The Affair at the Inn Part 12

It is no use; for after a few days of struggle and doubt and misery, I have got to go back to that girl--if I can find her. What a wretched time I have had! If this is being in love I hope it won't last. I'm told it doesn't usually, after marriage. Perhaps it settles down into something more comfortable, that does not interfere with a man's meals or destroy his sleep. It is awful to think that your whole life may or may not be changed, according to the fancy of a girl whose existence you weren't aware of a fortnight ago! I have told Johnson we are going straight back to Dartmoor, and he grinned--the wretch! Of course he knows why.

CECILIA EVESHAM

GREY TOR INN _Thursday morning_

Ended the Dartmoor drama! Gone Sir Archibald! Vanished the motor! Gone too, dear Virginia and Mrs. Pomeroy! only Mrs. MacGill and I are left!

He went on Wednesday, the Pomeroys on Thursday, and I now await events. Virginia tells me she has taken her mother to Torquay, but that is a wide word!

_Sat.u.r.day_

I thought it would be so: a week without her was enough. Yesterday Sir Archibald, or what used to be Sir Archibald, appeared at the inn again.

But what a change was here! Shall I put down our conversation without comment?

_Cecilia._ So you have come back, Sir Archibald?

_Sir A._ Yes.

_Cecilia._ I hope you had a pleasant run to town, or wherever you went.

_Sir A._ Beastly.

_Cecilia._ What? Did the motor break down, or the weather?

_Sir A._ Neither.

_Cecilia._ What was wrong, then?

_Sir A._ Everything. (Then suddenly) Where have the Pomeroys gone to, Miss Evesham?

_Cecilia._ To Torquay, I understand.

_Sir A._ Do you know their address?

_Cecilia._ I do not. I suppose they will be at one of the hotels.

_Sir A._ You are making fun of me. Tell me where they are. I am in earnest.

_Cecilia._ So am I. I do not know their address.

He started up, wrung my hand without a word, and hurried out of the room. I looked after him in the hall, but he was so intent on the Torquay Guide that he never noticed me.

He steamed off Torquay-wards half an hour later.

I have had a pleasant chat with Mr. Willoughby, who appeared this afternoon. He looks at life and all things much as I do. He is a distinct relief from Mrs. MacGill, a distinct relief; and though he has made no special reputation as yet, he is bound to succeed, for he has decided talent.

VIII

MRS. MACGILL

My words have taken effect; it is often disagreeable to have to give unasked advice, but one should always do it. Sir Archibald has gone.

It is a pleasant thought that any simple words of mine may have been the means of saving the young man from that designing person.

She conceals her disappointment as well as she can, and is doing her best to look as if nothing had happened in one way or another; but I can see below the surface of that new hat. She has taken her mother off to Torquay for a few days. It is a large town seemingly, though I have heard that there are no men there; but as the guide-book says the population is twenty-five thousand, that is probably an exaggeration.

However, Miss Pomeroy won't stay long in Torquay in that case, but will return to New York, where she would fain make us believe they are as plentiful as in a harem. They cannot all be millionaires at least, for she says that many American writers live on what they make by their books.

Cecilia would like to stay on here, I think. She has been up to the top of a quarry looking at gorse along with that so-called artist, Mr.

Willoughby.

Miss Pomeroy has infected her, I am afraid, and the bad example is telling, even at that age.

We have had several nice quiet days here alone since the Pomeroys left. There has scarcely been a sound in the hotel, except when the wind pounces upon the window-frames in the sudden, annoying way that it has here. Twice I have got up, to endeavour to fasten the window, and each time have lost a toothbrush. It shakes my nerves completely when the windows clatter suddenly through the night. Yesterday as we sat in the dining-room I heard a crunching noise.

'Can that be another motor?' I exclaimed. 'I hope not. It is a cla.s.s of people I do not wish to a.s.sociate with any further.'

'It is a motor,' called Cecilia, who sat next the window. 'A scarlet motor, too.'

In another moment the door opened, and Sir Archibald Maxwell Mackenzie came in.

'Dear me, Sir Archibald,' said I, 'what has brought you back again so soon? You will have a nice quiet time here now, for we are the only people in the hotel.'

He seemed strangely put out and unlike himself, and pa.s.sed my chair without even replying to my speech. I could see that he was thoroughly unnerved, very much in the same state that I was when we came back from that terrible drive. It is no wonder; motoring must tell on the strongest nerves in time.

Later in the day Cecilia came in smiling. 'Sir Archibald has gone away again,' she said. 'He has not made a long stay this time!'

'No,' I observed, 'that sort of nervous excitement grows on people. I know myself that if I once begin to get excited over a bazaar, for instance, I get off my sleep, and worn out in no time. I suppose he has rushed off farther into the moor.'

'He has gone to Torquay,' remarked Cecilia, 'quite an easy run from here.'

I was much annoyed. It seemed probable that he would meet Miss Pomeroy again there, though possible that among twenty-five thousand women he might fail to recognise her. I think Cecilia and I must take a day or two at Torquay on our way home. It would soothe me after this mountain air and the desolation of Grey Tor, and I could get some fresh bead tr.i.m.m.i.n.g for my velvet mantle, which has been much destroyed by all that I have come through in this place. Our packing will be very easily done. Poor Mr. MacGill used always to say, in his playful manner, that he could stand anything except a woman's luggage, which is the reason that I always try to travel with as little as possible.

So there will be only our two large boxes and the holdall and my black bag and the split cane basket and the Holland umbrella-case, with two straps of rugs and the small brown box, and the two hat-boxes, and a basket with some food. Miss Pomeroy's boxes were like arks. I'm sure if she succeeds in her design, I pity the man that has to take them back to Scotland; they would never go in the motor. I think Greytoria and the pony chaise will manage all our little things quite nicely.

She seems the quietest animal in the stables, so I must just trust myself in it once more.

There goes Cecilia again, walking on the gravel at the door with that Mr. Willoughby. We must certainly leave to-morrow morning.

One affair such as that of Miss Pomeroy and Sir Archibald is enough for me to endure without being witness of another.

One would suppose common modesty would prevent a young gentleman and lady from indulging in a love-affair whilst inhabiting an ordinary country inn; but there is no limit to the boldness of these Americans.

I sometimes think it is a pity that they were discovered, for they have been a bad example to more retiring and respectable nations.