Читать книгу The Girl from Glengarry - Ralph Connor - Страница 4

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Breakfast was over at Hilltop House. Miss Elizabeth was digesting slowly and with a disturbed face Sylvia's account of the passing of Paddy. The registration of grief was sufficient, but no more. There was, however, an understratum of keen interest and inquiry.

"And what was he like? I mean did he seem a gentleman?"

"A gentleman? He was very kind, and very capable. He knew just what to do. And he was very quick--and--he seemed very nice." Her niece finished rather lamely.

"Good looking?"

"Oh, I don't know. Of course I was thinking of Paddy--at first. Yes he was rather good looking--I think--I mean--His eyes were kind of twinkling--you know--and dark--and he had a strong face--a kind of hard face."

"Hard?"

"Yes, but kind too. He was awfully sorry for Paddy, and--of course it got kind of dark you know. He might be pretty stern--but his voice was kind."

"What did you say his name was?"

"Jack--I--I really was so excited and worried--"

"But my dear--you don't mean--you surely didn't call him Jack."

"Why of course I did."

"You know his last name, I hope."

"Well, I wasn't thinking about names. I was thinking about Paddy--and--"

"And I suppose he was so occupied with Paddy that he called you Sylvia?"

"Why--of course--I told him--"

"You told him to call you by your first name? Well I must say--"

"No no! We never thought anything about names--we just--I mean--oh you know what I mean."

"Can't say I do exactly. Well--it is over and done with. Of course in these days young people are so very daring and--well, well--never mind. It is over. And he was very kind. Of course he might well be. He nearly killed you." Miss Elizabeth's lips were shut in a firm line.

"He took a chance of killing himself. He just skinned a tree, and he crashed through a fence."

"No need for any heat my dear. I am very very thankful. My dear I am thankful to God for your escape. When I think--" Miss Elizabeth's voice came to an abrupt stop. "We ought to thank God, my dear."

"I do--I do--and I thank Mr.--Jack too. He really was splendid about Paddy, I mean, and very, very sympathetic."

"Um! No doubt! If he had been driving a little more carefully. These young men race along through towns at a most reckless breakneck speed. I really think they ought to be punished. I would jail every one of them. Horribly selfish I call it."

"But Aunt Elizabeth you don't know if he was driving at a breakneck speed. It was my fault. I lost my head. I just dashed after poor Paddy past one motor and there I was in front of Jack's. I just had strength and sense enough to fling myself headlong to one side. I think his guard caught my skirt."

"Well, well my dear. Let's not talk about it. When I think--What is it Annette?"

"A gentleman in a motor asking for Miss Sylvia, miss!"

Sylvia leaped to her feet.

"Oh I wonder--I believe it's--"

"Sylvia! Sit down Sylvia. Annette will--" But Sylvia was gone.

"Oh hello! Are you--" It was a man's voice clear, strong, vibrant, suddenly subdued into softer tones.

"It is that man. Annette never mind the dishes. Show him into the morning room. Not in here."

Meantime Sylvia had run out to the front door. Had she known the lively eagerness in her face, she might have waited for Annette.

"Oh Jack--come in here." She ushered him quickly into the morning room. "And for Heaven's sake what is your name?"

"Name? Jack of course."

"No, no, your last name. Quick, she's coming."

"Didn't I tell you?"

"No, no, oh do hurry. Here she is."

Jack turned swiftly to Miss Elizabeth.

"Awfully sorry to disturb you so early. I'm Jack Tempest of Montreal. Last night--I had--"

"Oh Mr. Tempest, I've heard all about your kindness to my niece."

"My kindness! Great Scott, Miss Murray! I was awake half the night thinking--well, no matter what--but--"

"We are all very thankful, Mr. Tempest--very thankful." Miss Elizabeth's voice was very grave and very gentle. "Those motors are very dangerous, and go at such a pace!"

"They do, but as a matter of fact I was going quite slowly--otherwise--" He stopped suddenly, turned away and looked out of the window. "But I came to show you something, Miss Sylvia. May I run and get it?"

He dashed out of the house, and returning in a few moments carrying in his arms a six months' old puppy, set him on the floor.

"He's an Airedale," he said with a note of pride in his voice.

A silence fell on the room.

