They say money isn’t everything, but I was soon finding that if you have it, most things come your way.
I got to know all the nicest people in Adelaide, and as a wealthy young unmarried man was quickly admitted everywhere.
Percy Thornton and I became great friends. We had so many tastes in common and we went out a lot together.
We naturally talked of almost everything under the sun, but by tacit consent we never mentioned Mary.
I knew he had been for a long time sweet in that quarter, and he must have somehow guessed how my feelings were in that direction too.
I met Mary quite often now, but could not somehow manage ever to get her alone to myself.
I had been twice to dinner at Aviemore, and once to a dance there. It was always heaven to me to be where Mary was, but outwardly at all events, my courting had not progressed nearly as rapidly as I had hoped.
I knew for certain, however, there was a sure understanding between us, and when, in saying good-bye I used to hold her hand rather longer than necessary, she used to answer me back with such a calm challenging look in her pretty eyes that I always went away in a terrible hunger of longing1 until I should see her again.
We were both of us only just waiting for our happiness, I knew.
Commonsense2, however, told me not precipitately3 to hurry matters. Sir Henry was, I knew quite well, most punctilious4 and rather old fashioned in all social and family matters, and he would have considered it, I was sure, a great piece of impudence5 if I had too openly shown my hand upon so short an acquaintanceship.
So the weeks rolled on.
I had made one enemy, however, Leonard Hounsell, the owner of Red Pottage. He had never forgiven me for Rataplan beating his animal at the Port Meeting. Rumour7 had it that he had lost two thousand pounds by my success.
One afternoon Percy Thornton remarked to me, “I say, Stratton, that man Hounsell is always grousing8 everywhere about Rataplan. He says, old man, that you’re a damn bad rider, and only won by a fluke.”
“Oh, he does, does he,” I replied. “Well I’ll just get Master Hounsell on toast.”
I looked for an opportunity, but didn’t get it for some days. Then one afternoon I met the owner of Red Pottage in the lounge of Tattersall’s Club.
He gave me a curt9 nod, which I acknowledged with an even curter one. I made as if to move away, and then stopped as I suddenly remembered something.
“Oh, by the bye, Mr. Hounsell,” I said loudly so as to attract every one’s attention, “I understand you rather think Rataplan’s beating of Red Pottage at Cheltenham the other day a little bit of a fluke, don’t you?”
Hounsell hesitated a moment, and seemed slightly uncomfortable, but he couldn’t well get out of replying to so direct a question.
“Well, if you ask me — frankly10 I do,” he replied. “My opinion is that Red Pottage would beat your animal three times out of four.”
“All right,” I replied, “then let’s run it over again. I’m quite willing. Let’s make a match of it, same weights, same distance, same riders, and ￡500 a side — whenever you like.”
He seemed taken aback at my bringing the matter to a head so quickly, and hummed and hawed a long while before replying. Then he said slowly:—
“Well, I’ll consider it. I would run it off tomorrow, but Red Pottage has been coughing, and is no good for awhile. I’ll let you know later.”
I knew it was a lie, and so did every one else there. But I let it go at that, and moved off contemptuously.
One day about a week after the meeting at the club, I thought I noticed a slight change in Sir Henry. I met him at lunch at a mutual11 friend’s, and to my astonishment12 he seemed very short in his answers when I spoke13, and very disinclined to talk to me at all.
I thought perhaps he wasn’t feeling very well, and consequently didn’t take much notice of it. But meeting him about a week later in the street, he was going to pass me by if I hadn’t stopped him, with just a half smiling little nod, and I knew at once that something was wrong.
We exchanged just a few commonplace remarks and then, apologising he was in a hurry, he went off abruptly14, leaving me with a very unpleasant feeling in my mind.
What on earth had I done, I thought? I had put my foot in it somehow, I was positive, but the difficulty I knew, would be to find out exactly what fault I had committed.
I expected, however, to meet both Sir Henry and Mary at Morphettville the following Saturday, and might, I thought, find out something then. Sir Henry was running a two-year-old there. But to my disgust none of the Vane family put in an appearance, and it was left to Percy Thornton to tell me that they had gone motoring for the day.
