The Girl on the Boat | Page 4

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 know how to begin."
"Then let me help you. It is quite impossible. I will never consent."
Bream Mortimer started.
"Then you have heard about it?"
"I have heard about nothing else since I met Mr. Bennett in London. Mr. Bennett talked about nothing else. Your father talked about nothing else. And now," cried Mrs. Hignett, fiercely, "you come and try to re-open the subject. Once and for all, nothing will alter my decision. No money will induce me to let my house."
"But I didn't come about that!"
"You did not come about Windles?"
"Good Lord, no!"
"Then will you kindly tell me why you have come?"
Bream Mortimer seemed embarrassed. He wriggled a little, and moved his arms as