The Heart of Una Sackville | Page 8

find her at once. I always am in a hurry when I remember things, and the sight of the cottages put an idea into my head.
"Do you know the people who live in these cottages, Mr Dudley? I knew the old tenants, of course, but these are new people, and I have not seen them. Are they old or young, and have they any children?"
He puffed out words and smoke in turns.
"John Williams--puff--wife--puff--one baby, guaranteed to make as much noise as five--it's a marvel it's quiet now--puff. You can generally hear it a mile off--"
"Is it ill, then, the poor little thing?"
"Healthiest child in the world to judge from its appearance and the strength of its lungs! Natural depravity, nothing else"--puff!
"And in the next house?"
"Thompson--oldish man--widower. Maiden sister to keep the house in order--Thompson, too, I suspect by the look of him. Looks very sorry for himself, poor soul!"
"What's the matter with him--rheumatism? Is he quite crippled or able to get about?"
"Thompson? Splendid workman--agile as a boy. It was his mental condition to which I referred!"
"And in the end house of all?"
"Don't know the name. Middle-aged couple, singularly uninteresting, and two big hulking sons--"
Big--hulking! It was most disappointing! No one was delicate! I twisted about on my seat, and cried irritably--
"Are they all well, every one of them? Are you quite sure? Are there no invalid daughters, or crippled children, nor people like that?"
"Not that I know of, thank goodness! You don't mean to say you want them to be ill?" He stared at me as if I were mad, and then suddenly his face changed, and he said softly, "Oh, I see! You want to look after them! That's nice of you, and it would have been uncommonly nice for them, too; but, never fear, you will find plenty of people to help, if that's what you want. Their troubles may not take quite such an obvious form as crutches, but they are in just as much need of sympathy, nevertheless. In this immediate neighbourhood, for instance--" He paused for a moment, and I knew he was going to make fun by the twinkle in his eye and the solemn way he puffed out the smoke. "There's-- myself!" So I just paid him back for his patronage, and led up to the mystery by saying straight out--
"Yes, I know! I guessed by what you said about town that you had had some disappointment. I'm dreadfully sorry, and if there's anything at all that I can do--"
He simply jumped with surprise and stared at me in dead silence for a moment, and then--horrid creature!--he began to laugh and chuckle as if it was the most amusing thing in the world.
"So you have been making up stories about me, eh? Am I a blighted creature? Am I hiding a broken heart beneath my Norfolk jacket? Has a lovely lady scorned me and left me in grief to pine--eh, Babs? I did not know you were harbouring such unkind thoughts of me. You can't accuse me of showing signs of melancholy this last week, I'm sure, and as to my remarks about town, they were founded on nothing more romantic than my rooted objection to smoke and dust, and bachelor diggings with careless landladies. I assure you I have no tragic secrets to disclose! I'm sorry, as I'm sure you would find me infinitely more interesting with a broken heart."
"Oh, I'm exceedingly glad, of course; but if you are so happy and contented I don't see how you need my help," I said disagreeably; and just then father came out of the cottage, and we started for home.
Mr Dudley talked to him about business in the most proper fashion, but if he caught my eye, even in the middle of a sentence, he would drop his head on his chest and put on the most absurd expression of misery, and then I would toss my head and smile a scornful smile. Some day, when he finds out how old I am, he will be ashamed of treating me like a child.
William Dudley is the first stranger mentioned in these pages. For that reason I shall always feel a kind of interest in him, but I am disappointed in his character.
CHAPTER FOUR.
July 10th. To-day I went a round of calls with mother, driving round the country for over twenty miles. It was rather dull in one way and interesting in another, for I do like to see other people's drawing-rooms and how they arrange the things. Some are all new and garish, and look as if they were never used except for an hour or two in the evening, and some are grand and stiff like a hotel, and others are all sweet and chintzy and home-like, with lots of plants and a