I began to get anxious, for I knew it was not like Sir Henry to run any of his horses and not be present to see them run.
A fortnight went by and I had not got even so much as a glimpse of either Mary or her father. They seemed to have suddenly dropped out of my life.
They were at Aviemore I knew, and all quite well, for Percy Thornton had been playing billiards15 up there several nights.
I didn’t know at all what to do. I kept a stiff upper lip and went about smiling, but to myself I was miserable16, and, soldier as I had been, tears were always near my eyes.
When things were blackest, however, the sun came out in all its glory. I met Mary in King William Street.
She was walking with another girl I knew slightly, and we all stopped at once when we met.
Mary had blushed to a most lovely colour on seeing me, but she was quite composed, and gave me her hand in her usual pretty way.
“Oh, Mr. Stratton, how fortunate,” she said, “you know Miss North, don’t you? I wanted particularly to see you. I have something to tell you. Clara,” she went on, turning to her friend, “you want to do some more shopping dear, don’t you? Well, Mr. Stratton promised the other day to give me the best ice cream in Adelaide, and I’ll hold him to his word now. It’s half-past eleven, and you’ve got just half an hour. Meet me at twelve exactly, just in front of the Bank of Adelaide.”
Her friend bustled17 off in a most tactful way, and Mary turned to me with a little catch in her voice.
“Now, Mr. Stratton — take me somewhere — I really want an ice, and it’s the very least you can give me for the fib I’ve just been telling for you.” Then she added with a little smile, “I don’t know what poor father would say. I believe it’s most improper19 for me to come alone with you, but I shall have to risk it. So come along quickly.”
Everything had happened so suddenly that I had hardly managed to get in a word, but it was all bearing out what I had always thought. Sweet and clinging as Mary always looked, there was nothing undetermined about her character, and behind all those pretty gentle ways there was a courage and resource that would be used unsparingly in the service of the man she loved.
I led her down some stairs into a cafe, and choosing a table in a quiet corner of the room, we sat down in the cool semi-darkness to enjoy our first conversation alone together.
The cafe was almost empty, and we had our part of the room entirely21 to ourselves.
I was in the seventh heaven to think of the confidence she had in me, but at the same time knowing more of the world than she did, I was feeling rather nervous lest any one who knew her should see us there. Her father would be so annoyed, I thought.
She sat opposite to me with only a little narrow table between us, and she looked so sweet and pretty. Her face was gently flushed with the excitement, and her large blue eyes sparkled with interest and animation22.
“It’s awfully23 sweet of you to come down here, Miss Mary,” I said, “but I really don’t think I ought to have brought you. Sir Henry’s very particular I know, about this sort of thing.”
“Oh, never mind my father, Mr. Stratton, I’ll make it all right with him if he ever hears about it. I had to come to speak to you.”
“I wanted to speak to you badly,” I replied tenderly, “do you know I haven’t seen you now for over three weeks?”
“What a dreadful time! I wonder you’ve existed.”
“Well, I’ve been very unhappy about it, and very worried to know why it was — I couldn’t believe it was only accident.”
“No, it wasn’t accident. Some one’s been putting father against you, Mr. Stratton, and that’s why you have not been asked up.”
“What on earth have I done? Have I been looking at you too much?”
She turned her eyes away for a moment, and then gave me a deliciously arch look.
“I didn’t say I had complained, did I?” she said demurely25, “perhaps I haven’t noticed it.”
“Well, I meant you to notice it, anyhow,” I went on, “but what have I done to upset Sir Henry?”
“I don’t quite know, Mr. Stratton, and it’s because I want you to put yourself right that I’m telling you now.”
“You haven’t the least idea, Miss Mary?”
“Yes,” hesitating, “it’s something about you and the police.”
“Oh, that’s nothing,” I cried in great relief. “I can soon explain that. I know what they mean right enough.”
“They told father you’d been arrested once.”
