some evenings later peter was again a host holding sweet converse with his lady. here, first, are her words to him.
“london,
“june 3rd.
“the day after to-morrow i shall be in my garden, revelling in its beauty and in the perfume of my night-stocks. the scent of ballrooms and theatres will be left behind in this big noisy london. it has its fascination, though. this morning the streets were bathed in sunlight, and crowded with women in gay dresses till they looked like a great restless nosegay. we talk of ‘spring in the country,’ but here its note is just as insistent. in february the parks were brilliant with crocuses, their hardy little [pg 89]yellow, white, and purple flowers spreading far under the trees. they were followed by daffodils and tulips, masses of glorious colour. and for sheer beauty give me a sunset across the parks, or the blue mists veiling the great masses of building. or, again, the river between sunset and night. have you ever walked along the embankment in the evening? i walked there yesterday. westward the river and sky flamed purple, crimson, and gold; eastward a silver haze covered land and water, with pale lights shining through and reflected in the river. a small boy walking with his mother exclaimed in rapture, ‘oh, mother, look at the lights!’ ‘what about them, dear?’ came the reply. the matter-of-fact tone of the words was indescribable. thus is the early glimmering of poetry effaced from the infant mind. i write of it lightly. at the moment indignation and tears struggled for the mastery.
“i read the following advertisement in a paper the other day:
“‘wanted, a bright sympathetic woman, not necessarily under 25, as companion-help in a family of three. no children, no washing, but the ordinary work of the house to be done. [pg 90]must be educated, as she is wanted to be one of the family and help in philanthropic work. will be needed to do plain cooking, and a “sense of humour” will be appreciated. salary a matter of arrangement. protestant.’
“then followed the address. doesn’t it strike you as rather funny? can you imagine any one sitting down solemnly to answer it? testimonials re a sense of humour!
“‘dear madam, in my former situations my sense of humour proved a great attraction. i enclose extracts from references. “jane smith is the soul of wit.” “our companion-help kept us through meal-time in one perpetual roar of laughter.” “laughter is the best digestive sauce. jane smith’s humour provides that sauce!”’
“i am glad you think i may at times discard my garment of tradition. now i come to think of it, i believe i did discard it when i first wrote to you. i do not think at that moment the ancestral garment can have been upon me. talking of that first letter, will you do me a favour? i want you to burn it. it was too solemn, too serious, written with altogether too heavy a pen. something made me write it, and i am glad of it; [pg 91]but i was so anxious to place myself above the possibility of a snub that my sense of humour was for the moment obliterated. i took myself and my own importance too seriously. therefore please destroy it, though it is quite possible that you have already done so.
“i want to read the thoughts of your wanderer. they should be untrammelled thoughts, wide as the open spaces he is traversing. when the gods are good to you i shall look for a copy of the book. i prefer my word to your ‘if.’
“my next letter shall be written from my terrace if the sunshine continues in this glory. good-night.”
the letter read, peter repeated the little ceremony of dining with, and toasting, his lady. he then proceeded to write to her.
“june 5th.
“dear lady,—thank you for your letter. doubtless the muses join with you in your tears and indignation when they see their children stifled at birth. i wonder what ‘mrs. be-done-by-as-you-did’ will have in store for those parents. [pg 92]yet their intentions are probably of the very best.
“i should like to see the answers that advertisement will receive. protestant and philanthropic work, when advertised as such, seem inconsistent with a sense of humour. the person who answers the advertisement will either be devoid of it, or possess it in a very marked degree.
“why should the first favour you ask of me be one i have not the heart to grant! i cannot burn that letter. i should watch it shrivel and twist in the flames like some protesting living thing. it would be like burning the photograph of a friend. call me superstitious, idiotic, any name you choose, but i can’t do it. i will, however, return it to you, though with great reluctance, and you can do with it as you will. send me in exchange one of your night-stocks. it will be less shrivelled than your letter had i done as you ask.
“dear unknown lady, when my next book is published—you see, i accept your correction—have i your permission to dedicate it to you? with the exception of the first two chapters, which were written before i knew you, it is written to you and for you alone. my wanderer speaks [pg 93]his thoughts directly to you, believing that they will find favour in your sight.
“though i have churlishly refused the favour you asked of me, will you grant me this one?
“robin adair.”
peter put the letter into an envelope and addressed it. after a few minutes he came out of the cottage into the little copse.
the june night was very still. the after-glow from the sunset still lingered in the west; the darkness would be of short duration.
suddenly the sound of wheels struck on peter’s ear, and the quick clear tang of horses’ hoofs on the dry road. a few moments later a carriage came into sight, and drove past him towards the village. in spite of the dusk peter saw that the men on the box wore livery, and a lamp inside the carriage gave him a glimpse of two women’s forms. a couple of boxes were strapped at the back of the carriage.
“without doubt,” said peter to himself, “it is lady anne returning.”
