The Orchard of Tears Part 16

"No," replied Mrs. Chumley, lapsing into thoughtful mood. "I suppose I couldn't. Squirrels are very pretty. I am afraid I was never like a squirrel. How many inches are you round the waist?"

"I don't know. About twenty," replied Flamby, suddenly stricken with shyness; "but I'm only little."

"Are you little, dear? I should not have called you little. You are taller than I am."

Since Mrs. Chumley was far from tall, the criterion was peculiar, but Flamby accepted it without demur. "I'm wearing high heels," she said. "I am no taller than you, really."

"I should have thought you were, dear. I am glad you wear high heels.

They are so smart. It's a mistake to wear low heels. Men hate them.

Don't you think men hate them, Don?"

"The consensus of modern masculine opinion probably admits distaste for flat-heeled womanhood, in spite of cla.s.sic tradition."

"Dear me, that might be Paul Mario. Do you like Paul Mario, dear?"--turning again to Flamby and repeating the little hug.

Flamby lowered her head quickly. "Yes," she replied.

"I thought you would. He's so handsome. Don't you think him handsome?"

"Yes."

"He is astonishingly clever, too. Everybody is talking about what they call his New Gospel. Do you believe in his New Gospel, dear?"

"I don't know what it is."

"I'm not quite sure that I do. What is his New Gospel, Don?"

"That he alone can explain, Aunt. But it is going to stir up the world.

Paul is a genius--the only true genius of the age."

"Quite agree. I don't know that it isn't just as well. Don't you think it may be just as well, dear?"

"I don't know," said Flamby, looking up slowly.

"I'm not quite sure that I do. Has your furniture arrived, dear?"

"Not yet, Aunt," replied Don on Flamby's behalf. "Most of it will have to be purchased, and I thought you might give Flamby some sort of a notion what to buy. Then we could trot off up town and get things."

"How delightful. I should have loved to join you, but I have promised to lunch with Mrs. Pooney, and I couldn't disappoint her. She is downstairs now, cooking a chicken. Someone sent her a chicken. Wasn't that nice?"

"Very decent of someone. I hope it is a tender chicken. And now, Aunt, could Flamby take a peep at your place and perhaps make a sort of list.

Some of the things we could get to-day, and perhaps to-morrow you could run along with her and complete the purchases."

"I should love it. Dear me!" Into the round blue eyes came suddenly tears of laughter, and Mrs. Chumley became convulsed with silent merriment, glancing helplessly from Don to Flamby. This merriment was contagious; so that ere long all three were behaving quite ridiculously.

"Whatever is the Aunt laughing about?" inquired Don.

"Dear me!" gasped Mrs. Chumley, struggling to regain composure--"poor child! Of course you have nowhere to sleep to-night. How ridiculous--a squirrel without a nest." She hugged Flamby affectionately. "You will stay with me, dear, won't you?"

"Oh, but really--may I? Have you room?"

"Certainly, dear. Friends often stay with me. I have a queer thing in my sitting-room that looks like a bookcase, but is really a bed. You can stay with me just as long as you like. There is no hurry to get your own place ready, is there? There isn't any hurry, is there, Don?"

"No particular hurry, Aunt. But, naturally, Flamby will get things in order as soon as possible."

"Thank you so much," said Flamby, faint traces of mist disturbing her sight.

"Not at all, dear. I'm glad. The longer you stay the gladder I shall be.

What an absurd word--gladder. There is something wrong about it, surely, Don?"

"More glad would perhaps be preferable, Aunt."

Mrs. Chumley immediately succ.u.mbed to silent merriment for a time. "How absurd!" she said presently. "Gladder! I don't believe there is such a word in the dictionary. Do you believe there is such a word in the dictionary, dear?"

"I don't think there is," replied Flamby.

"No, I expect there isn't. I don't know that it may not be just as well.

Come along, dear. You can come, too, if you like, Don, or you might prefer to look at your own drawings in the _Courier_. If I drew I should love to look at my own drawings. You may smoke here, Don, of course. A number of the residents smoke. Do you smoke, Flamby?"

"No, but I think I should like it."

"Quite agree. It _is_ soothing. You will wait here, then, Don? Come along, dear."

IV

An hour later when Flamby and Don came out of The Hostel, the rain clouds were breaking, and sunlight--somewhat feeble, but sunlight withal--was seeking bravely to disperse the gloom. Flamby was conscious of an altered outlook; the world after all was not utterly grey; such was the healing influence of a sympathetic soul.

"You know," said Don, as they pa.s.sed through the gateway, "I am delighted with the way you have taken to the dear old Aunt. She is so often misunderstood, and it makes me writhe to see people laugh at her--unkindly, I mean. Of course her method of conversation is ridiculously funny, I know; but a woman who can suffer the misfortunes which have befallen the Aunt and come out with the heart of a child is worth studying, I think. Personally, I always feel a lot better after a chat with her. She is a perfect well of sympathy."

"I think she is the sweetest woman I have ever met," declared Flamby earnestly. "How could anyone help loving her?"

"People don't or won't understand her, you see, and misunderstanding is the mother of intolerance. Ah! there is a taxi on the rank."

"Oh," cried Flamby quickly--"please don't get another cab for me."

"Eh? No cab?"

"I cannot afford it and I could not think of allowing you to pay for everything."

"Now let us have a thorough understanding, Flamby," said Don, standing facing her, that sunny rejuvenating smile making his tanned face look almost boyish. "You remember what I said on the subject of misunderstanding? Listen, then: I am on leave and my money is burning a hole in my pocket; money always does. If I had a sister--I have but she is married and lives at Harrogate--I should ask her to take pity upon me and spend a few days in my company. An exchange of views with some nice girl who understands things is imperative after one has been out of touch with everything feminine for months and months. It is a natural desire which must be satisfied, otherwise it leads a man to resort to desperate measures in the quest for sympathy. Because of your father you are more to me than a sister, Flamby, and if you will consent to my treating you as one you will be performing an act of charity above price. The Aunt quite understands and approves. Isn't that good enough?"

Flamby met his gaze honestly and was satisfied. "Yes," she replied.

"Myself and what is mine to you and yours is now converted." The end of the quotation was almost inaudible, for it had leapt from Flamby's tongue unbidden. The idea that Don might suspect her of seeking to impress him with her learning was hateful to her. But Don on the contrary was quite frankly delighted.

"Hullo!" he cried--"is that Portia?"

"Yes, but please don't take any notice if I say funny things. I don't mean to. Dad loved _The Merchant of Venice_, and I know quite a lot of lines by heart."