“Well — so I have been — but it was all a mistake, and afterwards I was able to do the Chief Commissioner26 what he always considers a very great service.”
“You’re quite friends with General Edis, aren’t you? I mean with the Chief.”
“Yes, certainly I am; he’s the best friend I have in Adelaide.”
“That’s what I told father. I knew from the way the Chief spoke of you one day at our house that you must be good friends. But you see, Mr. Stratton, father is one of the old sort, and fearfully sensitive about anyone who comes to our house.”
“And quite right, too, but I wonder now who’s been trying to make mischief27.”
Mary was silent for a moment, and then said rather reluctantly, “I don’t know for certain, but I think it was that horrid28 Mr. Hounsell. Father met him the other day with Admiral James.”
“Quite probably,” I said grimly, “he hates me like poison after the Red Pottage business. But how do you think now I can best put myself right?”
“Well, I think I can tell you. You’re going to the James’ to dinner next Wednesday, aren’t you? We’re all going. Mr. Hounsell will be there too, and also the Chief. Mr. Hounsell doesn’t dream you’re friends with the Chief, for he told a friend of father’s that it would be a sight to see your face when you met the Chief. Ask the Chief to bring up the whole thing casually29 in the course of conversation at dinner. The Brigadier’s got plenty of tact18, and is just the man to do it nicely. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, I do, and he’s the very man to love taking a rise out of a mischief maker30! I’ll go and see him before Wednesday. But now what about you — you’re sure you’re coming, aren’t you?”
“Quite sure. Father’s a dear old thing, and didn’t want to take me at first, but I made him promise. You know, Mr. Stratton, he quite liked you before this happened.”
“Of course he did,” I said stoutly31, “I wanted him to. I liked coming up to your place. There are attractions there.”
Mary smiled roguishly, and I asked her if she’d like some sweets. She thanked me, but said no.
“I suppose you think you’re sweet enough yourself without them,” I said smiling back at her.
“I didn’t say so,” she replied in the same vein32.
“Well, some people might say you wouldn’t be far wrong if you did. But don’t put on your gloves yet.”
“Oh, but I must, Mr. Stratton — we’ve been here quite long enough.”
“One moment, just let me look at your hand; did you know I can tell fortunes?” She obediently passed over a pretty little hand, and I held it tightly and pretended to look at the lines.
“Hum,” I said meditatively33, “you’ve got an admirer, and he’s eating his heart out for you. I see he’s going to propose to you soon.”
She pulled her hand away at once, but smiled happily at me with heightened colour.
“Probably I shan’t accept him,” she said, “you men are always so certain, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no,” I replied earnestly, “when a man’s really in love he’s awfully humble34. He knows he’s not half nice enough for the girl he loves. But look here, Miss Mary — if I send you up some flowers for Wednesday, will you wear them?”
“Certainly not; why, poor father would have a fit if any strange flowers came to the house. He’d shut me up for a week. But what sort of flowers would you have liked to have sent me?”
“Pink and white roses for preference — but you’ve none fine enough at Aviemore.”
“None fine enough,” she said indignantly, “why you know roses are one of father’s hobbies, and we’ve the very finest ones in the State in our garden.”
“But none fine enough,” I replied stubbornly shaking my head.
Mary laughed prettily35 and got up to go. “Good-bye, Mr. Stratton, if you don’t mind I’ll go out alone. I’m sorry I can’t take your flowers for Wednesday, but if I’m in a good humour that night I’ll wear some pink and white roses that I shall have picked for myself, and if you should see me wearing them — you can be thinking you gave them to me yourself. Good-bye, Mr. John.”
And off she tripped before I could fully24 take in the sweet confession36 wrapped in her good-bye.
Waking and sleeping, I was for ever thinking of Mary in the ensuing days.
I had now practically told her openly that I was going to ask her to marry me, and she in return, had let me know almost as openly that when I did, she would not be sending me away.
I cursed that wretched Hounsell for his mischief making, and determined20 to leave no steps unturned to set myself right with Sir Henry at once.
