The Adventures of Sally

  Mr. Carmyle was not a man who readily allowed himself to be disturbedby life's little surprises, but at the present moment he could not helpfeeling slightly dazed. He recognized Sally now as the French girl whohad attracted his cousin Lancelot's notice on the beach. At least he hadassumed that she was French, and it was startling to be addressed byher now in fluent English. How had she suddenly acquired this gift oftongues? And how on earth had she had time since yesterday, when hehad been a total stranger to her, to become sufficiently intimate withCousin Lancelot to be sprinting with him down station platforms andaddressing him out of railway-carriage windows as Ginger? Bruce Carmylewas aware that most members of that sub-species of humanity, hiscousin's personal friends, called him by that familiar--and, so Carmyleheld, vulgar--nickname: but how had this girl got hold of it?

  If Sally had been less pretty, Mr. Carmyle would undoubtedly have lookeddisapprovingly at her, for she had given his rather rigid sense of theproprieties a nasty jar. But as, panting and flushed from her run, shewas prettier than any girl he had yet met, he contrived to smile.

  "Not at all," he said in answer to her question, though it was far fromthe truth. His left big toe was aching confoundedly. Even a girl witha foot as small as Sally's can make her presence felt on a man's toe ifthe scrum-half who is handling her aims well and uses plenty of vigour.

  "If you don't mind," said Sally, sitting down, "I think I'll breathe alittle."

  She breathed. The train sped on.

  "Quite a close thing," said Bruce Carmyle, affably. The pain in his toewas diminishing. "You nearly missed it."

  "Yes. It was lucky Mr. Kemp was with me. He throws very straight,doesn't he."

  "Tell me," said Carmyle, "how do you come to know my Cousin? On thebeach yesterday morning..."

  "Oh, we didn't know each other then. But we were staying at the samehotel, and we spent an hour or so shut up in an elevator together. Thatwas when we really got acquainted."

  A waiter entered the compartment, announcing in unexpected English thatdinner was served in the restaurant car. "Would you care for dinner?"

  "I'm starving," said Sally.

  She reproved herself, as they made their way down the corridor, forbeing so foolish as to judge anyone by his appearance. This man wasperfectly pleasant in spite of his grim exterior. She had decided by thetime they had seated themselves at the table she liked him.

  At the table, however, Mr. Carmyle's manner changed for the worse. Helost his amiability. He was evidently a man who took his meals seriouslyand believed in treating waiters with severity. He shuddered austerelyat a stain on the table-cloth, and then concentrated himself frowninglyon the bill of fare. Sally, meanwhile, was establishing cosy relationswith the much too friendly waiter, a cheerful old man who from the startseemed to have made up his mind to regard her as a favourite daughter.The waiter talked no English and Sally no French, but they were gettingalong capitally, when Mr. Carmyle, who had been irritably waving asidethe servitor's light-hearted advice--at the Hotel Splendide the waitersnever bent over you and breathed cordial suggestions down the side ofyour face--gave his order crisply in the Anglo-Gallic dialect of thetravelling Briton. The waiter remarked, "Boum!" in a pleased sort ofway, and vanished.

  "Nice old man!" said Sally.

  "Infernally familiar!" said Mr. Carmyle.

  Sally perceived that on the topic of the waiter she and her host did notsee eye to eye and that little pleasure or profit could be derived fromany discussion centring about him. She changed the subject. She was notliking Mr. Carmyle quite so much as she had done a few minutes ago, butit was courteous of him to give her dinner, and she tried to like him asmuch as she could.

  "By the way," she said, "my name is Nicholas. I always think it's a goodthing to start with names, don't you?"

  "Mine..."

  "Oh, I know yours. Ginger--Mr. Kemp told me."

  Mr. Carmyle, who since the waiter's departure, had been thawing,stiffened again at the mention of Ginger.

  "Indeed?" he said, coldly. "Apparently you got intimate."

  Sally did not like his tone. He seemed to be criticizing her, and sheresented criticism from a stranger. Her eyes opened wide and she lookeddangerously across the table.

