Imprudence Part 3

"I call that vindictive," Steele said.

"We called it that--and other things." She smiled reminiscently. "It's odd how these little things stick in the memory. I never sew without recalling that exasperating week when I broke needles maliciously six days in succession. I break them occasionally now--in memoriam."

He laughed aloud.

"I don't fancy Miss Graynor gets it all her own way," he said.

Prudence swung her hat by the brim and gazed up at a patch of blue sky between the trees. A little frown puckered her brow. She had ceased to think of Agatha; her mind was intent on the man beside her, the man who was merely a new acquaintance and yet seemed already a tried and sympathetic friend. She liked him. She wished he were staying longer in Wortheton. She wished William had invited him to spend his last evening at Court Heatherleigh. Strictly speaking, courtesy demanded it; but William was not always courteous. She held a well-founded belief that William sought to punish her by this omission; and it pleased her to reflect that she was in a sense getting even with him through the present informal meeting. She promised herself the satisfaction of relating her morning's experience at lunch for his and Agatha's delectation. They so entirely disapproved of such harmless pleasures.

"If you've really nothing to do," she said, "let us go for a stroll in the woods. It's lovely there; and we can talk... I feel like a recluse enjoying an unexpected holiday: I want to make the most of it. And I love to talk."

"So do I--with some people," he returned in his level, pleasant voice, and lent her a hand to a.s.sist her down from the stile. "It's as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb, don't you think? Why not enlarge on the idea? I know a shop where we can procure quite edible pasties. If you are agreeable, I could fetch provisions, and we can picnic in the woods."

"But that's a capital idea," said Prudence, with a careless disregard for developments, which further evidenced the emanc.i.p.ation Miss Agatha already foresaw.

"There'll be such a row," she said cheerfully, as they walked across the fields side by side. "It was just such another excursion that Bobby was sent back to school for."

"For a little thing like that!" He laughed. "Well, they can't send me back to school anyhow, and I have a comfortable feeling in my mind that you'll be able to keep your end up. Miss Graynor would be wise to recognise that her day is done. I'll return with you and take my share of the censuring. With luck I might be asked to stay to tea."

This audacity amused them both. There was gladness in the spring day, the gladness of irresponsible youth, the gladness of life in its promise with the hope of its fruition unfulfilled and undaunted. The two gay young hearts, in their mutual pleasure in one another, were in tune with the brightness of the May morning; and the two gay young voices rang out in clear enjoyment and awoke the echoes in the shady woods.

CHAPTER SIX.

It detracted somewhat from Prudence's enjoyment when, having lunched delightfully off viands which would have met with less favour eaten off a plate from an ordinary dining-table, having subsequently strolled about the woods, engaged in botanical and other research, it abruptly occurred to her that it was time to return home. The thought of going home was less pleasant with the prospect so imminent. Picnicking in the woods with a comparative stranger was, she felt now, a sufficiently unusual proceeding to make explanation difficult. Neither Agatha nor her father would view the matter in the light in which she saw it-- simply as a pleasant excursion breaking the monotony of dull days. The necessity to account for her absence at all annoyed her.

"The drawback to stolen pleasure," she announced, regarding the young man with serious eyes in which a shade of anxiety was faintly reflected, "lies in the aftermath of nettles; while not dangerous, they sting."

"By Jove! yes," he agreed. "The little matter of going back has been sitting on my mind for the last ten minutes. The thing loses its humour when no longer in the background. I'm really horribly afraid of Miss Graynor."

"You need not come," said Prudence generously.

"Oh! I'm not so mean a coward as to back out," he said. "It's up to me to see it through with you. After all, the excursion was at my suggestion. And it was worth being stung for by all the nettles that ever grew. Besides, I want my tea."

"You'll be lucky if you get it," she returned.

"Come now!" he urged. "Let us take a charitable view, and decide that they will dispense generous hospitality. Upon my soul, I don't see why they shouldn't be charmed to receive us. The Prodigal, you know, got an amazing reception."

"Yes," she laughed. "I think possibly we'll get an amazing reception too. Please, if you don't mind, I would rather you took that dead flower out of your coat."

"They would never suspect you of putting it there," he protested, with a feeling of strong reluctance to do what she proposed.

But Prudence insisted. She knew that when William's eye fell on that withered memento her guilty conscience would give him the clue to its history.

"In any case," she added diplomatically, "it adds a look of untidiness."

And so the primrose never had the opportunity of lifting its head in water. Before discarding it, Steele was seized with the idea of placing it between the leaves in his pocket-book; but after a glance at the pretty, serious face of his companion he decided against this and left the dead flower lying in the bracken at their feet.