On the Monday I called on the Chief, but found to my dismay he was away in Melbourne, and would not be back until the Wednesday morning. I left a note for him, however, where he would be sure to get it the moment he returned. I didn’t write much, I only just said:—
“Dear Chief — I am under a little bit of a cloud in a certain quarter because of my one time association with your department. Would you very nicely put things right casually at dinner on Wednesday evening? Let me down lightly, but you needn’t keep much back.
In grief and sorrow,
Sincerely yours,
JOHN STRATTON.”
“P.S. — Mary’s all right.”
I felt very anxious until the Wednesday evening arrived, but directly I got up to the house I took my courage in my hands and determined whether the Chief came to my help or not to give myself a good run for my money.
I was a little late in arriving, and most of the company were already assembled in the drawing-room when I was ushered37 in.
Mary and her father were there, also Leonard Hounsell, and to my great joy, the Chief.
They were all talking together, and save for Mary, who gave me a little encouraging smile, my entrance at first was almost unnoticed.
I shook hands with Mrs. James and the admiral, and then passing round said “How-do-you-do,” to Mary and Sir Henry. Sir Henry was quite nice, but only smiled a little gravely.
It was quite a big gathering38 in honour of the admiral’s birthday, and there were lots of people there that I had got to know.
We chatted generally together for a few minutes, and then the Chief turning round apparently39 noticed me for the first time.
“Hello, John,” he exclaimed so loudly that everyone’s attention was attracted at once, “where have you been hiding? You’re getting so proud now with all your racing40 successes that you won’t even notice some of your old friends.”
Dear old Chief, I thought. You are a good pal41. You’re losing no time, but mean to get in a good blow at once.
I shook hands cordially with him, and he drew me partly on one side with the admiral and retailed42 to us one of the latest jokes going about the city.
Everybody was looking at us. Sir Henry puckered43 up his eyebrows44 evidently very puzzled, and as for Mr. Leonard Hounsell, he looked as spitefully sick as his worst enemy could wish.
Dinner was duly announced, and to my surprise and joy, Mary was given me to take in. Evidently the admiral, I thought, knew nothing of the cloud I was under.
I have often in later years looked back in memory to that dinner party, and always with such happy feelings of remembrance.
There were twenty-four of us, and we all sat at one very long table. There was not too much room, and I was sitting so close to Mary that I was conscious all the time of the warmth of her dear body next to mine. Then, too, when the admiral’s champagne45 began to circulate, conversation was so insistent46 and so fluent all the way round, that any couple if they so wished, could talk together in the hubbub47 almost as unnoticed as if they were alone.
At any rate, I know Mary and I did.
She was wearing, as I knew she would, the pink and white roses of her promise, and I duly informed her quietly how pretty she was looking.
She gave me a delicious side-look with her eyes, but only replied by telling me with mock sorrow, she was afraid I was a most fraudulent fortune teller48, for so far, no one had come forward as I had confidently predicted, to claim her hand in marriage from her father.
I didn’t dare then to give her back the answer I should have liked.
Presently some one at the table mentioned something about racing, and immediately the Chief’s voice rose above all the others.
“All we’ve got to do now,” he exclaimed loudly, “is just to wait until Rataplan runs again, and then back him. We shall win pots of money that way as easily as shelling peas. If we should ever lose, we’ll just get our knife into Mr. Stratton here. Speaking for myself, if I’m ever out of pocket, as Chief Commissioner of the Police, I shall arrest him at once.”
The company laughed and generally stopped talking to listen to the Chief’s outburst.
“Oh, yes,” he went on with his audience now waiting on his words, “it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had you arrested, would it, Mr. Stratton?”
I pretended to be very frightened, and said fearfully, “Here, Chief, you mustn’t give me away.”
“Come, John,” he rejoined heartily49, “you wouldn’t spoil a good story, would you? You know, ladies and gentlemen, in some ways Mr. Stratton is quite a hero of romance, and I know he won’t mind my interesting you with what happened to him a little over a year ago. You don’t mind, John, do you?”
