The Man and the Moment | Page 6

that smudge of grime was off her face."
She was looking at him now with her large, innocent eyes, which
contained no shadow of gêne over the unusual situation, and then she
answered quite simply:
"I haven't a home, you know--I'm just staying at the Inn with Uncle
Mortimer and Aunt Jemima and--and--Mr. Greenbank--and we are
tourists, I suppose, and were looking at the pictures--when--when I had
to run away."
Michael felt a little piqued with curiosity; she was a diversion after his
perplexing, irritating meditations.
"It would be so interesting to hear why you ran away--the whole
story?" he suggested.
The girl turned her head and looked out of the window, showing a dear
little baby profile, and masses of light brown hair rolled up anyhow at
the back. She did not look older than seventeen at the outside, and was
peculiarly childish and slender for that.
"But I should have to tell you from the beginning, and it is so long--and
you are a stranger."
Michael drew another chair nearer to her, and sat down, while his

manner took on a note of grave, elderly concern, which rather belied
the twinkle of mischief in his eyes.
"Never mind that--I am sympathetic, and I am your host--and, by
Jove!--won't you have some tea! You look awfully tired and--dusty,"
and he rang the bell, and then reseated himself. "See, to be quite
orthodox, we will make our own introduction--I am Michael
Arranstoun--and you are----?"
The girl rose and made him a polite bow. "I am Sabine Delburg," she
announced. He bowed also--and then she went into a peal of silvery
laughter that seemed to contain all the glad notes of spring and youth.
"Oh, this is fun! and I--I should like some tea!" She caught sight of
herself in an old mirror, which stood upon a commode. "Goodness,
what a guy I look! Why didn't you tell me that my hat was crooked!"
She settled it straight, and began searching for a handkerchief up her
sleeve and in her belt, but none was to be found.
So Mr. Arranstoun handed her a clean one he chanced to have in his
pocket. "I expect you want to wipe the smudge of dirt off your face," he
hazarded.
She took it laughing, and showing an even row of beautiful teeth
between red, full baby lips.
"You are the owner of this castle," she went on, as she gave firm rubs at
the velvet pink cheeks. "That must be nice. You can do what you like, I
suppose," and here a sigh of regret escaped and made her voice lower.
"I wish I could," Mr. Arranstoun answered feelingly.
"Well, if I were a man, I would!"
"What would you do?"
She turned and faced him, while she said, with extreme solemnity:
"I should never marry Mr. Greenbank."

Michael laughed.
"I don't suppose you would if you were a man!" At this moment, a
footman answered the bell. "Bring tea, please," his master ordered,
inwardly amused at the servant's astonished face, and then when they
were alone again, he continued his sympathetic questioning.
"Who is Mr. Greenbank? You had to flee from him--you said he was
horrid, I believe?"
Miss Delburg had removed her hat, and was trying to tidy her hair
before readjusting it; she had the hat-pin in her mouth, but took it out to
answer vehemently:
"So he is, a pig! And I went and got engaged to him this morning! You
see," turning to the glass again, quite unembarrassed, "I can't get my
money until I am married--and Uncle is so disagreeable, and Aunt
Jemima nags all day long, and it was left in Papa's will that I was to
live with them--and I don't come of age until I am twenty-one, but I can
get the money directly if I marry--I was seventeen in May, and of
course no one could stand it till twenty-one! Mr. Greenbank is the only
person who has asked me, and Aunt Jemima says no one else ever will!
I have been out of the Convent for a whole month, and I can't bear it."
Michael was beginning really to enjoy himself. She was something so
fresh, so entirely different to anything he had ever seen in his life
before. There was nothing of shyness or awkwardness in her manner, as
any English girl would have shown. She was absolutely at ease, with a
childish, confiding innocence which he saw plainly was real, and not
put on for his benefit. It was almost incredible in these up-to-date days.
A most engaging morsel of seventeen summers, he decided, as he
answered with over-grave concern:
"What a hard fate!--but you have not told me yet why you ran away!"
The girl had finished her toilet by now, and