Читать книгу Unsought Adventure - Howard Angus Kennedy - Страница 6

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One umbrella between two is both a shelter and an opportunity. It is highly agreeable to both if they are inclined to propinquity. John and Isobel, for example. Yet to Isobel that afternoon, with Jack’s words echoing in her ears, the pressure of John’s arm was simply painful. She would rather have got wet.

John had never shown signs—none that she had recognized, at any rate, but then she had never dreamed of looking for them. The triangle had just been a happy family,—as happy as Jack’s irresponsibility would permit. Now that the wretch had put it into her head, the possibility would always have to be watched for—yes, and guarded against. Left alone with the good-natured John, who certainly liked her as a cousin, her opportunities of drawing him into a closer relationship would be only too obvious, even to John himself.

A few years ago, such a ménage à deux would have brought scandal buzzing about their ears. She could smile at that danger now. Mrs. Grundy’s venomous fangs had been drawn, the shrill old scandal-monger’s voice had sunk to a whisper. None the less, to Isobel the situation would be intolerable. She cared nothing for what a few silly people might think, but everything for what she herself would always be thinking.

“Jack’s going to England,” she told her cousin, as briefly as possible. “He’s sailing to-morrow. He expects to get a job there, and I daresay it’s better for him. He’s doing no good here.”

“I suppose you’re right,” said John. “Only you’re not going with him, Isobel?”

JOHN HAS A BRIGHT IDEA

“No, but—of course I can’t stay on after he goes.”

“Why not? Aren’t you one of the family? It’s just as much your home as mine,—that’s the way I feel about it. It won’t be the same place. In fact, I don’t see how we can get along without you, Isobel.”

“I’m, afraid it’s impossible.”

“See here, it isn’t what people might think that worries you, surely. That’s all out of date. People don’t think evil of everything innocent any longer. And it’s not as if we lived all by ourselves in a tiny apartment. It’s a musty old place, but it has its advantages that way,—roomy enough, in all conscience,—and a couple of servants too. Olga, now,—we’ll promote her to the rank of chaperon. She’ll be tickled to death. And, seriously, I should feel lost without you, Isobel. I should go moping mad,—especially now I can’t get about quite so much as I used.”

She wished he could see. Why, she could trap him into an engagement right there under that umbrella, if she wanted. As he did not see, and she could not tell him, she took refuge in the contemptible untruth.

“You may not care what people think, but I do,” she said. “I’m very sorry, but it can’t be done, John.”

They had only a few blocks to go, and he had to think fast.

He walked on, silenced but unconvinced. Then a bright idea struck him. “The very thing!” he said to himself. What he said to her was—“Of course, if you feel that way. But it won’t be necessary for you to leave, after all. I’m going off myself to-morrow, for a few weeks at Palm Beach or thereabouts,—the doctor’s been begging me to. And then I’m going to spend the summer just tramping around the countryside,—up through Vermont to the old home in Canada, I shouldn’t wonder, with a dog and a raincoat. That’s what I need to set me up. It’s the only thing. And of course you’ll have to stay and look after the house till I come back. Then, if you must go you must, and that’s all there is to it.”

“I don’t believe you had the slightest idea of going, before you put up that umbrella.”

“You’re a mighty unbelieving sort of person, Isobel! But it don’t matter one row of beans what you believe. I’m going and you’re staying, that’s flat,—unless,” he added with a mischievous smile, “unless you prefer to go with me.”

She laughed that off. “Well, I’ll think it over,” she said, “at the typewriter. I hope I won’t address the company’s letters to Palm Beach or Canada, thinking!”

At the door of the office building, he insisted on her taking his umbrella. He would get a taxi to the theatre. On second thoughts, as he stood back alone in the portico, washed up against the wall by the tide of returning lunchers, he had his doubts about that theatre. If he was going off in the morning—and of course he must, having said so—there was business to be done in preparation, ways and means somehow to be arranged, not to mention his packing.