“No, I don’t mind,” I said resignedly, “only don’t pitch it too strong.”
“Well, here goes,” said the Chief, delighted to have an audience breathlessly hanging on his words. “Now, I’m going to interest you. You all remember the Mount Gambier murder case something over a year ago. Well, it was not so much a single crime, as the culminating crime of a good many other crimes. It was one of a series done by the same individuals. We were desperately50 anxious to get these gentlemen, and the very best talent of the Commonwealth51 was arrayed against them. We tracked them here to Adelaide, and then we lost them.
“Mind you, we only had a description of one of them, McSwiney, Tod McSwiney. Of the other one we knew nothing, except that he was the most damnable rascal52 unhung.
“Well, we knew they were here in Adelaide, and we put down our net and dragged for them.
“We made a wide cast and were quite sure we’d got at least, one of them. We opened the two ends of the net at Henley and out flapped Mr. John Stratton here.
“Now we didn’t know anything of our friend then. We had never seen him — never even heard of him. We were disgusted, and of course let him go. Well, two days later we cast out our net again, and this time we dragged the City, opening the two ends in Hutt Street.
“Out popped our friend John, again. This was more than we could stand. It couldn’t be merely a coincidence, we thought. There must be some connection, of course, between Stratton and McSwiney. So we shadowed John hoping thereby53 to come upon McSwiney.
“For two days we shadowed him with four of my best men, but he somehow found it out, and a nice dance he gave them.
“He took them all over the place. He took them up and down almost every street in the city, he took them to the Art Gallery; to the Botanical Gardens; he took them to the Zoo.
“They had two hours with him on Henley Jetty while he sat looking over the side at the fishes in the sea. He walked around Grange, and I don’t know where he didn’t go.
“All the time they had to follow him closely. If he went into a bar, some of them had to go in too. If he stopped to look at a pretty girl — and Mr. John, let me tell you, has got a good eye for beauty — they had to stop too, and so on and so on.
“Well, this couldn’t go on for ever. Apart from the fatigue54 and the expense of drinks, everybody’s boots were getting worn out, so on the third day I had him tapped on the shoulder, and he was told to come along.
“He came quite easily, and the great Inspector55 Kitson and I then proceeded to ask him questions.
“I must say he wasn’t exactly polite. Of course he was aggrieved56 at being pulled up and his dignity was hurt and all that, but as I always say, there was no need for him to be rude to us and to ask me among other things, if I happened to be the historic personage who had killed Queen Anne.
“Well we made him turn out his pockets and we found a large sum of money on him in notes, nearly ￡300. It looked suspicious, so I detained him while we made inquiries57.
“To our disappointment we found out in a few hours that all he had told us was true. We traced his actions for almost every day of the previous three months, and found him quite an exemplary Y.M.C.A. sort of young man.
“We searched his war records and there again everything was creditable and very meritorious58 — I’m being very nice to you John.
“Well, the Inspector and I talked it over and I said, ‘It’s no good Inspector, it’s another dud stunt59, we must let him go, there’s no connection between them.’
“Then an inspiration came to me and I blurted60 it out. ‘By Jove, I see it all,’ I said excitedly, ‘there is a connection between them. Why we always find Stratton when we follow Tod is because Tod himself is after Stratton, and they’re both close together all the while.’ And that turned out to be the exact truth, ladies and gentlemen. The two scoundrels had seen Mr. John here pick up ￡300 on the racecourse, and had been tracking him down to get hold of it.
“I had Mr. Stratton back before me and explained everything to him.
“Now I flatter myself that that afternoon I carried through one of the very finest pieces of diplomacy61 I have ever handled.
“When the recording62 angel finally settles up my account, he’ll put up a good big credit for the way I soothed63 down Master John and turned him from an angry enemy into a close ally.
“I must remind you now that McSwiney had meanwhile met his death by the sandhills on the beach. How, it has never been exactly proved, but it is generally believed that he and his companion quarrelled and the other daisy treated him to a dose of lead.
