Читать книгу Selma at the Abbey - Elsie Jeanette Dunkerley - Страница 10

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IN A CROWDED TRAIN

“I’ve done it!” Selma ran to meet Angus on Sunday afternoon, hatless as usual, but wearing her best green frock and a big coat.

He led her to the station. “Aye, I ken you like the bus better; so do I. But the train’s quicker, and we’ve no’ too long. What have you done? Written the letter?”

“Not yet. There are a thousand things I want to know, before I write. I’ve given notice at Mac’s.”

“Have you so?” Angus cried, half admiring, half doubtful.

Selma glanced at his face. “I had to do it. I’m going to England; I can’t miss such a wonderful chance. Besides, it happened; I’m no’ sure that I didn’t get the sack.”

Angus took the tickets and guided her to the train. “Better tell me all about it.”

“Where are we going? You said to Ashton.”

“Gourock. We’ll walk along to Ashton and sit on the rocks; the train saves time. What’s this about getting the sack?”

“I made so many mistakes that they had me up to the office and lectured me,” Selma said ruefully. “I could no’ think of anything but England, and the journey, and London, and the new people, and what clothes I’d need to take, and——”

“I bet you made mistakes! Did they fire you on the spot?”

“They were rather nice about it,” Selma said, with dignity. “I told them I’d had an invitation to go and stay with people near Oxford, and as I wanted to go frightfully badly and I couldn’t ask for more holidays, I thought I’d have to leave the shop. They said it might be just as well, if I was going to be so careless, but I’m to go and see them when I come back, and if they’ve a vacancy they’ll take me on again. They say my work’s good enough as a rule, when my mind is no’ full of other things. I thanked them, but I’ll no’ go back. I’ll look for something better. Angus, I’m boiling over with questions!”

The carriage was filling up for the quick run to the coast. Angus sat in the corner opposite to hers and they leaned forward, their heads close together.

“Fire away. But don’t shriek,” he said briefly.

Selma’s dark eyes, always large, seemed to grow larger still. “I’ve been thinking and worrying, ever since you told me about those girls.”

He looked at her quickly. “Miss Joan and Miss Joy, and little Miss Jen?”

“Yes, but no’ the little one. The grown-ups; you say they are bonny, with lovely hair, and one of them’s keen on music, like you. You’re no’ going to—to like either of them very much, are you?”

There was acute anxiety in her voice. Something had happened to her, since Angus had spoken of the English girls, three days before. The talk of Mollie and the rest had had its effect and she had come to look on him as her special property. Suddenly she had known that she did not want him to like any other girl—not in that special way. The more she had thought about it, the more likely it had seemed that he would be swept off his feet by these girls and that she would be forgotten.

“I’m only a kid. He wants somebody older than me,” she had said to herself, again and again; and she had neglected her duties and had given the wrong change.

To her immense relief she saw his eyes fill with laughter. “You cuckoo!” he said. “Wee idiot! Those girls would no’ look at me. They’re rich, and—well—different. I could never ask one of them to marry me.”

“No, but you might worship her from far off!” Selma had been reading novelettes. “You’d work, and become famous, and she’d wait for you, and one day——”

“Oh, stow it!” He laid his hand on her knee. “I’ll work, and I’ll be famous, but it’s somebody else I want to wait for me, not Miss Joan or Miss Joy.”

Selma shot a quick look at him. “Are you—you couldn’t be proposing to me—in a crowded train? Do you really mean me?”

“I’m no’ asking you to marry me yet,” Angus said, sudden fierce intensity in his tone. “And I’d no’ meant to speak of it to-day, or for years yet. But you’ve witched it out o’ me. Some day I shall ask you properly. Will you wait for me?”

“Aye, will I!” Selma said fervently. “I’m no’ wanting to be married, but it would be awful nice to know we belonged to one another.”

Angus laughed under his breath. “My lassie! And you’ll mind I’m your man, Selma girl?”

“I’ll mind that! But it’s no’ a good place to ask me,” Selma protested.

“Nobody’s taking any notice of us. Let’s leave it like that. We’ll belong to one another, and some day we’ll get married.”

“That’s what I’d like,” Selma said eagerly.

“Shake hands on it!” Angus’s lips were quivering with amusement.

They clasped hands, and Selma added, “And you’ll no’ look at any other girl, ever, no matter how rich or beautiful she is?”

