A Maid of the Silver Sea Part 17

And so, when Tom came in that evening, she tackled him on the subject.

"Say then, mon beau,"--and as she said it she could not but contrast his slouching bulk with the straight, well-knit figure of the other--"why should we not take in a lodger as all the rest do? Our two rooms there are empty and--"

"Who's the lodger?"

"There is one comes up every day to dinner next door, and would stop there altogether if they had the room. Tiens, what's this his name is?

He's from the mines--"

"You mean Gard--the manager," scowled Tom.

"That's it--Monsieur Gard. Why shouldn't he--"

"Because I'd break his head if I got the chance, and he knows it. Comes up there to dinner, does he? How long's he been doing that?"

"For a week now. Couldn't you get over your bad feeling? It would be money in our pockets."

"No, I couldn't, and he wouldn't come if you asked him."

"Will you let me try?"

"I tell you he won't come."

"In that case there's no harm in trying. If I can persuade him, will you promise to be civil to him, and not try to break his head?"

"He won't come, I tell you."

"And I say he may."

"And you'll nag and nag till you get your own way, I suppose."

"Of course. What's the use of a woman's tongue if she can't get her own way with it? Will you promise to behave properly if he comes?"

"I'll behave if he behaves," he growled sulkily. "But we'll neither of us get the chance. He won't come."

"Eh bien, we'll see!"

And when Gard came up to dinner next day, she was leaning over the gate waiting for him, very tastefully dressed according to her lights, and with an engaging smile on her face.

"Dites donc, Monsieur Gard," she said pleasantly. "Our little Nannon was telling me you regretted having to live so far away. Why should you not come back and occupy your old room? It is lying empty there, and I would do my very best to make you comfortable, and you would be close to your friends all the time then, instead of having to go across that frightful Coupee."

"It is very kind of you, madame," and he stared back at her in much surprise, and found himself wondering what on earth had made her marry such a man as Tom Hamon. For she was undeniably good-looking and had all a Frenchwoman's knack of making the very best of all she had--abundant black hair, very neatly twisted up at the back of her head; white teeth and full red lips; straight, well-developed figure very neatly dressed; and large black eyes which looked capable of so many things, that they found it difficult to settle for any length of time to any one expression.

"It is very kind of you, madame," said Gard, "but--" and he stood looking at her and hesitating how to put it.

"You mean about Tom," she laughed. "But that is all past. I have spoken to him, and he promises to behave himself quite properly if you will come. Voila!"

Just for a moment the possibilities of the suggestion caught his mind.

He would be near Nance all the time. He would be saved much tiresome walking to and fro. Especially he would be saved that pa.s.sage of the Coupee, which at night, even with a lantern, was not a thing one easily got accustomed to, and on stormy nights was enough to make one's hair fly. Then this woman was very different from his present landlady, and would probably, he thought, have different notions of comfort.

The quick black eyes caught something of what was in him: and he, as suddenly, caught something of what lurked, consciously or unconsciously, in them, and a little tremor of repugnance shook his heart and braced him back to reason.

He shook his head. "It would not do, madame. He and I would never get on together, no matter how hard we tried. I thank you for the offer all the same," and he made as though to pa.s.s her.

"I wish you would come," she said, and laid a pleading hand on his arm.

"I'm sure he would try to behave. I can generally manage him except when he's been drinking. Then I'm afraid of him, and wish some one else was at hand. But that's only when he's been out all night at the fishing, and it's soon over and done with. Do come, monsieur!"--It was almost a whisper now, and she leaned towards him--the rich dark face--the great solicitous eyes.

But she had mistaken her man. Perhaps she had not met many like him.

He shook off her hand almost brusquely.

"It is impossible, madame. I could not," and he pushed past just as Nance came to the door.

She had seen him coming, heard their voices outside, and wondered what was keeping him.

She turned back into the house when she saw Julie, wondering still more.

For Gard's face was disturbed, and had in it something of the look she had seen more than once when he had faced Tom in his tantrums.

And, glancing past him, she had seen what he had not--Julie's face when he turned his back on her.

"Mon Gyu!" gasped Nance to herself, and went in wondering.

"She and Tom wanted me to take my old room again, and I refused," was all he said.

"Tom wanted you to go there?" said Mrs. Hamon in amazement.

"So she said."

Grannie's disparaging sniff was charged with libel.

"Well?" asked Tom of his wife, when he came in later on with Peter Mauger, who had come over for supper. "Got your lodger?"

"No."

"That's what I told you," with a provocative laugh.

"Oh, he'd have come quick enough."

"Would, would he? Then why didn't he?"

"I wouldn't trust myself alone in the house with that man."

"Ah!" said Tom, staring at her. "Always thought he was a bad lot myself, didn't I, Peter?"

Peter nodded.

"It's a wonder to me that Mrs. Hamon lets him run after that girl of hers as she does," said Julie.