“We were very delighted he was killed, but at the same time deuced sorry we had not had a hand in it ourselves.
“The disappointing part of it was, however, we had no means now of tracking the Mount Gambier murderer number two. None of us knew what he was like; not even the famous Inspector Kitson, from whose State I am glad to say he came.
“Now that is where Mr. John here, would come in, I thought.
“If he had seen McSwiney staring at him when he drew his ￡300 at the totalisator window, why shouldn’t he have noticed his companion too?
“I was right. Mr. Stratton remembered them both.
“I then spoke to Mr. Stratton as one man speaking to another. I told him we were very sorry we had had to take him up, but we had held it to be our duty to do so in the interests of the State. He was, however, perfectly64 free to go away now. I told him why we had had reason to be suspicious and I explained the fix we were then in. In fact, I took him into our confidence, and ladies and gentlemen, for the time he became one of us.
“For three days he hunted up and down the city streets, and for three days a mob of disguised service men in all sorts of get-up followed him about.
“But it was no good — there was nothing doing. Then came the climax65. On the Saturday we all went to Gawler races. Almost towards the end of the afternoon, Mr. Stratton spotted66 his man. He prepared to give the signal, but the murderer suddenly took fright, and reached for his automatic at his hip6 before we were all ready.
“Mind you, he was a desperate man, and would have spat67 out death right and left among the crowd if he’d only got that gun out of his pocket.
“But Mr. John — our Mr. John here, of course, hopped68 into the limelight again.
“He closed in with the rascal at great risk to himself, and prevented him getting that left hand of his out of his pocket. What happened afterwards you all know.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen, isn’t it quite an interesting story I’ve told you? You’ve heard things to-night that have never come out before.”
There was an instant buzz of conversation when the Chief had finished, but the admiral rapped on the table for silence and in mock solemn tones called upon “Mr. John Stratton for a speech.”
“Yes,” said the Chief laughing, “and make him apologise to me about Queen Anne. I’ve got other grievances69 against him too.”
“What have I done now?” I asked rather embarrassed by the attention I was receiving, “I’m sure I’m quite innocent this time again.”
“Who, pray, drives down King William Street about twenty-five miles an hour because he knows there’s not a policeman in the city who’ll give evidence against him? Why, pray?”
“Not me,” I replied shaking my head, “I never put my car out of a trot70.”
“Yes you do, John,” insisted the Chief, “you saved some of our men’s lives that afternoon at Gawler, I admit, but by Jove you’ll be killing71 some one else in the city before you’ve done.”
And then the conversation drifted off again into a general tone. I looked round at Sir Henry, and he half winked72 his eye at me and lifted his glass.
“Good health, Mr. John. Look after Mary there, and see she doesn’t have too much port.”
“Oh, father, you are horrid,” remonstrated73 Mary blushing, “why, I haven’t had any yet.”
Everybody laughed, and I gave Sir Henry a grateful look. I guessed what he intended by his remark. He wanted to make it up by being extra kind, and so for the first time he used my Christian74 name and spoke of his daughter to me as “Mary.”
I got no chance much of speaking to Mary in the drawing-room, but Mrs. Townley talked to me for quite a long time. She seemed curious about what she was pleased to call my bachelor quarters in Mitcham, and I promptly75 invited her to come over one afternoon to tea.
“All of you come,” I said hospitably76. “I am sure Sir Henry and Miss Vane would be interested, and I believe you’ll admit then that I’ve got better roses than even at Aviemore.”
“I don’t think Sir Henry will come,” she replied with a curious sort of smile, “but Mary might be interested. I’ll see next week.”
Up to then I had thoroughly77 enjoyed the evening, but the best part I found was yet to come.
I had at last got hold of Mary for a moment, and was talking to her, when old Mrs. James came up and asked us if we would like to see her canaries.
Of course we had to say ‘yes,’ and she proceeded to lead us through the long verandah to where she kept her blessed birds.
It was quite in the shadow there, and I felt I had better guide Mary along safely by gently squeezing her arm.
