Affinities and Other Stories Part 35

She was irritable when she was disturbed, too. The creative instinct is a queer thing. Once Bootles, the chauffeur, asked her a question when she was trying to catch some combination or other, and she answered him sharply.

"When the women go to vote, Miss," he said, turning around and touching his cap, "who is going to mind the children?"

"We intend to establish a messenger service," said Poppy, with a crayon in her mouth.

"A _messenger_ service?" Bootles' eyes stuck out.

"Yes. To summon the fathers home from the pubs to hold the babies."

(A "pub" of course is an English saloon.)

The T. C. matter was still bothering Poppy at intervals. She knew as well as anyone that she needed a laugh in her retort, and as you have seen, Poppy is too earnest to be funny. I said this to Basil Ward the night we got to Tintagel.

Poppy was tired, and went to bed early. I walked out on the terrace, and Basil was there. He said Viv had sent for him on the T. C. matter, and he had something in view.

"He gave it up, poor chap," he said. "He isn't humorous, you know. As a matter of fact, he and Poppy are both so bally serious that it makes me wonder how they'll hit it off."

"If she's as earnest about matrimony as she is about Suffrage," I said, "she'll be a sincere wife."

Basil said nothing. We had walked out to the edge of the cliff, and were leaning against the rough stone parapet.

"It's rather nice, isn't it," he said suddenly. "Here we are, almost at Land's End, and the old Atlantic--Madge, will you give me a perfectly honest answer to a question?"

I braced myself.

"Yes."

"Did you stay over here in England because your whole heart is in the Cause?"

"Ye--es."

"Your _whole_ heart?"

"Our motives are always mixed, Basil," I said kindly. "It would have been awfully silly to have endured that miserable spring and not have stayed for June and July."

"You get a great many cablegrams from America."

"That," I said, with dignity, "is of course my own affair."

"About the Cause?"

"Not--always."

"From a man, of course."

"Yes," I said sweetly, and went back to the hotel.

I broke the news to Poppy about Vivian and she stormed. But suddenly she stopped, with a calculating gleam in her eye.

"He's a fool to follow me," she said, "but he has gleams of intelligence, Madge. I shall put the T. C. matter up to him!"

So I sent Viv a note that night. You see one must manage Poppy.

"Dear Viv: She knows and the worst is over. Breakfast early and keep out of the way until noon. She is going to work, and anyhow, it will make her curious. If you have a good retort to the T. C.

business, don't give it at once. It would humiliate her. Then, when you've given it to her, if she's pleased, you can ask her _the other_. She's silly about you, Viv, but she won't acknowledge it to herself.

"Madge.

"P. S. Don't make any stipulation about Suffrage, but make her promise to let you do and think as you like. _Be sure._ Get her to write it, if you can. I happen to know that if she marries you, she hopes you'll take alternate Sundays with her at the Monument, so she can speak at Camberwell.

"M."

Poppy came down to breakfast in her best morning frock, looking lovely, and sat with her profile to the room. I thought she watched the door, too, and she took only an egg, although she usually has a kipper also.

But neither of the men showed up. She loitered over the _Times_, but at last she got her sketching things, and we went out to the cliff head, where there's a bench. It is a long tongue of rock, about twenty feet wide or so, and far below, on each side, the ocean. There was a rough-haired pony out there also, and the three of us were crowded. The pony wanted sugar or something, and kept getting in the way. Poppy sketched, but her heart wasn't in it and at every new halloo from some tourist exploring King Arthur's ruins (The Castle, of course) she looked up expectantly.

At last I caught sight of Basil waving to me from the hotel, and I went back. I left Poppy there alone, pretending to sketch, although it was perfectly clear to every one that the only view she had was of the pony's mangy side. Shortly after, I saw Vivian, in walking tweeds, going along one of the sheep's paths toward her, and looking very handsome and determined.

Basil and I sat on the terrace and "concentrated." It was my idea.

"Will her to take him," I said.

"I am," said Basil, looking at me.

"She's so pretty," said I.

"Lovely!" said Basil.

"And it's such a _natural_ thing," I went on. "He has a lot of character, and he's gentle as well as firm."

"I thank you," said Basil, and bowed.

"I don't believe," I said severely, "that you are concentrating."

The pony had got around behind the bench, and we lost them for a moment.

But the little beast moved off just then, and it was like lifting a curtain. Poppy's head was on Vivian's shoulder.

"Good old Viv!" said Basil. "Happy chap!" and sighed.

I met Vivian as I went down to luncheon. He was coming up three stairs at a time, but he stopped and drew me into a corner.

"All fixed," he said. "You're a trump, Madge. The T. C. did it. She's promised all sorts of things."

"And you?" I demanded. I thought he evaded my eye.

"I?" he said. "Well, I've agreed not to interfere with her career.