The Girl on the Boat | Page 4

away, he should be at
Windles. Nothing would have induced her to leave the place at the
mercy of servants who might trample over the flowerbeds, scratch the
polished floors, and forget to cover up the canary at night. "He sails on
the 'Atlantic.'"
"That's splendid!" said Sam. "I'm sailing on the 'Atlantic' myself. I'll go
down to the office and see if we can't have a state-room together. But
where is he going to live when he gets to England?"
"Where is he going to live? Why, at Windles, of course. Where else?"

"But I thought you were letting Windles for the summer?"
Mrs. Hignett stared.
"Letting Windles!" She spoke as one might address a lunatic. "What
put that extraordinary idea into your head?"
"I thought father said something about your letting the place to some
American."
"Nothing of the kind!"
It seemed to Sam that his aunt spoke somewhat vehemently, even
snappishly, in correcting what was a perfectly natural mistake. He
could not know that the subject of letting Windles for the summer was
one which had long since begun to infuriate Mrs. Hignett. People had
certainly asked her to let Windles. In fact, people had pestered her.
There was a rich, fat man, an American named Bennett, whom she had
met just before sailing at her brother's house in London. Invited down
to Windles for the day, Mr. Bennett had fallen in love with the place,
and had begged her to name her own price. Not content with this, he
had pursued her with his pleadings by means of the wireless telegraph
while she was on the ocean, and had not given up the struggle even
when she reached New York. She had not been in America two days
when there had arrived a Mr. Mortimer, bosom friend of Mr. Bennett,
carrying on the matter where the other had left off. For a whole week
Mr. Mortimer had tried to induce her to reconsider her decision, and
had only stopped because he had had to leave for England himself, to
join his friend. And even then the thing had gone on. Indeed, this very
morning, among the letters on Mrs. Hignett's table, the buff envelope of
a cable from Mr. Bennett had peeped out, nearly spoiling her breakfast.
No wonder, then, that Sam's allusion to the affair had caused the
authoress of "The Spreading Light" momentarily to lose her customary
calm.
"Nothing will induce me ever to let Windles," she said with finality,
and rose significantly. Sam, perceiving that the audience was at an
end--and glad of it--also got up.

"Well, I think I'll be going down and seeing about that state-room" he
said.
"Certainly. I am a little busy just now, preparing notes for my next
lecture."
"Of course, yes. Mustn't interrupt you. I suppose you're having a great
time, gassing away--I mean--well, good-bye!"
"Good-bye!"
Mrs. Hignett, frowning, for the interview had ruffled her and disturbed
that equable frame of mind which is so vital to the preparation of
lectures on Theosophy, sat down at the writing-table and began to go
through the notes which she had made overnight. She had hardly
succeeded in concentrating herself when the door opened to admit the
daughter of Erin once more.
"Ma'am, there was a gentleman."
"This is intolerable!" cried Mrs. Hignett. "Did you tell him that I was
busy?"
"I did not. I loosed him into the dining-room."
"Is he a reporter from one of the newspapers?"
"He is not. He has spats and a tall-shaped hat. His name is Bream
Mortimer."
"Bream Mortimer!"
"Yes, ma'am. He handed me a bit of a kyard, but I dropped it, being
slippy from the dishes."
Mrs. Hignett strode to the door with a forbidding expression. This, as
she had justly remarked, was intolerable. She remembered Bream
Mortimer. He was the son of the Mr. Mortimer who wanted Windles.
This visit could only have to do with the subject of Windles, and she

went into the dining-room in a state of cold fury, determined to squash
the Mortimer family, in the person of their New York representative,
once and for all.
"Good morning, Mr. Mortimer."
Bream Mortimer was tall and thin. He had small bright eyes and a
sharply curving nose. He looked much more like a parrot than most
parrots do. It gave strangers a momentary shock of surprise when they
saw Bream Mortimer in restaurants, eating roast beef. They had the
feeling that he would have preferred sunflower seeds.
"Morning, Mrs. Hignett."
"Please sit down."
Bream Mortimer looked as though he would rather have hopped on to a
perch, but he sat down. He glanced about the room with gleaming,
excited eyes.
"Mrs. Hignett, I must have a word with you alone!"
"You are having a word with me alone."
"I hardly