When we got to the end of the verandah, the old lady asked us to wait a moment until she went on and switched on the light.
For half a minute perhaps we were left together in darkness. I quickly put my arm round Mary’s neck, and drawing her close to me, kissed her fairly on the lips. And it wasn’t a short kiss either.
When the light went up there was no particular expression on her face. It was as sweetly saint-like and composed as if she were in a church.
Later in the evening, the old admiral and I saw the Vane party to their car.
The old boy with a fat cigar in his mouth, grunted78 something to Mary about it being “a deuced fine moon to-night.”
Mary assented79 sweetly, but added as an after-thought that she imagined it was sometimes nicer when it was less glaring and gave the stars and other things a chance.
I was just behind her and could have kissed the ground she walked on.
Something after the nature of the following conversation took place one morning at the breakfast table at Aviemore about three weeks later, but I didn’t hear of it until long after.
Sir Henry and Mrs. Townley were by themselves, and the former was interestedly reading the morning paper.
Suddenly Mrs. Townley remarked:—
“So we’re going to lose Mary soon, Henry.”
Sir Henry looked up over his newspaper and stared hard at his sister for a few moments. Then he said testily80:—
“What on earth do you mean, Jane?”
“What I say, we’re going to lose Mary, soon.”
Sir Henry resumed the perusal81 of his paper. “Rubbish,” he said turning over the pages, “she’s never been better in her life. I happened to remark only yesterday, that I’ve never seen her look better, brighter and happier than she’s looking just now.”
“Exactly. Because she’s in love.”
“Oh, she is, is she, and with whom, pray?”
“Henry — you really are blind. With young Stratton, of course.”
Sir Henry methodically put down the newspaper and looked his sister straight in the face.
“What makes you think that, Jane?”
“Why, everything, of course. Look how quiet she is when he’s here. Look at the way she looks at him. Look at the way she dresses. She always has her best frocks on when she knows he’s coming up now.”
“Oh, that’s nothing, young girls always like to look their best before the other sex.”
“Yes — but haven’t you noticed her new hat?”
“No, what about it?”
“The colours, I mean — lilac and old gold. Mr. Stratton’s racing colours. Now do you believe me?”
Sir Henry was thoughtful for a few moments.
“And do you think, Jane, that young Stratton is coming up here deliberately82 after Mary?”
“Do I think so? I’m certain of it. I’ve suspected it from the first. I believe he only came up here the first time and bought those two fillies of yours so that he might get to know her. I’m sure they’ll never win a race.”
Sir Henry’s puzzled face after a moment’s thought broke into a rather amused smile.
“Well, he’s a most enterprising young man if he did. But,” frowning, “Mary’s much too young for that sort of thing, anyhow.”
“I thought her mother was only just eighteen when you married her.”
Sir Henry shook his head testily.
“What’s that to do with it? Things were quite different in those days. But it’s very annoying, this business, if there’s anything in it, as you say. I’ll buy her a new car to take her mind away from it.”
Mrs. Townley laughed sarcastically83.
“That won’t be any good, Henry. A car won’t tell her what lovely eyes she’s got, and how soft her lips are, like young Stratton will.”
“Jane, I’m ashamed of you. You’ve been reading some of those horrid books written by a woman. I’m sure of it.”
“No Henry, I haven’t. I’m only remembering my own days. I know how I was at Mary’s age.”
“Do you think it’s really got to a serious stage, then?”
“I do. I shouldn’t wonder if he’s not already kissed her.”
“No, Jane. You’re mistaken there, I’m certain. Mary’s a lady and wouldn’t put up with any of that sort of thing.”
“Oh, Henry, what an old goose you’re getting as you grow old. Just as if being a lady makes any difference at all when a girl’s in love. The silk frock can be just as passionately84 inclined as the cotton gown, let me tell you.”
“There you are again Jane. What on earth are the kind of books you have been reading lately?”
“Henry, you don’t want to read any books to know that sort of thing. You know it yourself as well as I do. Men and women are just the very same everywhere. Why, it was only the other day I heard you yourself saying to that nice young Henley doctor, what pretty ankles one of the dancing girls had got, at the fete.”
