Dry Fish and Wet Part 20

"This time, at least, it's for your own good."

"That remains to be seen. But I can't get over that business of the hundred and fifty pounds."

"Say no more about it, Knut Holm."

"And that artful old rascal of a Pettersen; to think I should have wasted a wreath on his grave every blessed year since he died. Eleven wreaths at four shillings a time--true, I left out the ribbon last time, that was so much saved. But he shouldn't have had a single flower out of me, if I'd known."

"Then it's agreed that you let William marry Betty?

"I never said anything of the sort. But the hundred and fifty--my head's all going round. How am I to pay you back again? Really, I'm sorry--you must excuse me...."

And he strode out of the room. Miss Trap sat smoothing out her gloves on the table. Thinking matters over, she came to the conclusion that Holm would give in, but the way did not seem quite clear as yet.

A little later William looked in.

"Has he gone?"

"Just this minute."

"What did he say? Did you manage it, Auntie Trap?"

"He's obstinate, my boy, but I think we shall get him round all right. Your father only wanted to try you, William. He's a strange man, is Knut Holm."

"Do you think that was all it was?"

"Yes, I should say so. He could hardly find a better way of making you serious about it, than by playing the part of a rival."

"Oh, we must have Betty up--we've settled it all between us, now."

And before Miss Trap could say a word, he was gone. Two minutes later he came back, leading Betty by the hand.

"This is Auntie Trap--yes, you must call her Auntie now, for it's she that's managed it all. Though it was really only a sort of trial father got up, so Auntie says--he's a wonder, the old man, what?"

"May I call you Auntie as well, Miss Trap? I've never had an aunt myself, and it's nice. Mother and I have always been alone."

"I know, my child. Call me Auntie by all means, and G.o.d bless you both. It's all to be for the best. I'm sure father was only wanting to try you. I know Knut Holm of old; he's his own queer ideas at times, but his heart's in the right place."

And she put her arm round Betty's neck and kissed her.

"Lovely it must be for you two young people on the threshold of the promised land. But remember, as you look towards it, that it only comes once in a lifetime--just this one moment, when the mists have cleared away, and the future is bright before you. I wish you happiness, children."

She walked out, erect as ever, but with her wise eyes, as it were, veiled. William and Betty watched her a little way up the street.

They stood hand in hand by the window, looking out over the river; Betty laid her head on his shoulder. Never before had the river and the hillside seemed so beautiful as to-day.

There came into Betty's mind the memories of her childhood, like dark shadows gliding by. The high-walled courtyard in Hamburg and the rooms in a narrow street in Copenhagen stood out clearest of all. She shivered a little, and put her arms round her lover's neck.

"Come, William, let us go and tell mother. She will be so happy."

IX

CLAPHAM JUNCTION

Everyone knows the great railway station at Clapham Junction just outside London, where so many lines meet and cross, and where trains start for so many different parts.

Our little town, too, had its junction of ways just outside, where the high road branches out into three, each in a different direction.

It was the accepted meeting-place for all secretly engaged couples, being a convenient spot that could be reached, accidentally as it were, by two people happening to come along by different routes.

It was Vindt, the humorist, who had christened it Clapham Junction, and he was the first to ferret out the fact that Banker Hermansen and Mrs. Rantzau had been walking together along the road by the sh.o.r.e several mornings in succession.

Vindt went round to the bank on some pretext of business, but really to see if the banker was in a softer mood than usual. After all, the man was no more than human!

But no; there he stood behind the counter, stiff and coldly polite as ever. Nice sort of man for a lover, thought Vindt.

What could the banker and Mrs. Rantzau have in common?

It was not easy to imagine. Some said he was fascinated by her voice, others laid the blame on her black eyes; the fact remained that the pair were more and more frequently together. Vindt had not been down to Holm's for a long time now; he hated the sight of women in business, and that Holm should have been one of the first to introduce a petticoat within the private sanctum among good cigars and vintage port--it was unpardonable. In the present state of things, however, he felt desperately in need of someone to talk to.

This affair of Hermansen's was so unparalleled a marvel that he simply must open his mind to someone about it.

He thrust his head in at the doorway, and discovered Holm standing behind the counter.

"All alone, old stick-in-the-mud?"

"Not a soul in the place. Come in. Haven't seen you for ages."

"You've been otherwise engaged. Fair charmer inside there now?" He pointed inquiringly towards the office.

"No, I'm all alone. Come inside, and have a gla.s.s of '48 port."

Vindt carefully laid down his heavy, ivory-handled cane, hung his coat and neck wrap over a chair, and stood with his hands in his pockets, facing him.

"Well, and what's the trouble now?" said Holm, struggling with a refractory cork.

"Holm, what do you say: could you imagine me in love?"

"No."

"Well, could you imagine old Hermansen on his knees whispering tender nothings to a woman?"

"What on earth...? Look here. Where have you been to lunch to-day?"

"I haven't been anywhere to lunch. But I'll tell you where I have been: I've been out to Clapham Junction, and seen our banker friend and the Sea Lady...."

"And who?"