" She laughed in her turn.

"Oh, he wouldn't mind," said Brook. "He's not at all that sort. Do you know? I think you'll like him awfully. He's a fine old chap in his way, though he is a brewer. He's much bigger than I am, but he's rather odd, you know. Sometimes he'll talk like anything, and sometimes he won't open his lips. We aren't at all alike in that way. I talk all the time, I believe--rain or s.h.i.+ne. Don't I bore you dreadfully sometimes?"

"No--you never bore me," answered Clare with perfect truth.

"I mean, when I talk as I did yesterday afternoon," said Johnstone with a shade of irritation.

"Oh, that--yes! Please don't begin again, and spoil our walk!"

But the walk was not destined to be a long one. A narrow, paved footway leads down from the old monastery to the sh.o.r.e, in zigzag, between low whitewashed walls, pa.s.sing at last under some houses which are built across it on arches.

Just as they came in sight a tall old man emerged from this archway, walking steadily up the hill. He was tall and bony, with a long grey beard, s.h.a.ggy bent brows, keen dark eyes, and an eagle nose. He wore clothes of rough grey woollen tweed, and carried a grey felt hat in one long hand.

A moment after he had come out of the arch he caught sight of Brook, and his rough face brightened instantly. He waved the grey hat and called out.

"Hulloa, my boy! There you are, eh!"

His voice was thin, like many Scotch voices, but it carried far, and had a manly ring in it. Brook did not answer, but waved his hat.

"That's my father," he said in a low tone to Clare. "May I introduce him? And there's my mother--being carried up in the chair."

A couple of l.u.s.ty porters were carrying Lady Johnstone up the steep ascent. She was a fat lady with bright blue eyes, like her son's, and a much brighter colour. She had a parasol in one hand and a fan in the other, and she shook a little with every step the porters made. In the rear, a moment later, came other porters, carrying boxes and bags of all sizes. Then a short woman, evidently Lady Johnstone's maid, came quietly along by herself, stopping occasionally to look at the sea.

Clare looked curiously at the party as they approached. Her first impulse had been to leave Brook and go back alone to warn her mother. It was not far. But she realised that it would be much better and wiser to face the introduction at once. In less than five minutes Sir Adam had reached them. He shook hands with Brook vigorously, and looked at him as a man looks who loves his son. Clare saw the glance, and it pleased her.

"Let me introduce you to Miss Bowring," said Brook. "Mrs. Bowring and Miss Bowring are staying here, and have been awfully good to me."

Sir Adam turned his keen eyes to Clare, as she held out her hand.

"I beg your pardon," he said, "but are you a daughter of Captain Bowring who was killed some years ago in Africa?"

"Yes." She looked up to him inquiringly and distrustfully.

His face brightened again and softened--then hardened singularly, all at once. She could not have believed that such features could change so quickly.

"And my son says that your mother is here! My dear young lady--I'm very glad! I hope you mean to stay."

The words were cordial. The tone was cold. Brook stared at his father, very much surprised to find that he knew anything of the Bowrings, for he himself had not mentioned them in his letters. But the porters, walking more slowly, had just brought his mother up to where the three stood, and waited, panting a little, and the chair swinging slightly from the shoulder-straps.

"Dear old boy!" cried Lady Johnstone. "It is good to see you. No--don't kiss me, my dear--it's far too hot. Let me look at you."

Sir Adam gravely introduced Clare. Lady Johnstone's fat face became stony as a red granite mummy case, and she bent her apoplectic neck stiffly.

"Oh!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "Very glad, I'm sure. Were you going for a walk?"

she asked, turning to Brook, severely.

"Yes, there was just time. I didn't know when to expect you. But if Miss Bowring doesn't mind, we'll give it up, and I'll install you. Your rooms are all ready."

It was at once clear to Clare that Lady Johnstone had never heard the name of Bowring, and that she resented the idea of her son walking alone with any young girl.

CHAPTER X

Clare went directly to her mother's room. She had hardly spoken again during the few minutes while she had necessarily remained with the Johnstones, climbing the hill back to the hotel. At the door she had stood aside to let Lady Johnstone go in, Sir Adam had followed his wife, and Brook had lingered, doubtless hoping to exchange a few words more with Clare. But she was preoccupied, and had not vouchsafed him a glance.

"They have come," she said, as she closed Mrs. Bowring's door behind her.

Her mother was seated by the open window, her hands lying idly in her lap, her face turned away, as Clare entered. She started slightly, and looked round.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Already! Well--it had to come. Have you met?"

Clare told her all that had happened.

"And he said that he was glad?" asked Mrs. Bowring, with the ghost of a smile.

"He said so--yes. His voice was cold. But when he first heard my name and asked about my father his face softened."

"His face softened," repeated Mrs. Bowring to herself, just above a whisper, as the ghost of the smile flitted about her pale lips.