Miss Elizabeth gazed with eyes of disapproval upon the dog. She loathed all dogs. "You can't say he is beautiful anyway, Sylvia," she said.

The girl was looking with pale face and trembling lips at the puppy. Suddenly her hands went to her face: "Oh please forgive me," she sobbed. "I can't--I just can't!"

"What? Oh, I see! Great heavens! What an--an! What an infernal ass!" muttered Jack. "Please forgive me and forget all about it, Miss Sylvia." He caught up the puppy, ran out to his car, chucked it into the back seat, slipped to his wheel and drove away.

"Well, my dear! At least it was a very kind intention. I can't say I regret his taking the little creature away--but after all--"

"Oh Auntie, I could not bear any dog in Paddy's place. You don't understand!" The girl turned hurriedly away and then walked up slowly to her room.

"You are not going to the office this morning, my dear," called Aunt Elizabeth after her.

But in a few minutes Sylvia was down stairs again and dressed for the street.

"I am sorry dear," she said to her aunt. "It was stupid of me. I shall not be home for lunch."

"Oh, I wish you would just stay at home this morning after your shock and--and all."

"Oh, no, no, I would rather go down to the office. They are really very busy you know. Don't look at me like that. I am quite fit--though I was a fool this morning."

"A fool? Well I wouldn't just say that, but he seems a very pleasant young man and--"

"Oh never mind him. He can take care of himself. And for that matter so can I."

"I'm not so sure," said her aunt as the door closed behind the girl. "I'm sure I don't know what the girls are coming to these days. 'Jack' and 'Sylvia' indeed! With half-an-hour's acquaintance. Well, well, it is beyond me." On this despairing note Aunt Elizabeth took up the daily burden of her household duties. Her dead sister's child was to her as the light of her eyes, and a dear and loving niece, obedient and careful in all things. But she was of the modern world. For instance, after graduating from a perfectly trustworthy Ladies' College in Ottawa, with a year in Edinburgh added, she had insisted upon a Business College training, and six months ago had gone into the office of what had been her father's business. Vainly her Aunt had insisted that this was quite unnecessary. If she really wanted something to occupy her she might take a select number of pupils in music.

"I'm sure your father would prefer this for you. He certainly spent enough money on your musical education, and your diploma sufficiently attests your ability as a teacher--either vocal or instrumental."

"Music teacher! I love music too well to make money out of it. Not that I don't love business. James is quite pleased with my office work too. He often says I could manage the whole works."

"But it is so--well--common--not to say vulgar. I mean for a young lady, that is of your family. Not that I have any foolish snobbery of course."

But Sylvia with all her sweet gentleness had a core of steel in her make-up, and an office girl she became and loved it. So that was that.

It was not that her aunt had any foolish notions that there was anything degrading in office work. Nothing of the sort. But one must be reasonable in these matters. Whom for instance, would she ever meet in the office of the Riverside Mills. Working men, commercial travellers, managers of other mills occasionally. But Sylvia only laughed at her aunt's notions.

"After two or three years I will take a big holiday, do the grand tour and find me a man."

This was her Aunt's supreme anxiety. The modern girl was so very difficult.

"Find a man indeed! What kind of man, with the world full of so many undesirables."

"Now I quite liked that young man this morning," said Miss Murray to herself. "And there she--well, she has just flung him out of the door."

Sylvia meanwhile was on her way to the office, weighted with a sense of depression and failure. The depression, she explained to herself was the natural result of the loss of her beloved companion in many a delightful ramble along the river side, and through the woods, which everywhere still fringed the back lots of the farms along the highway. The sense of failure, however, was something rather different.

"He will think me terribly ungrateful," she said to herself. "And really it was thoughtful of him to bring that puppy. And last night he was splendid. He must be rather fine in his mind for it was his idea that Paddy should be buried in the cut bank among all the wild things. Of course he will think me a silly little mutt."

Haunted by these musings she made her way down the street. Everyone that met her halted her to offer sympathy for her loss with congratulations for her escape and laudations of the heroic conduct of the mysterious young man who had befriended her in need. She knew his name and that he was very nice and kind, but that was not much on which to build the romance which all her friends were so set upon weaving round the incident. Her way led her past the drug store where the young man had so very effectually proved his resourcefulness. She felt she ought to run in and thank the clerk who had so very promptly dealt with an emergency. As she neared the store she was startled by a sharp and very insistent barking. A glance at a car standing in front of the store revealed the Airedale puppy standing with his paws upon the sash of the open window, indignantly demanding attention and release. A swift glance revealed no owner in sight.

