Salthaven. William Wymark Jacobs

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "You've got a truthful look about you," said the captain. "If I didn't know you so well I should have thought the same."

      Unconscious of Mr. Truefitt's regards he rose and, leaning his arm on the fence at the bottom of the garden, watched the river.

      "Miss Willett thinks she might marry again," said Mr. Truefitt, picking up his pipe and joining him. "She'd make an excellent wife for anybody—anybody."

      The captain assented with a nod.

      "Nobody could have a better wife," said Mr. Truefitt.

      The captain, who was watching an outward-bound barque, nodded again, absently.

      "She's affectionate," pursued Mr. Truefitt, "a wonderful housekeeper, a good conversationalist, a good cook, always punctual, always at home, always—"

      The captain, surprised at a fluency so unusual, turned and eyed him in surprise. Mr. Truefitt broke off abruptly, and, somewhat red in the face, expressed his fear that the barque would take the mud if she were not careful. Captain Trimblett agreed and, to his friend's relief, turned his back on him to watch her more closely. It was a comfortable position, with his arms on the fence, and he retained it until Mr. Truefitt had returned to the summer-house.

      CHAPTER IV

      MR. ROBERT VYNER had been busy all the afternoon, and the clock still indicated fifteen minutes short of the time at which he had intended to leave. He leaned back in his chair, and, yielding to the slight rotatory movement of that active piece of furniture, indulged in the first twirl for three days. Bassett or no Bassett, it was exhilarating, and, having gone to the limit in one direction, he obtained impetus by a clutch at the table and whirled back again. A smothered exclamation from the door arrested his attention, and putting on the break with some suddenness he found himself looking into the pretty, astonished eyes of Joan Hartley.

      "I beg your pardon," she said, in confusion. "I thought it was my father."

      "It—it got stuck," said Mr. Vyner, springing up and regarding the chair with great disfavour. "I was trying to loosen it. I shall have to send it back, I'm afraid; it's badly made. There's no cabinet-making nowadays."

      Miss Hartley retreated to the doorway.

      "I am sorry; I expected to find my father here," she said. "It used to be his room."

      "Yes, it was his room," said the young man. "If you will come in and sit down I will send for him."

      "It doesn't matter, thank you," said Joan, still standing by the door. "If you will tell me where his room is now, I will go to him."

      "He—he is in the general office," said Robert Vyner, slowly.

      Miss Hartley bit her lip and her eyes grew sombre.

      "Don't go," said Mr. Vyner, eagerly. "I'll go and fetch him. He is expecting you."

      "Expecting me?" said the girl. "Why, he didn't know I was coming."

      "Perhaps I misunderstood him," murmured Mr. Vyner. "Pressure of business," he said, vaguely, indicating a pile of papers on his table. "Hardly know what people do say to me."

      He pushed a comfortable easy-chair to the window, and the girl, after a moment's hesitation, seated herself and became interested in the life outside. Robert Vyner, resuming his seat, leaned back and gazed at her in frank admiration.

      "Nice view down the harbour, isn't it?" he said, after a long pause.

      Miss Hartley agreed—and sat admiring it.

      "Salthaven is a pretty place altogether, I think," continued Robert. "I was quite glad to come back to it. I like the town and I like the people. Except for holidays I haven't been in the place since I was ten."

      Miss Hartley, feeling that some comment was expected, said, "Indeed!"

      "You have lived here all your life, I suppose?" said the persevering Robert.

      "Practically," said Miss Hartley.

      Mr. Vyner stole a look at her as she sat sideways by the window. Conscience and his visitor's manner told him that he ought to go for her father; personal inclination told him that there was no hurry. For the first time in his experience the office became most desirable place in the world. He wanted to sit still and look at her, and for some time, despite her restlessness, obeyed his inclinations. She turned at last to ask for her father, and in the fraction of a second he was immersed in a bundle of papers. Knitted brows and pursed lips testified to his absorption. He seized a pen and made an endorsement; looked at it with his head on one side and struck it out again.

      "My father?" said Miss Hartley, in a small but determined voice.

      Mr. Vyner gazed at her in a preoccupied fashion. Suddenly his face changed.

      "Good gracious! yes," he said, springing up and going to the door. "How stupid of me!"

      He stepped into the corridor and stood reflecting. In some circumstances he could be business-like enough. After reflecting for three minutes he came back into the room.

      "He will be in soon," he said, resuming his seat. Inwardly he resolved to go and fetch him later on—when the conversation flagged, for instance. Meantime he took up his papers and shook his head over them.

      "I wish I had got your father's head for business," he said, ruefully.

      Miss Hartley turned on him a face from which all primness had vanished. The corners of her mouth broke and her eyes grew soft. She smiled at Mr. Vyner, and Mr. Vyner, pluming himself upon his address, smiled back.

      "If I knew half as much as he does," he continued, "I'd—I'd–"

      Miss Hartley waited, her eyes bright with expectation.

      "I'd," repeated Mr. Vyner, who had rashly embarked on a sentence before he had seen the end of it, "have a jolly easy time of it," he concluded, breathlessly.

      Miss Hartley surveyed him in pained surprise. "I thought my father worked very hard," she said, with a little reproach in her voice.

      "So he does," said the young man, hastily, "but he wouldn't if he only had my work to do; that's what I meant. As far as he is concerned he works far too hard. He sets an example that is a trouble to all of us except the office-boy. Do you know Bassett?"

      Miss Hartley smiled. "My father tells me he is a very good boy," she said.

      "A treasure!" said Robert. "'Good' doesn't describe Bassett. He is the sort of boy who would get off a 'bus after paying his fare to kick a piece of orange peel off the pavement. He has been nourished on copy-book headings and 'Sanford and Merton.' Ever read 'Sanford and Merton'?"

      "I—I tried to once," said Joan.

      "There was no 'trying' with Bassett," said Mr. Vyner, rather severely. "He took to it as a duck takes to water. By modelling his life on its teaching he won a silver medal for never missing an attendance at school."

      "Father has seen it," said Joan, with a smile.

      "Even the measles failed to stop him," continued Robert. "Day by day, a little more flushed than usual, perhaps, he sat in his accustomed place until the whole school was down with it and had to be closed in consequence. Then, and not till СКАЧАТЬ