A Court of Inquiry | Page 7

dark in the garden to see either the Gay Lady's clothes or her smile, I doubted if he had been bored.

III
DAHLIA
O, weary fa' the women fo'k, For they winna let a body be! --James Hogg.
My neighbour Dahlia has returned. There is a considerable stretch of lawn, also a garden and a small orchard, intervening between her father's property and mine, not to mention a thick hedge; but in spite of these obstructions it did not take Dahlia long to discover that there were guests upon my porch. I think she recognized the Skeptic's long legs from her window, which looks down my way through a vista of tree-tops. At all events, on the morning after her arrival she appeared, coming through the hedge, down the garden path and across the lawn, a fresh and attractive figure in a pink muslin with ruffles, and one of those coquettish, white-frilled sunbonnets summer-girls wear in the country.
Dahlia is very pretty, very good company, and likable from many points of view. If only----
"Who's this coming to invade our completeness?" queried the Philosopher, looking up from his book of trout flies. Fishing, in its scientific aspect, presents many attractions to our Philosopher, although he spends so much time in getting ready to do it scientifically that he seldom finds much left in which to fish.
The Skeptic glanced at the figure coming over the lawn. Then he made a gesture as if he were about to turn up his coat collar. He hitched himself slightly behind one of the white pillars of the porch.
"Keep cool; you'll soon know," he replied to the Philosopher. "And once knowing, you'll always know."
The Philosopher looked slightly mystified at this oracular information, and gazed rather curiously at Dahlia as she came near, before he dropped his eyes to his trout flies.
The Skeptic appeared to be absorbed in a letter which he had hastily extracted from his pocket. It was merely a brief business communication in type, as I could not help seeing over his shoulder, but he withdrew his attention from it with difficulty as Dahlia paused before him. Her first greeting was for him, although I had risen just behind him.
"Oh--how do you do, Miss Dahlia?" cried the Skeptic, getting to his feet and receiving her outstretched hand in his own. Then he made as if to pass her on to me, but she wouldn't be passed until she had said something under her breath to him, smiling up into his face, her fingers clinging to his.
"Been--er--horribly busy," I heard him murmur in reply. I thought his hand showed symptoms of letting go before hers did.
I greeted Dahlia, introducing her to the Gay Lady, who smiled at her from over a handkerchief she was embroidering with my initials. I presented the Philosopher, who immediately presented his trout flies. She scanned him closely--the Philosopher is very good-looking (almost--but not quite--better-looking than the Skeptic)--then she dropped down upon one of the porch cushions by his side. He politely offered her a chair, but she insisted that she liked the cushion better, and we found it impossible to doubt that she did. At all events she remained upon it, close beside the Philosopher, as long as he retained his position; and she appeared to become absorbed in the trout flies, asking many questions, and exclaiming over some of them in a way which showed her to be of a most sympathetic disposition.
* * * * *
Finally the Philosopher seized upon an opportunity and rose. "Well," he observed, "I believe I'll go and try my luck."
Dahlia looked up at him. Her pretty face took on a beseeching expression.
The Philosopher regarded her uncomprehendingly.
"You will excuse----" he began.
But Dahlia did not let him finish. "I simply love to go fishing," she said softly.
"Do you?" said the Philosopher, blinking stupidly. "It is great sport, I think, myself."
Even then I believe he would have turned away. He is not used to it--at least, in Dahlia's style. But she detained him.
"Are you really not going to ask me?" she said, looking like a disappointed child.
I saw the Gay Lady look at her. The Skeptic glanced at the Gay Lady. I observed the Skeptic. But the Philosopher rose to the occasion. He is invariably courteous.
"Why, certainly," he responded, "if you would really care to go. It's rather a long walk to the stream and--I'm afraid the boat leaks considerably, but----"
"Oh, I don't mind that," she exulted, jumping up, her cheeks pink with delight. "In fact, I know that boat of old----" She gave the Skeptic a look from under her eyelashes, but he was looking at the Gay Lady and it failed to hit him. "Are you ready? All right. And I've my sunbonnet--just the thing. You shall see what we'll catch," she called back to us, as the two