July Thirteenth.
When we went to the sh.o.r.e this morning I had to wait in spasms of remorse and anxiety until Aunt got tired of reading and set off along the sh.o.r.e with Mrs. Saxby. Then I reached for my gla.s.s.
Mr. Shelmardine and I had quite a conversation. Under the circ.u.mstances there could be no useless circ.u.mlocution in our exchange of ideas. It was religiously "boiled down," and ran something like this:
"You are not displeased with me?"
"No--but I should be."
"Why?"
"It is wrong to deceive Aunt."
"I am quite respectable."
"That is not the question."
"Cannot her prejudices be overcome?"
"Absolutely no."
"Mrs. Allardyce, who is staying at the hotel, knows her well. Shall I bring her over to vouch for my character?"
"It would not do a bit of good."
"Then it is hopeless."
"Yes."
"Would you object to knowing me on your own account?"
"No."
"Do you ever come to the sh.o.r.e alone?"
"No. Aunt would not permit me."
"Must she know?"
"Yes. I would not come without her permission."
"You will not refuse to chat with me thus now and then?"
"I don"t know. Perhaps not."
I had to go home then. As we went Mrs. Saxby complimented me on my good colour. Aunt Martha looked her disapproval. If I were really ill Aunt would spend her last cent in my behalf, but she would be just as well pleased to see me properly pale and subdued at all times, and not looking as if I were too well contented in this vale of tears.
July Seventeenth.
I have "talked" a good deal with Mr. Shelmardine these past four days.
He is to be at the beach for some weeks longer. This morning he signalled across from the rocks: "I mean to see you at last. Tomorrow I will walk over and pa.s.s you."
"You must not. Aunt will suspect."
"No danger. Don"t be alarmed. I will do nothing rash."
I suppose he will. He seems to be very determined. Of course, I cannot prevent him from promenading on our beach all day if he chooses. But then if he did, Aunt would speedily leave him in sole possession of it.
I wonder what I had better wear tomorrow.
July Nineteenth.
Yesterday morning Aunt Martha was serene and unsuspicious. It is dreadful of me to be deceiving her and I do feel guilty. I sat down on the sand and pretended to read the "Memoirs of a Missionary"--Aunt likes cheerful books like that--in an agony of antic.i.p.ation. Presently Aunt said, majestically: "Marguer_ite_, there is a man coming this way. We will move further down."
And we moved. Poor Aunt!
Mr. Shelmardine came bravely on. I felt my heart beating to my very finger tips. He halted by the fragment of an old stranded boat. Aunt had turned her back on him.
I ventured on a look. He lifted his hat with a twinkle in his eye.
Just then Aunt said, icily: "We will go home, Marguer_ite_. That creature evidently intends to persist in his intrusion."
Home we came accordingly.
This morning he signalled across: "Letter from Connie. Message for you. I mean to deliver it personally. Do you ever go to church?"
Now, I _do_ go regularly to church at home. But Aunt Martha and Mrs.
Saxby are both such rigid church people that they would not darken the doors of the Methodist church at Plover Sands for any consideration.
Needless to say, I am not allowed to go either. But it was impossible to make this long explanation, so I merely replied: "Not here."
"Will you not go tomorrow morning?"
"Aunt will not let me."
"Coax her."
"Coaxing never has any effect on her."
"Would she relent if Mrs. Allardyce were to call for you?"
Now, I have been cautiously sounding Aunt about Mrs. Allardyce, and I have discovered that she disapproves of her. So I said: "It would be useless. I will ask Aunt if I may go, but I feel almost sure that she will not consent."
This evening, when Aunt was in an unusually genial mood, I plucked up heart of grace and asked her.
"Marguer_ite_," she said impressively, "you know that I do not attend church here."