Lucy Maud Montgomery Short Stories, 1902 to 1903. L. M. Montgomery

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "Then there is no hope of my seeing you openly and above-board?"

      "Not at present," I said faintly.

      After a brief silence we began to talk of other things. He told me how he happened to see me first.

      "I was curious to know who the people were who were always in the same place at the same time, so one day I took my telescope. I could see you plainly. You were reading and had your hat off. When I went back to the hotel I asked Mrs. Allardyce if she knew who the boarders at Fir Cottage were and she told me. I had heard Connie speak of you, and I determined to make your acquaintance."

      When we reached the lane I held out my hand for the hymnal.

      "You mustn't come any further, Mr. Shelmardine," I said hurriedly. "Aunt—Aunt might see you."

      He took my hand and held it, looking at me seriously.

      "Suppose I were to walk up to the cottage tomorrow and ask for you?"

      I gasped. He looked so capable of doing anything he took it into his head to do.

      "Oh, you wouldn't," I said piteously. "Aunt Martha would—you are not in earnest."

      "I suppose not," he said regretfully. "Of course I would not do anything that would cause you unpleasantness. But this must not—shall not be our last meeting."

      "Aunt will not let me come to church again," I said.

      "Does she ever take a nap in the afternoon?" he queried.

      I wriggled my parasol about in the dust uneasily.

      "Sometimes."

      "I shall be at the old boat tomorrow afternoon at two-thirty," he said.

      I pulled my hand away.

      "I couldn't—you know I couldn't," I cried—and then I blushed to my ears.

      "Are you sure you couldn't?" bending a little nearer.

      "Quite sure," I murmured.

      He surrendered my hymnal at last.

      "Will you give me a rose?"

      I unpinned the whole cluster and handed it to him. He lifted it until it touched his lips. As for me, I scuttled up the lane in the most undignified fashion. At the turn I looked back. He was still standing there with his hat off.

      July Twenty-fourth.

      On Monday afternoon I slipped away to the shore while Aunt Martha and Mrs. Saxby were taking their regular nap and I was supposed to be reading sermons in my room.

      Mr. Shelmardine was leaning against the old boat, but he came swiftly across the sand to meet me.

      "This is very kind of you," he said.

      "I ought not to have come," I said repentantly. "But it is so lonely there—and one can't be interested in sermons and memoirs all the time."

      Mr. Shelmardine laughed.

      "Mr. and Mrs. Allardyce are on the other side of the boat. Will you come and meet them?"

      How nice of him to bring them! I knew I should like Mrs. Allardyce, just because Aunt Martha didn't. We had a delightful stroll. I never thought of the time until Mr. Shelmardine said it was four o'clock.

      "Oh, is it so late as that?" I cried. "I must go at once."

      "I'm sorry we have kept you so long," remarked Mr. Shelmardine in a tone of concern. "If she should be awake, what will the consequences be?"

      "Too terrible to think of," I answered seriously. "I'm sorry, Mr. Shelmardine, but you mustn't come any further."

      "We will be here tomorrow afternoon," he said.

      "Mr. Shelmardine!" I protested. "I wish you wouldn't put such ideas into my head. They won't come out—no, not if I read a whole volume of sermons right through."

      We looked at each other for a second. Then he began to smile, and we both went off into a peal of laughter.

      "At least let me know if Miss Fiske rampages," he called after me as I fled.

      But Aunt Martha was not awake—and I have been to the shore three afternoons since then. I was there today, and I'm going tomorrow for a boat sail with Mr. Shelmardine and the Allardyces. But I am afraid the former will do something rash soon. This afternoon he said: "I don't think I can stand this much longer."

      "Stand what?" I asked.

      "You know very well," he answered recklessly. "Meeting you in this clandestine manner, and thereby causing that poor little conscience of yours such misery. If your aunt were not so—unreasonable, I should never have stooped to it."

      "It is all my fault," I said contritely.

      "Well, I hardly meant that," he said grimly. "But hadn't I better go frankly to your aunt and lay the whole case before her?"

      "You would never see me again if you did that," I said hastily—and then wished I hadn't.

      "That is the worst threat you could make," he said.

      July Twenty-fifth.

      It is all over, and I am the most miserable girl in the world. Of course this means that Aunt Martha has discovered everything and the deserved punishment of my sins has overtaken me.

      I slipped away again this afternoon and went for that boat sail. We had a lovely time but were rather late getting in, and I hurried home with many misgivings. Aunt Martha met me at the door.

      My dress was draggled, my hat had slipped back, and the kinks and curls of my obstreperous hair were something awful. I know I looked very disreputable and also, no doubt, very guilty and conscience-stricken. Aunt gave me an unutterable look and then followed me up to my room in grim silence.

      "Marguerite, what does this mean?"

      I have lots of faults, but untruthfulness isn't one of them. I confessed everything—at least, almost everything. I didn't tell about the telescopes and deaf-mute alphabet, and Aunt was too horror-stricken to think of asking how I first made Mr. Shelmardine's acquaintance. She listened in stony silence. I had expected a terrible scolding, but I suppose my crimes simply seemed to her too enormous for words.

      When I had sobbed out my last word she rose, swept me one glance of withering contempt, and left the room. Presently Mrs. Saxby came up, looking concerned.

      "My dear child, what have you been doing? Your aunt says that we are to go home on the afternoon train tomorrow. She is terribly upset."

      I just curled up on the bed and cried, while Mrs. Saxby packed my trunk. I will have no chance to explain matters to Mr. Shelmardine. And I will never see him again, for Aunt is quite capable of whisking me off to Africa. He will just think me a feather-brained flirt. Oh, I am so unhappy!

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