  "Why 'apparently'? I told you that we had got intimate, and I explainedhow. You can't stay shut up in an elevator half the night with anybodywithout getting to know him. I found Mr. Kemp very pleasant."

  "Really?"

  "And very interesting."

  Mr. Carmyle raised his eyebrows.

  "Would you call him interesting?"

  "I did call him interesting." Sally was beginning to feel theexhilaration of battle. Men usually made themselves extremely agreeableto her, and she reacted belligerently under the stiff unfriendlinesswhich had come over her companion in the last few minutes.

  "He told me all about himself."

  "And you found that interesting?"

  "Why not?"

  "Well..." A frigid half-smile came and went on Bruce Carmyle's darkface. "My cousin has many excellent qualities, no doubt--he used toplay football well, and I understand that he is a capable amateurpugilist--but I should not have supposed him entertaining. We find him alittle dull."

  "I thought it was only royalty that called themselves 'we.'"

  "I meant myself--and the rest of the family."

  The mention of the family was too much for Sally. She had to stoptalking in order to allow her mind to clear itself of rude thoughts.

  "Mr. Kemp was telling me about Mr. Scrymgeour," she went on at length.

  Bruce Carmyle stared for a moment at the yard or so of French breadwhich the waiter had placed on the table.

  "Indeed?" he said. "He has an engaging lack of reticence."

  The waiter returned bearing soup and dumped it down.

  "V'la!" he observed, with the satisfied air of a man who hassuccessfully performed a difficult conjuring trick. He smiled at Sallyexpectantly, as though confident of applause from this section of hisaudience at least. But Sally's face was set and rigid. She had beensnubbed, and the sensation was as pleasant as it was novel.

  "I think Mr. Kemp had hard luck," she said.

  "If you will excuse me, I would prefer not to discuss the matter."

  Mr. Carmyle's attitude was that Sally might be a pretty girl, but shewas a stranger, and the intimate affairs of the Family were not to bediscussed with strangers, however prepossessing.

  "He was quite in the right. Mr. Scrymgeour was beating a dog..."

  "I've heard the details."

  "Oh, I didn't know that. Well, don't you agree with me, then?"

  "I do not. A man who would throw away an excellent position simplybecause..."

  "Oh, well, if that's your view, I suppose it is useless to talk aboutit."

  "Quite."

  "Still, there's no harm in asking what you propose to do aboutGin--about Mr. Kemp."

  Mr. Carmyle became more glacial.

  "I'm afraid I cannot discuss..."

  Sally's quick impatience, nobly restrained till now, finally got thebetter of her.

  "Oh, for goodness' sake," she snapped, "do try to be human, and don'talways be snubbing people. You remind me of one of those portraits ofmen in the eighteenth century, with wooden faces, who look out ofheavy gold frames at you with fishy eyes as if you were a regrettableincident."

  "Rosbif," said the waiter genially, manifesting himself suddenly besidethem as if he had popped up out of a trap.

  Bruce Carmyle attacked his roast beef morosely. Sally who was in themood when she knew that she would be ashamed of herself later on, butwas full of battle at the moment, sat in silence.

  "I am sorry," said Mr. Carmyle ponderously, "if my eyes are fishy. Thefact has not been called to my attention before."

  "I suppose you never had any sisters," said Sally. "They would have toldyou."

  Mr. Carmyle relapsed into an offended dumbness, which lasted till thewaiter had brought the coffee.

  "I think," s
aid Sally, getting up, "I'll be going now. I don't seem towant any coffee, and, if I stay on, I may say something rude. I thoughtI might be able to put in a good word for Mr. Kemp and save him frombeing massacred, but apparently it's no use. Good-bye, Mr. Carmyle, andthank you for giving me dinner."

  She made her way down the car, followed by Bruce Carmyle's indignant,yet fascinated, gaze. Strange emotions were stirring in Mr. Carmyle'sbosom.

  CHAPTER IV. GINGER IN DANGEROUS MOOD