The Prophet's Mantle. Эдит Несбит

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СКАЧАТЬ through the door at the chaos of silks and laces, raised shawls, and suspended bonnets, in some component part of which he evidently had an interest.

      His very manifest objection to being kept waiting made his fellow-sufferers glance at him with some amusement. A young man who had been going leisurely towards the outer door actually stopped and leaned against the wall while he rolled himself a cigarette, and from time to time glanced with a certain interest at him. He looked very handsome leaning there; his light overcoat was open, and showed the gleam of some rather good diamonds in his shirt front. His pose was graceful—his face had less of boredom in it than is usually worn by young men who go to theatres alone. This, with his large dark eyes, Greek nose, and long drooping blonde moustache, gave him a rather striking appearance. He might have been a foreigner but for his want of skill in making cigarettes. The white hands seemed absolutely awkward in their manipulation. Just as his persevering efforts were crowned with success, and the cigarette was placed between his lips, a white muffled figure emerged from the tossing rainbow sea, and a little hand was slipped through the old gentleman's arm.

      'Desperately tired of waiting, I suppose, papa?' said a very sweet voice.

      'I should think so. What a time you've been, my dear! I thought I had lost you. All the cabs will be gone.'

      'Oh no, dear; the theatre isn't half empty. I was quite the first lady to come out, I'm sure.'

      'You may have been the first to go in, but there have been lots of ladies come out while I've been waiting—dozens, I should say.'

      'Couldn't we walk back, papa?' said the girl. 'It's a lovely night, and the streets are so interesting. It isn't far, is it?'

      'No, no—the idea! Make haste, and we'll get a cab right enough. Mamma will never let us have a trip together again if I take you back with a cold.'

      By this time they had passed down the stairs, and the tall cigarette-maker sauntered streetwards also.

      But getting a cab was not so easy. That white chenille wrap had taken too long to arrange, and now there were so many people ready and waiting for cabs that a man not at home in this Babel had hardly a chance.

      'Papa' was so intent on hailing a four-wheeler himself that he was deaf to the offers of assistance from the ragged battalions that infest the theatre doors, and seem to get their living, not by calling cabs, which they seldom if ever do, but by shutting the doors and touching their hats when people have called cabs for themselves.

      He was a little short-sighted, and made several attempts to get into other people's broughams, under the impression that they were unattached 'growlers,' and was only restrained by his daughter's energetic interference.

      At last, driven from the field by the crowds who knew their way about better than he did, he yielded to the girl's entreaties, and walked towards the Strand, hoping to be able to hail a passing vehicle. They advanced slowly, for the pavement was crowded.

      'We really had better walk,' she was saying again, when the crowd round them was suddenly thrown into a state of disturbance and excitement, and they were pushed backwards against the wall.

      'Oh, dear, what is it?' she cried.

      'Look out, miss!' said a rough-looking man, in a fur cap, catching her shoulders, and pulling her back so violently that her hand was torn from her father's arm, and at the same moment the crowd separated to right and left.

      Then she saw what it was. A pair of spirited carriage horses had either taken fright, or had grown tired of the commonplace routine of wood pavement and asphalte, and had decided to try a short cut home through the houses, utterly regardless of the coachman, who was straining with might and main at the reins.

      Their dreadful prancing hoofs were half-way across the pavement, and the pole of the carriage was close to someone's chest—good heavens! her father's—and he, standing there bewildered, seemed not to see it. She would have sprung forward, but the rough man held her back.

      'Papa! papa!' she screamed, and at the sound of her voice he started, and seemed to see for the first time what threatened him. He saw it too late—the pole was within six inches of his breast-bone. But someone else had seen it to more purpose, and at that instant the head of the off horse was caught in a grasp of iron, and the pair were dragged round, to the imminent danger of some score of lives, while the carriage was forced back on to a hansom cab, whose driver disappeared into the night in a cloud of blasphemy.

      'Well, I'm damned!' remarked the gentleman in the fur cap, who had snatched the girl out of danger; 'it's the nearest shave as ever I see.'

      It had been a near shave; but the old gentleman was unhurt, though considerably flustered, and immeasurably indignant.

      'Hurt? No, I'm not hurt—no thanks to that fool of a driver; such idiots ought to be hanged. But I ought to thank the gentleman who saved me.'

      As he spoke the young man came forward deadly pale and without a hat.

      'I do hope you're not hurt,' he said, in a singularly low, soft voice, speaking with a little catching of the breath. It was he who had leaned against the wall in the theatre. His hands were evidently good for something better than twisting tobacco. 'I hope the pole did not touch you? I am afraid I was hardly quick enough, but I couldn't get through the people before.'

      'My dear sir, you were quick enough to save me from being impaled against this wall; but I really feel quite upset. I must get my daughter home. She looks rather queer.'

      She was holding his arm tightly between her hands.

      'Do let's go home,' she whispered.

      'I'll get you a cab,' said the hero. 'You'll probably get one easily now the mischief's done.'

      'He's lost his hat,' observed the rescued one, as the other disappeared. 'Do you feel very bad, my pet? Pull yourself together. Here he comes.'

      A hansom drew up in front of them, and their new acquaintance threw back the apron himself.

      'You'd better take it yourself,' said papa. 'You seem rather lame, and your hat's gone.'

      'It doesn't matter at all. I can get another cab in an instant. Pray jump in.'

      'No; but look here. I haven't half thanked you. After all, you saved my life, you know. Come and see me to-morrow evening, will you, and let me thank you properly. Here's my card—I'm at Morley's.'

      'I will come with pleasure to see if you are all right after it, but please don't talk any more about thanks, Mr—Stanley. Here's my card. Good night—Morley's Hotel,' he shouted to the cabman, and as they drove off he mechanically raised his hand to the place where his hat should have been. Have you ever seen a man do that when hat there was none? The effect is peculiar—much like a rustic pulling a forelock when t'squire goes by.

      'I hope he will come to-morrow,' said Mr Stanley as the hansom drove off.

      'Why, I think he's staying at our hotel, papa. I am almost sure I've seen him at the table d'hôte.'

      'Dear, dear! How extraordinary.'

      Clare was more than 'almost sure' in fact, she knew perfectly well that this handsome stranger was not only staying at the hotel, but that he in his turn was quite aware of their presence there. Of her presence he could hardly be oblivious, since his eyes had been turned on her without much intermission all through dinner every evening since she had been in town.

      Before Clare went to СКАЧАТЬ