“I’ll no’ look at anybody but you,” he promised. “And you’ll no’ go off with any English chap you meet? You’ll be a dreadful long way from me. I don’t know how I’ll bear it.”

“Don’t worry! I’ll no’ be too far away to think about you. Now, Angus! How am I to get to this place? It is a long way! I’ll love to travel; you know I’ve always wanted to see new places. But I’ll no’ ken how to start. Do I go to the Central and ask for a ticket to London? But what happens after that? And how much will it cost? I’ve only got a little money.”

“You go with me,” Angus explained, his eyes twinkling. “I take you and hand you over to Miss Joan. Of course! I told you I’d no’ let you go alone.”

“Oh!” Selma drew a long breath. “Did you really mean it? It would be sort of comforting to have you there. But will it no’ cost an awful lot for the two of us?”

Angus leaned nearer and spoke earnestly, telling of the cheque from Terry Van Toll, who had married Belle, his half-sister, and seemed anxious to adopt her whole family. “It makes heaps of things possible. I’m going to take you south, but I’ll no’ be staying. I must hurry back; McAlistair gets mad, if I miss his lessons; and there’s the club-playing at night. But I’ll see you safely into Miss Joan’s hands.”

“But you can’t spend all your cheque on me!”

“I can so, now that you belong to me.”

“Oh! Does it make a difference?”

“I’ll say it does! I can use my cash to help my girl.”

Selma laughed. “And can I take all that money, because you’re going to be my man?”

“I guess so. And, look here, Selma! If you want to buy frocks, I’ll pay the bills.”

Selma shook her head. “I don’t think that’s right. It’s no’ fair to you.”

“It is, if it’s what I want. Terry told me to get things for myself, but I’d a lot rather buy them for you.”

Selma sat gazing out at the chimneys and tenements of Greenock’s east end. “No,” she said at last. “Not just now. I don’t know what I’ll need; I might waste your cheque on the wrong things. It’s terribly kind of you, and I’m sure you mean it, but I can’t feel it’s right for me to take your money.”

“Well, I say! Ask Miss Joan what she thinks! She’s grown-up; she’ll tell you what to do.”

“I could do that, if you’ll no’ object.” Selma’s face was very sober. “It does seem queer to be going to stay with new people! I can no’ get used to the idea.”

“You’ll feel at home in that house after the first five minutes. Here’s Fort Matilda; we’ll be at Gourock in no time. Shall we take a bus along and sit on the rocks by the Cloch? Or do you want to go on to Inverkip?”

“No,” Selma said abruptly. “I don’t want to see my dear stepfather. We’ll no’ go past the Cloch. I suppose”—yearningly—“we couldn’t go on a boat? There’s one at the pierhead now. How I’d love to go down the water once more, before I go away! You know how keen I am on sailing!”

“No’ to-day,” Angus said firmly. “Perhaps we could have a sail before you go, but to-day I want to talk, and you’ll go all excited, if you get on a boat. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.” His voice changed suddenly.

Selma gave him a startled look, as they jumped from the carriage, in the midst of the hurrying crowds. “What is it? Angus, how queer you look! What’s up? Are you ill?”

“You’ll understand, when I tell you.” He steered her through the crowds to the waiting bus in the station yard. “We could walk; it’s only a few miles; but we’ll no’ do that to-day. We’ll ride as far as the Cloch and go down on the shore.”

“And then you’ll tell me?” Selma asked anxiously. “I don’t like you to look like that.”

“I didn’t mean to tell you. I could no’ decide,” Angus said abruptly. “But what we said in the train made up my mind; I’ve got to tell you now. We must have things all clear between us.”

“Oh, aye! Don’t have any secrets! But is it something dreadful?” Selma wailed, as he put her into the bus. “You look quite green! Oh, Angus, what’s wrong?”

“You may want to go back on what you said,” he told her grimly. “I’ve a story for you, and when you’ve heard it you may no’ want any more to do with me. That’s what is bothering me, my lassie.”

“Well, it needn’t. Whatever it is, it won’t make me change my mind,” Selma said stoutly. “I’m glad to belong to you. It gives me a nice, settled, comfortable feeling. And I’m no’ going back on it. So stop worrying about that, anyway.”

Angus groaned. “Wait till you hear!”