"Oh you darling," she cried, running to the window. "You are all alone, what a shame!"

The puppy accepted her endearments, at first with sober reserve, but very soon with frantic demonstrations of delight.

"He's an impatient little beggar, rather. Hungry I guess."

She swiftly turned, a warm color lighting her face.

"Hungry? What a shame!"

"You see we left Montreal rather early."

"Montreal? Must be hours ago!"

"Well he broke his fast about eight, I guess."

"And that's three hours ago. And he has had all that long ride. Oh, I am so sorry. It is all my fault."

She ran round to the other side and sprang into the seat.

"What? Where are--I mean--what's the game?" asked Jack, astonished.

"Breakfast, of course. Come along. Please don't wait. The poor little chap is just starving. It's a shame to treat a puppy so. They ought to be fed every two hours. How would you like to miss a meal like that?" Her indignation rather abashed the young man.

"Well--of course--I rather expected--I mean--"

"Oh! certainly! Rub it in. It is my fault of course. What are you waiting for? Get in."

"Sure thing. Whatever you say of course. Any way in particular? I thought you were on your way to the office."

"Office? What do you know about the office? Who told you about the office? You have been discussing me with the general public, I suppose. Spreading the rumor of my silly inhospitality, if there is such a word! What are you waiting for? Why don't you move?"

"Move? Of course. Let's move. Certainly. Ottawa? Montreal? The highway to Toronto is still open." The car was moving swiftly through the traffic.

"Right!" ordered Sylvia.

"Yes, my lady!"

"Up the hill!"

"Yes, my lady! May I ask where your ladyship--"

"Breakfast of course. Do you want the puppy's digestion ruined. Regular feeding is absolutely necessary. All the books and vets say so. He is just frantic with hunger. Poor little darling. Was he just starved to death?" Her arm was round the wriggling Airedale. "Everybody breakfast but you, fat lazy things."

"Fat! Fat? Say, where do you get that? I resent the suggestion of avoirdupois tissue in connection with you. On the contrary I have been most carefully observing the lithe sinuosity of your adorable form."

"Sinuosity? You think I'm an Amazon. Well, you are wrong. I weigh just--"

"I know. I am a judge of weights. I remember estimating you, if I remember rightly, at--"

"Stop it! I won't have you estimating my weight." Her face was a rosy flame. "Anyway I don't think it is exactly a nice thing to take a mean advantage of me when I couldn't help myself. But oh, Jack it was very dear of you. And I have been a perfect brute this morning. But you understand. I just couldn't let any dog take Paddy's place."

"Tut, tut my dear. I was an ass. A stupid confounded and unmitigated ass."

"You were not. You were just--I mean."

"Oh, go on, why did you stop?"

"Oh, I can't say it. I can't tell you--last night I kept thinking how awfully understanding you were. Thinking of everything. Especially that dear spot for Paddy to lie. Oh, that was so lovely of you!" The blue eyes were slightly misty.

"Please don't. You know--I mean go right on. I love to hear you. But--well last night. I spent hours laying you out carefully in your coffin--flowers--mourners--and everything!"

"Stop it! You are quite silly. And besides, here we are. What will Aunt Elizabeth say? I don't care, the pup must have his breakfast."

"May I say just a word?" said Jack with anxious gravity as they stopped at the door.

"Well it's just this. I've come to the conclusion that you are a perfect darling, and I want--"

"Hush!" she hissed, her face in a soft glow. "Here's Aunt Elizabeth. I think she rather approves of you."

"And her niece?" said Jack in a low anxious tone.

"Held in retentis?"

"Where? Who?"

"So Mr. Matheson our minister says. Here we are Aunt Elizabeth. Do you know this poor little pup has had no breakfast? And he is just perishing."

The girl gathered up the frantic puppy in her arms murmuring sweet endearments, and ran off to relieve his famine.

"Some dogs have all the luck," grumbled Jack looking after her.