Seven Little Australians Part 11

"But--but I'm--must tell you all ab--ab--about it," he said, still engaged in driving his eyes into his head.

"No, you needn't; I'll forgive you this time," she said magnanimously, "only don't do it again. Now run away at once, or you won't have your map done, and miss Marsh will punish you."

His eyes returned to their proper position, likewise his hands.

His heart was perfectly light again as he turned to go back to the house. When he had gone a few steps he came back.

"D'ye want that catapult very much, Meg?" he said gently.

"You're only a girl, so I don't 'spect it would be very much good to you, would it?"

"No, I don't want it. Here, take it, and hurry back: think of your map," Meg returned, in a very fever of impatience at his slowness.

And then Bunty, utterly happy once more, turned and ran away gaily up to the house. And Meg let down the slip-rail, put it back in its place with trembling fingers, and fled in wild haste through the two remaining paddocks.

The wattle-scrub at the end was very quiet; there was not a rustle, not a sound of a voice, not a sound of the affected little laugh that generally told when Aldith was near.

Meg stopped breathless, and peered among the bushes; there was a tall figure leaning against the fence.

"Andrew!" she said in a sharp whisper, and forgetting in her anxiety that she never called him by his Christian name--"where are the others? Hasn't Aldith come?"

There was the smell of a cigar, and, looking closely, she saw to her horror it was Alan.

"Oh!" she said, in an indescribable tone.

Her heart gave one frightened, shamed bound, and then seemed to stop beating altogether.

She looked up, at him as if entreating him not to have too bad an opinion of her; but his face wore the contemptuous look she had grown to dread and his lips were finely curled.

"I--I only came out for a little walk; it is such a beautiful evening," she said, with miserable lameness; and then in a tone of justification she added, "it's my father's paddock, too."

He leaned back against he fence and looked down at her.

"Flossie gave me your note, and as it seemed addressed to me, and I was told it was for me; I opened it," he said.

"You KNEW it was for Andrew," she said not looking at him, however.

"So I presumed when I had read it," he returned slowly; "but Andrew has not come back to-night yet, so I came instead; it's all the same as long as it's a boy, isn't it?"

The girl made no reply, only put her hand up and drew the cloud more closely round her head.

His lips curled a little more.

"And I know how to kiss, too, I a.s.sure you. I am quite a good hand at it, though you may not think so. Oh yes, I know you said you did not want to be kissed; but then, girls always say that, don't they?--even when they expect it most."

Still Meg did not speak, and the calm, merciless voice went on.

"I am afraid it is hardly dark enough for you, is it? The moon is very much in the way, do you not think so? Still, perhaps we can find a darker place farther on, and then I can kiss you without danger. What is the matter?--are you always as quiet as this with Andrew?"

"Oh, DON'T!" said Meg, in a choking voice.

The mocking tone died instantly out of his voice, "Miss Meg, you used to seem such a nice little girl," he said quietly; "what have you let that horrid MacCarthy girl spoil you for? For she is horrid, though you may not think so."

Meg did not speak or move, and he went on with a gentle earnestness that she had not thought him capable of..

"I have watched her on the boat, systematically going to work to spoil you, and can't help thinking of the pity of it. I imagined how I should feel if my little sister Flossie ever fell in with such a girl, and began to flirt and make herself conspicuous, and I wondered would you mind if I spoke to you about it.

Are you very angry with me, Miss Meg?"

But Meg leaned her head against the rough fence and began to sob--little, dry, heartbroken sobs that went to the boy's warm heart.

"I oughtn't to have spoken as I did at first--I was a perfect brute," he said remorsefully; "forgive me, won't you? Please, little Miss Meg--I would rather cut my hand off than really hurt you."

This last was a little consoling, at any rate, and Meg lifted her face half a second, white and pathetic in the moonlight, and all wet with grievous tears.

"I--I--oh! indeed I have not been quite so horrid as you think,"

she said brokenly; "I didn't want to come this walk--and oh!

indeed, indeed, indeed I wouldn't allow ANYONE to kiss me. Oh, PLEASE do believe me!"

"I do, I do indeed," he said eagerly; "I only said it because--well, because I am a great rough brute, and don't know how to talk to a little, tender girl. Dear Miss Meg, do shake hands and tell me you forgive my boorishness."

Meg extended a small white hand, and he shook it warmly. Then they walked up the paddocks together, and parted at a broken gate leading into the garden.

"I'll never flirt again while I live," she said with great earnestness, as he bade her good-bye; and he answered encouragingly, "No, I am quite sure you won't--leave it to girls like Aldith, won't you? you only wanted to be set straight. Good-bye, little Miss Meg."

CHAPTER IX

Consequences

"However could you do it?

Some day, no doubt, you'll rue it!"

Meg's troubles were not quite over, however, even yet. When she got into the house Nellie met her in the hall and stared at her.

"Where have you been?" she said, a slow wonder in her round eyes.

"I've been hunting and hunting for you."

"What for?" said Meg shortly.

"Oh, Dr. Gormeston and Mrs. Gormeston and two Miss Gormestons are in the drawing-room, and I think they'll stay for ever and ever."

"Well?" said Meg.

"And the General is ill again, and Esther says she won't leave him for a second, not if Gog and Magog were down there dying to see her."

"Well?" said Meg again.