Paddy The Next Best Thing Part 19

"I hope you find your pupil progressing favourably."

"Very middling," with a shake of her head. "You know perfectly well you have been bored to death nearly the whole evening, because there were only two or three people you thought worth talking to."

"And if so--it is hardly my fault."

"Why, of course it is! The people were just as nice as you, really-- rather nicer in fact--the only difference is a mere question of having studied Browning, and Darwin, and a lot of musty old German and French writers, whom, I'll be bound to say, you don't half understand."

"Possibly not. But they have a way of developing the mind."

"Developing the mind!" scornfully. "What's the matter with my mind?--it develops itself. I don't pore over musty books."

"Perhaps you are naturally more gifted," with light satire.

"Sarcasm is wasted on me," she retorted. "It flows off like water from a duck's back. Why not tell me straight I'm an ignoramus? Just as I tell you straight that all your learning and experience does not give you the right to think yourself so superior to other people, and give yourself such airs."

"You are very outspoken," smiling a little in spite of himself.

"Yes; but I can take plain speaking, too, so if you want to have your revenge, fire away. I know that I've got a snub nose and no complexion, and am always more or less untidy, because I've been told so often, but you can tell me again if you like."

"I'd rather set you an example in good manners."

"That's good," appreciating it at once.

"Besides," he added slyly, "I don't see that it isn't just as bad to be proud of a snub nose and untidiness, as of a beautiful nose or book learning, and from the way you speak you positively revel in them."

"You have me again," she replied frankly. "I guess we'll be friends for ten minutes and you shall show me your views."

They sat down, and he opened an enormous alb.u.m, but after the first few pages she looked up at him entreatingly, and said with a delightful little air of pathos:

"I'm so sorry, but if you only knew how I hate sitting still. I--I'm just dying to prowl round, and look at all the queer things on the walls."

He closed the book with a laugh, and she sprang up at once, saying:

"I'll look at the views when I'm old and rheumaticky. You must save them for me," and then she went into raptures over a beautiful case of foreign b.u.t.terflies, afterward fingering with delight his guns and swords.

"You ought to have been a man," he said almost regretfully.

"Why, of course I ought. I've known that ever since they put Jack in trousers, and not me. But I guess I'll have to stay a woman now to the end of the chapter, and make the best of it."

"Then you're sorry?" he asked, with interest.

"Sorry!" she repeated impressively. "Oh, yes, I'm that all right, but I don't believe in crying over spilt milk."

He watched her silently a moment.

"I shouldn't wonder if you haven't got a future, Paddy," he remarked.

"There's something about you that has the ring of achievement--only there's not much room here," signifying the surrounding neighbourhood.

"Quite room enough," picking up a Mauser pistol and examining it with the eye of a connoisseur. "Can't I ride straight, and shoot straight, and sail anything with a rag and a mast--that's achievement enough for me. What more do you want?"

He drew a bow at a venture, out of idle curiosity. "I wonder where the opposite s.e.x will come in? Don't you want to have adoring males at your feet by and by!--most women do."

She looked frankly into his eyes with a gay laugh. "Not me! I haven't time. I'll leave that for Eileen. Of course, if your lords.h.i.+p--!" with a sudden irresistible twinkle.

He could not help laughing, and watched her with growing interest as she wandered on from one curio to another, until she came to his writing table. Here she came to a sudden standstill, and a little involuntary exclamation escaped her. Lawrence looked past her quickly, to find she was gazing with wide eyes, and a strangely mingled expression, at the beautiful full-length portrait of Gwendoline Carew, noticeably in the position of honour on his table.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

DREAD AND WRATH.

"Who is she?" she asked at last, with her customary out-spokenness.

"Do you mean the big portrait?" carelessly.

"Yes."

"Miss Gwendoline Grant-Carew."

Paddy gazed at the portrait silently for another s.p.a.ce, and then remarked:

"She is very beautiful."

"Yes, very," dryly.

Again Paddy was silent.

If she had tried she could not have a.n.a.lysed her feelings just then.

She was only conscious that in some way the photograph was a shock to her. Though she had scarcely confessed it to herself, she undoubtedly shared the opinion of the neighbourhood, that Lawrence was paying Eileen such marked attention with a view to marriage, and since the incident of the clasped hands she had grown to think of him as a prospective brother-in-law. Unaccountable divination told her the rest.

"Why do you look at her like that?" asked Lawrence at last. "Don't you like her?"

"No," said Paddy slowly, "I hate her."

"But how can you," he laughed, "when you don't even know her? As a matter of fact she is just your sort. Up to any fun, full of life, and not the least bit conceited, though half Calcutta is at her feet."

"Calcutta," echoed Paddy a little sharply.

"Yes, why not?"

Again there was a moment's silence.

"Doreen told me you were going to India," she said at last. "Is it true?"

"Yes."

He picked up a paper knife and toyed with it. Something in Paddy's honest face made him avoid her gaze.

"When are you going?" she asked.