The Revellers Part 33

"I was told to take Miss Saumarez home. That is how you happened to meet us together."

"Indeed," she said, drawing back a little. Her tone conveyed that any explanation of Miss Saumarez's companions.h.i.+p was unnecessary. No other att.i.tude could have set Martin's wits at work more effectually. He, too, retreated a pace.

"I'm very sorry if I disturbed you," he said. "I was going to ring for one of the servants."

She t.i.ttered.

"Then I am glad you didn't. They are both out, and auntie would have wondered who our late visitor was. She has just gone to bed."

"But isn't your--isn't Mr. Herbert at home?"

"No; he is at the bazaar. He asked me to sit up until one of the maids returns."

Again she approached the window. One foot rested on the threshold.

"I've been reading 'Rokeby,'" ventured Martin.

"Do you like it?"

"It must be very interesting when you know the place. Just imagine how nice it would be if Sir Walter had seen Elmsdale and written about the moor, and the river, and the ghylls."

"Do you think he would have found a wildcat in Thor ghyll?"

"I hope not. It might have spoiled the verse; and Thor ghyll is beautiful."

"I'll never forget that cat. I can see it yet. How its eyes blazed when it sprang at me! Oh, I don't know how you dared seize it in your hands."

She was outside the window now, standing on a strip of turf that ran between house and drive.

"I didn't give a second thought to it," said Martin in his offhand way.

"I can never thank you enough for saving me," she murmured.

"Then I'll tell you what," he cried. "To make quite sure you won't forget, I'll try and persuade mother to have the skin made into a m.u.f.f for you. One of the men is curing it, with spirits of ammonia and saltpeter."

"Do you think I may need to have my memory jogged?"

"People forget things," he said airily. "Besides, I'm going away to school. When I come back you'll be a grown-up young lady."

"I'm nearly as tall as you."

"Indeed you are not."

"Well, I'm much taller than Angle Saumarez, at any rate."

"There's no comparison between you in any respect."

And this young spark three short hours ago, behind the woodpile, had gazed into Angle's eyes!

"Do you remember--we were talking about her when that creature flew at me?"

He laughed. It was odd how Angle's name kept cropping up. The church clock struck nine. They listened to the chimes. Neither spoke until the tremulous booming of the bell ceased.

"I'm afraid I must be going," said Martin, without budging an inch.

"Did you--did you--find any difficulty--in opening the gate? It is rather stiff. And your poor hands must be so sore."

From excessive politeness, or shyness, Elsie's tongue tripped somewhat.

"It was a bit stiff," he admitted. "I had to reach up, you know."

"Then I think I ought to come and open it for you."

"But you will be afraid to return alone."

"Afraid! Of what?"

"I really don't know," he said, "but I thought girls were always scared in the dark."

"Then I am an exception."

She cast a backward glance into the room.

"The lamp is quite safe. It will not take me a minute."

They walked together down the short avenue. The gate was standing open.

"Really," laughed Martin, "I had quite forgotten."

"So boys have weak memories, too?"

"Of gates, perhaps."

"Well, now, I must be off. Good-night, and thank you so much."

She held out her hand. He took it in both of his.

"I do hope Mr. Herbert will ask me to another picnic," he said.

A boy on a bicycle rode past slowly. Instinctively, they shrank into the shadow of a tree.

"Wasn't that Frank Beckett-Smythe?" whispered Elsie, forgetting to withdraw her imprisoned hand, and turning a startled face to Martin.

"Yes."

"Where can he be going at this time?"

Martin guessed accurately, but sheer chivalry prevented him from saying more than: