Miss Allen, I learnt from her,
was an uncommonly good girl--everything I imagined her. Mrs.
Becket didn't know her family, but she had engaged her on the
strength of excellent testimonials, which didn't seem exaggerated.
Yet after that I was floored--told that the thing couldn't be. No
weeping and wailing; but a face and a voice that puzzled me. The
girl liked me well enough; I felt sure of it. All the same I had to
come back to England alone, and in a devilish bad temper. You
remember that I half quarrelled with you about something at our
first meeting."
"You were rather bearish," remarked Glazzard, knocking the ash off
his cigar.
"As I often am. Forgive me, old fellow!"
Denzil relit his pipe.
"The next summer I went over to Sweden again. Miss Allen was still
with the Beckets, as I knew; but she was only going to stay a few
months more. One of the children had died, and the other two were to
be sent to a boarding-school in England. Again I went through the
proposing ordeal, and again it was useless. 'Confound it!' I
shouted, 'do deal honestly with me! What's the matter? Are you
engaged already?' She kept silent for a long time, then said 'Yes!'
'Then why in the name of the Jotuns didn't you tell me so
before?' I was brutal (as I often am), and the poor girl began to
cry. Then there was a scene--positive stage business.
Pages:
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122