"The first brush against the nettles," he remarked, and smiled at her regretfully. "I'm braced now. That first sting hurt more than any other can."

The further stings proved embarra.s.sing rather than hurtful. When Steele entered the drawing-room at Court Heatherleigh with Prudence he was made uncomfortably aware of the surprised gaze of five pairs of curious feminine eyes all focussed upon himself, and, advancing under this raking fire, felt his amiable smile of greeting fade before Miss Agatha's blank stare of cold inquiry; her reluctantly extended hand, its chill response to his clasp, reduced him to a state of abject humility.

He found himself stammering an apologetic explanation of his presence.

"I just looked in to say good-bye," he began awkwardly. "I had the good luck to meet Miss Graynor this morning--"

"I presume you mean that you encountered my sister, Prudence?" Miss Graynor interrupted him frigidly.

He flushed, and felt savage with himself for being betrayed into the weakness.

"I met Miss Prudence--yes, and persuaded her to show me the woods. You have some very beautiful scenery about here; it seemed a pity to miss the best of it, and this was my last opportunity. I made the most of it," he added with a touch of audacity which Miss Agatha inwardly resented.

"We've had a delightful time," Prudence interposed defiantly, and turned as her father entered the room and forestalled his reproaches with a light kiss on his unresponsive lips. "I've been picnicking in the woods, daddy," she said brightly. "And now we've come back--for tea."

She made this announcement in the tone of a person who does not intend to be denied. Miss Agatha remarked tartly that it was not the hour for tea, and Mr Graynor, ignoring the hospitable suggestion, reproved her for her long absence.

"You caused me considerable anxiety," he said.

Prudence expressed her contrition. Steele added his apologies, although in his heart he felt there was nothing in the adventure to apologise for.

"I am afraid the fault was mine," he said. "The suggestion originated with me. I was thoughtless enough to overlook the fact that you might be worried."

"The thoughtlessness was on my daughter's side," Mr Graynor answered.

"She is fully aware that her absence from luncheon would cause anxiety.

She should have invited you to return with her instead."

Prudence flashed a surprised smile at him. To have done what he proposed was the last thing she would have dared to do. Had she given the invitation she would have been reproved quite as severely for taking the liberty as for absenting herself without permission. The privilege of independent action involving promiscuous hospitality was vested solely in Agatha and William.

Matters appeared to have reached a deadlock. Steele had nothing to say!

Prudence had nothing to say! Miss Agatha had no desire to help the situation by bridging the silence; and Mr Graynor had nothing further to add to his reproof. He seated himself. Since Miss Agatha remained standing Steele had no option but to do the same: he felt increasingly awkward, and wished he had taken advantage of Prudence's permission and remained out of it.

"Sit down, sit down," exclaimed Mr Graynor suddenly, with an accession of ill-humour as he became aware of the general strain. "Why is every one standing?"

His intervention scarcely relieved matters. Steele said he thought he must be going, and murmured something about an early start on the morrow; he had merely called to make his adieux. Miss Agatha's prompt acceptance of this explanation for the brevity of his visit was not flattering; but Mr Graynor, awakening tardily to a sense of the lack of cordiality, protested against his leaving so hurriedly.

"William will be in presently," he said. "You had better wait and see him. And we'll have tea. I see no object in deferring tea, Agatha, until a given hour."

"Prudence," Agatha commanded, "ring the bell, please."

Steele attempted to forestall the girl; their hands touched as each reached out to press the b.u.t.ton.

"Oh, Lord!" he murmured under his breath, and caught her eye and smiled dryly. "It will require something more efficacious than dock leaves to counteract these nettles."

She drew back without replying, but her face was charged with meaning, and he detected the hidden laughter in her eyes. It was well for her, he decided, that she could find anything to laugh at in the dismal situation; for himself he would gladly have escaped and sacrificed the tea; a whisky and soda would have suited him better at the moment.

The tea, when it came, caused little unbending, but it provided a legitimate excuse for moving from Miss Agatha's side, and it gave him an opportunity for a few minutes' talk with Prudence, a disjointed, embarra.s.sed talk under the close observation of the rest. Steele was conscious of those watchful eyes, of the listening hang in the conversation when he approached the girl. Prudence also was conscious of this silent manifestation of vigilant criticism on the part of her family; but she had reached a stage of recklessness which moved her to openly disregard the condemnation in Agatha's eyes when Steele, having handed the cake to her, remained beside her for a few minutes, and held her in conversation.

"I have been reconsidering what you said in the wood," he observed, "about the influence of others in regard to the enjoyment of life. You were entirely right."

"Given the opportunity, I knew I could prove my case," she answered with the same amount of caution in her tones as he had used. "But you mustn't talk to me now, please; I'm in disgrace."