“Quite true Jane — quite true — but only from an art point of view. That young doctor’s a very clever fellow, and a very fine anatomist too, I am given to understand — and as I say, I was only referring to the matter in a purely85 scientific way.”
“Oh, Henry, how can you? But talking about reading, haven’t you noticed that Mary reads all the sporting news now. I actually found Sport and the Index in her bedroom the other day. You’ll have young Stratton coming up here in a week or two — in his best clothes and a buttonhole, and with his pass book in his breast pocket, see if he doesn’t. Oh, I know the signs right enough.”
“Well, I can’t well now forbid young Stratton the house, can I?”
“Of course you can’t, and what’s more, you won’t be able to forbid him Mary either. You like him, don’t you?”
“Certainly — he’s a nice enough boy, but I don’t want to lose Mary yet. What are we to do?”
“Just think what wedding present we are going to give them. That’s all.”
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1
longing
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| n.（for）渴望 | |
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commonsense
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| adj.有常识的；明白事理的；注重实际的 | |
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precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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punctilious
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| adj.谨慎的，谨小慎微的 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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grousing
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| v.抱怨，发牢骚( grouse的现在分词 ) | |
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curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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13
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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14
abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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15
billiards
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| n.台球 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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bustled
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| 闹哄哄地忙乱，奔忙( bustle的过去式和过去分词 )； 催促 | |
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18
tact
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| n.机敏，圆滑，得体 | |
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improper
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| adj.不适当的，不合适的，不正确的，不合礼仪的 | |
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20
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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21
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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animation
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| n.活泼，兴奋，卡通片／动画片的制作 | |
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23
awfully
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| adv.可怕地，非常地，极端地 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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demurely
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| adv.装成端庄地，认真地 | |
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commissioner
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| n.（政府厅、局、处等部门）专员，长官，委员 | |
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27
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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28
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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casually
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| adv.漠不关心地，无动于衷地，不负责任地 | |
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maker
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| n.制造者，制造商 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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vein
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| n.血管，静脉；叶脉，纹理；情绪；vt.使成脉络 | |
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meditatively
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| adv.冥想地 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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ushered
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| v.引，领，陪同( usher的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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pal
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| n.朋友，伙伴，同志；vi.结为友 | |
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42
retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
puckered
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| v.（使某物）起褶子或皱纹( pucker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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45
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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46
insistent
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| adj.迫切的，坚持的 | |
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hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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48
teller
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| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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commonwealth
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| n.共和国，联邦，共同体 | |
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rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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fatigue
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| n.疲劳，劳累 | |
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inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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meritorious
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| adj.值得赞赏的 | |
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59
stunt
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| n.惊人表演，绝技，特技；vt.阻碍...发育，妨碍...生长 | |
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60
blurted
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| v.突然说出，脱口而出( blurt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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61
diplomacy
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| n.外交；外交手腕，交际手腕 | |
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recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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63
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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65
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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spotted
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| adj.有斑点的，斑纹的，弄污了的 | |
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67
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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68
hopped
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| 跳上[下]( hop的过去式和过去分词 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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70
trot
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| n.疾走，慢跑；n.老太婆；现成译本；(复数）trots:腹泻（与the 连用）；v.小跑，快步走，赶紧 | |
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71
killing
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| n.巨额利润；突然赚大钱，发大财 | |
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72
winked
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| v.使眼色( wink的过去式和过去分词 )；递眼色（表示友好或高兴等）；（指光）闪烁；闪亮 | |
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remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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hospitably
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| 亲切地，招待周到地，善于款待地 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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78
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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80
testily
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| adv. 易怒地, 暴躁地 | |
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81
perusal
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| n.细读，熟读；目测 | |
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82
deliberately
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| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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83
sarcastically
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| adv.挖苦地，讽刺地 | |
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84
passionately
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| ad.热烈地，激烈地 | |
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85
purely
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| adv.纯粹地，完全地 | |
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