Love Among the Chickens Read online

  OF A SENTIMENTAL NATURE

  XVII

  She was wearing a Panama, and she carried a sketching block and campstool.

  "Good evening," I said.

  "Good evening," said she.

  It is curious how different the same words can sound when spoken bydifferent people. My "good evening" might have been that of a man witha particularly guilty conscience caught in the act of doing somethingmore than usually ignoble. She spoke like a somewhat offended angel.

  "It's a lovely evening," I went on pluckily.

  "Very."

  "The sunset!"

  "Yes."

  "Er--"

  She raised a pair of blue eyes, devoid of all expression save a faintsuggestion of surprise, gazed through me for a moment at some object acouple of thousand miles away, and lowered them again, leaving me witha vague feeling that there was something wrong with my personalappearance.

  Very calmly she moved to the edge of the cliff, arranged her campstool, and sat down. Neither of us spoke a word. I watched her whileshe filled a little mug with water from a little bottle, opened herpaint box, selected a brush, and placed her sketching block inposition.

  She began to paint.

  Now, by all the laws of good taste, I should before this have made adignified exit. When a lady shows a gentleman that his presence isunwelcome, it is up to him, as an American friend of mine pithilyobserved to me on one occasion, to get busy and chase himself, andsee if he can make the tall timber in two jumps. In other words, toretire. It was plain that I was not regarded as an essential ornamentof this portion of the Ware Cliff. By now, if I had been the perfectgentleman, I ought to have been a quarter of a mile away.

  But there is a definite limit to what a man can do. I remained.

  The sinking sun flung a carpet of gold across the sea. Phyllis's hairwas tinged with it. Little waves tumbled lazily on the beach below.Except for the song of a distant blackbird running through itsrepertory before retiring for the night, everything was silent.

  Especially Phyllis.

  She sat there, dipping and painting and dipping again, with never aword for me--standing patiently and humbly behind her.

  "Miss Derrick," I said.

  She half turned her head.

  "Yes?"

  One of the most valuable things which a lifetime devoted to sportteaches a man is "never play the goose game." Bold attack is thesafest rule in nine cases out of ten, wherever you are and whateveryou may be doing. If you are batting, attack the ball. If you areboxing, get after your man. If you are talking, go to the point.

  "Why won't you speak to me?" I said.

  "I don't understand you."

  "Why won't you speak to me?"

  "I think you know, Mr. Garnet."

  "It is because of that boat accident?"

  "Accident!"

  "Episode," I amended.

  She went on painting in silence. From where I stood I could see herprofile. Her chin was tilted. Her expression was determined.

  "Is it?" I said.

  "Need we discuss it?"

  "Not if you do not wish."

  I paused.

  "But," I added, "I should have liked a chance to defend myself....What glorious sunsets there have been these last few days. I believewe shall have this sort of weather for another month."

  "I should not have thought that possible."

  "The glass is going up," I said.

  "I was not talking about the weather."

  "It was dull of me to introduce such a worn-out topic."

  "You said you could defend yourself."

  "I said I should like the chance to do so."

  "Then you shall have it."

  "That is very kind of you. Thank you."

  "Is there any reason for gratitude?"

  "Every reason."

  "Go on, Mr. Garnet. I can listen while I paint. But please sit down.I don't like being talked to from a height."

  I sat down on the grass in front of her, feeling as I did so that thechange of position in a manner clipped my wings. It is difficult tospeak movingly while sitting on the ground. Instinctively, I avoidedeloquence. Standing up, I might have been pathetic and pleading.Sitting down, I was compelled to be matter of fact.

  "You remember, of course, the night you and Professor Derrick dinedwith us? When I say dined, I use the word in a loose sense."

  For a moment I thought she was going to smile. We were both thinkingof Edwin. But it was only for a moment, and then her face grew coldonce more, and the chin resumed its angle of determination.

  "Yes," she said.

  "You remember the unfortunate ending of the festivities?"

  "Well?"

  "I naturally wished to mend matters. It occurred to me that anexcellent way would be by doing your father a service. It was seeinghim fishing that put the idea of a boat accident into my head. I hopedfor a genuine boat accident. But those things only happen when onedoes not want them. So I determined to engineer one."

  "You didn't think of the shock to my father."

  "I did. It worried me very much."

  "But you upset him all the same."

  "Reluctantly."

  She looked up and our eyes met. I could detect no trace of forgivenessin hers.

  "You behaved abominably," she said.

  "I played a risky game, and I lost. And I shall now take theconsequences. With luck I should have won. I did not have luck, and Iam not going to grumble about it. But I am grateful to you for lettingme explain. I should not have liked you to go on thinking that Iplayed practical jokes on my friends. That is all I have to say, Ithink. It was kind of you to listen. Good-by, Miss Derrick."

  I got up.

  "Are you going?"

  "Why not?"

  "Please sit down again."

  "But you wish to be alone--"

  "Please sit down!"

  There was a flush on the fair cheek turned toward me, and the chin wastilted higher.

  I sat down.

  To westward the sky had changed to the hue of a bruised cherry. Thesun had sunk below the horizon, and the sea looked cold and leaden.The blackbird had long since gone to bed.

  "I am glad you told me, Mr. Garnet."

  She dipped her brush in the water.

  "Because I don't like to think badly of--people."

  She bent her head over her painting.

  "Though I still think you behaved very wrongly. And I am afraid myfather will never forgive you for what you did."

  Her father! As if he counted!

  "But you do?" I said eagerly.

  "I think you are less to blame than I thought you were at first."

  "No more than that?"

  "You can't expect to escape all consequences. You did a very stupidthing."

  "Consider the temptation."

  The sky was a dull gray now. It was growing dusk. The grass on which Isat was wet with dew.

  I stood up.

  "Isn't it getting a little dark for painting?" I said. "Are you sureyou won't catch cold? It's very damp."

  "Perhaps it is. And it is late, too."

  She shut her paint box and emptied the little mug on the grass.

  "You will let me carry your things?" I said.

  I think she hesitated, but only for a moment. I possessed myself ofthe camp stool, and we started on our homeward journey. We were bothsilent. The spell of the quiet summer evening was on us.

  "'And all the air a solemn stillness holds,'" she said softly. "I lovethis cliff, Mr. Garnet. It's the most soothing place in the world."

  "I have found it so this evening."

  She glanced at me quickly.

  "You're not looking well," she said. "Are you sure you are notoverworking yourself?"

  "No, it's not that."

  Somehow we had stopped, as if by agreement, and were facing eachother. There was a look in her eyes I had never seen there before.The twilight hung like a curtain between us and the world. We werealone together in a world of our own.


  "It is because I had displeased you," I said.

  She laughed nervously.

  "I have loved you ever since I first saw you," I said doggedly.