Rudyard Kipling : The Complete Novels and Stories. Редьярд Джозеф Киплинг

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      ‘Not quite. Look out a minute. There’s the windmill above the potato-fields; they haven’t built villas there yet; d’you remember when I shut you up in it?’

      ‘Yes. How she beat you for it! I never told it was you.’

      ‘She guessed. I jammed a stick under the door and told you that I was burying Amomma alive in the potatoes, and you believed me. You had a trusting nature in those days.’

      They laughed and leaned to look out, identifying ancient landmarks with many reminiscences. Dick fixed his weather eye on the curve of Maisie’s cheek, very near his own, and watched the blood rise under the clear skin. He congratulated himself upon his cunning, and looked that the evening would bring him a great reward.

      When the train stopped they went out to look at an old town with new eyes. First, but from a distance, they regarded the house of Mrs. Jennett.

      ‘Suppose she should come out now, what would you do?’ said Dick, with mock terror.

      ‘I should make a face.’

      ‘Show, then,’ said Dick, dropping into the speech of childhood.

      Maisie made that face in the direction of the mean little villa, and Dick laughed.

      ‘“This is disgraceful,”’ said Maisie, mimicking Mrs. Jennett’s tone. ‘“Maisie, you run in at once, and learn the collect, gospel, and epistle for the next three Sundays. After all I’ve taught you, too, and three helps every Sunday at dinner! Dick’s always leading you into mischief. If you aren’t a gentleman, Dick, you might at least—”’

      The sentence ended abruptly. Maisie remembered when it had last been used.

      ‘“Try to behave like one,”’ said Dick, promptly. ‘Quite right. Now we’ll get some lunch and go on to Fort Keeling,—unless you’d rather drive there?’

      ‘We must walk, out of respect to the place. How little changed it all is!’

      They turned in the direction of the sea through unaltered streets, and the influence of old things lay upon them. Presently they passed a confectioner’s shop much considered in the days when their joint pocket-money amounted to a shilling a week.

      ‘Dick, have you any pennies?’ said Maisie, half to herself.

      ‘Only three; and if you think you’re going to have two of ’em to buy peppermints with, you’re wrong. She says peppermints aren’t ladylike.’

      Again they laughed, and again the colour came into Maisie’s cheeks as the blood boiled through Dick’s heart. After a large lunch they went down to the beach and to Fort Keeling across the waste, wind-bitten land that no builder had thought it worth his while to defile. The winter breeze came in from the sea and sang about their ears.

      ‘Maisie,’ said Dick, ‘your nose is getting a crude Prussian blue at the tip. I’ll race you as far as you please for as much as you please.’

      She looked round cautiously, and with a laugh set off, swiftly as the ulster allowed, till she was out of breath.

      ‘We used to run miles,’ she panted. ‘It’s absurd that we can’t run now.’

      ‘Old age, dear. This it is to get fat and sleek in town. When I wished to pull you hair you generally ran for three miles, shrieking at the top of your voice. I ought to know, because those shrieks of yours were meant to call up Mrs. Jennett with a cane and——’

      ‘Dick, I never got you a beating on purpose in my life.’

      ‘No, of course you never did. Good heavens! look at the sea.’

      ‘Why, it’s the same as ever!’ said Maisie.

      Torpenhow had gathered from Mr. Beeton that Dick, properly dressed and shaved, had left the house at half-past eight in the morning with a travelling-rug over his arm. The Nilghai rolled in at mid-day for chess and polite conversation.

      ‘It’s worse than anything I imagined,’ said Torpenhow.

      ‘Oh, the everlasting Dick, I suppose! You fuss over him like a hen with one chick. Let him run riot if he thinks it’ll amuse him. You can whip a young pup off feather, but you can’t whip a young man.’

      ‘It isn’t a woman. It’s one woman; and it’s a girl.’

      ‘Where’s your proof?’

      ‘He got up and went out at eight this morning,—got up in the middle of the night, by Jove! a thing he never does except when he’s on service. Even then, remember, we had to kick him out of his blankets before the fight began at El-Maghrib. It’s disgusting.’

      ‘It looks odd; but maybe he’s decided to buy a horse at last. He might get up for that, mightn’t he?’

      ‘Buy a blazing wheelbarrow! He’d have told us if there was a horse in the wind. It’s a girl.’

      ‘Don’t be certain. Perhaps it’s only a married woman.’

      ‘Dick has some sense of humour, if you haven’t. Who gets up in the gray dawn to call on another man’s wife? It’s a girl.’

      ‘Let it be a girl, then. She may teach him that there’s somebody else in the world besides himself.’

      ‘She’ll spoil his hand. She’ll waste his time, and she’ll marry him, and ruin his work for ever. He’ll be a respectable married man before we can stop him, and—he’ll ever go on the long trail again.’

      ‘All quite possible, but the earth won’t spin the other way when that happens…. No! ho! I’d give something to see Dick “go wooing with the boys.” Don’t worry about it. These things be with Allah, and we can only look on. Get the chessmen.’

      The red-haired girl was lying down in her own room, staring at the ceiling. The footsteps of people on the pavement sounded, as they grew indistinct in the distance, like a many-times-repeated kiss that was all one long kiss. Her hands were by her side, and they opened and shut savagely from time to time.

      The charwoman in charge of the scrubbing of the studio knocked at her door: ‘Beg y’ pardon, miss, but in cleanin’ of a floor there’s two, not to say three, kind of soap, which is yaller, an’ mottled, an’ disinfectink. Now, jist before I took my pail into the passage I though it would be pre’aps jest as well if I was to come up ’ere an’ ask you what sort of soap you was wishful that I should use on them boards. The yaller soap, miss——’

      There was nothing in the speech to have caused the paroxysm of fury that drove the red-haired girl into the middle of the room, almost shouting—

      ‘Do you suppose I care what you use? Any kind will do!—any kind!’

      The woman fled, and the red-haired girl looked at her own reflection in the glass for an instant and covered her face with her hands. It was as though she had shouted some shameless secret aloud.

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