Sparrows Part 57

Mavis blushed; she bent down to pat Jill in order to conceal the pleasure his words gave her.

"Tell me what Archie Windebank said about me," she presently said.

"Blow Windebank!"

"I want to know."

"Then I suppose I must tell you."

"Of course: out with it and get it over."

"You met him once in town, didn't you?"

"Only once."

"Where?"

"Quite casually. Tell me what he said."

"He wanted to know if I'd ever run across you, and, if I did, I was at once to wire to him and let him know."

"Are you going to?"

"No fear," replied Perigal emphatically.

"Aren't men very selfish?" she asked.

"They are where those women they admire are concerned."

At the conclusion of the meal, they sat in the inn garden. They spoke of old times, old a.s.sociations. Mavis gave Perigal an abridged account of her doings since she had last seen him, omitting to mention her experience with Mr Orgles, Mrs Hamilton, and Miss Ewer.

"I suppose you've run across a lot of chaps in London?" he presently remarked.

"No, I haven't run against any 'chaps', as you call them."

"Rot!"

"It's a fact."

"Do you mean to say you've never yet had a love affair?"

"That's a business that requires two, isn't it?"

"Usually."

"Well, I've always made a point of standing out."

"Eh!"

"I suppose it's vanity--call it that if you like--but I think too much of myself to be a party to a mere love affair, as you would call it."

Perigal glanced at her as if to see if she were speaking seriously.

Then he was lost in thought for some minutes, during which he often looked in her direction.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked.

"That, to a decent chap, little Mavis would be something of a find, as women go."

"You don't think much of women, then?"

"What's it my pater's always saying?"

"I can tell you: Always learn the value of money and the worthlessness of most women."

"Eh!"

"Don't look so astonished. It's the advice he gave to Archie Windebank."

"I see: and he told you. But the pater's right over that."

"How do you know?"

"That's telling."

Later in the afternoon, at tea, Mavis learned from Perigal much of his life since they had last met. It appeared that he had been to Oxford, to be sent down during his first term; that he had tried (and failed) for Sandhurst; also a variety of occupations, all apparently without success, until his father, angered at some sc.r.a.pe he had got into, had packed him off to Riga, where he had secured some sort of a billet for his son. Finally, in defiance of parental orders, he had left that "beastly hole" and was living at home until his father should turn him out.

"Isn't it all rather a pity?" Mavis asked.

"All what?"

"Your wasted life? And you've had so many good chances."

"I've had some fun out of it all. And, after all, what's the use of trying?"

"Just think of the thousands who would give their eyes for your chances," she urged.

"If their fathers had plenty of money like mine, they'd probably do as I."

"Your father wants to see you worthy of it."

"I am. I've all sorts of expensive tastes."

Later, when they walked in the direction of Melkbridge, it seemed to Mavis as if she were talking to a friend of many years; he seemed to comprehend her so intimately that she felt wholly at home with him. He had changed into his flannel suit, which had been dried before the inn kitchen fire. He walked with his careless stride, his cap thrust into his pocket. Now and again, Mavis found herself glancing at his fair young face, his steely blue eyes, the wind-disturbed curls upon his head. Their way led them past a field carpeted with cowslips.

"Oh, look!" she cried, delightedly.

"Cowslips! Are you keen on wildflowers?"

"They're the only ones I care for."