The Whirligig of Time Part 40

"See here, Harold Wimbourne," said Madge, suddenly jumping up again; "it seems to me you've been talking a great deal about love and very little about marriage. What I want to know is, when are you going to marry me?"

"Oh, the tiresome woman! Well, when should you say?"

"To-morrow morning, preferably. If that won't do, about next Tuesday.

No, of course I've got heaps of things to do first. How about the middle of October?"

"I was just thinking," said Harry seriously. "You see, my dear, I'm at present working on a play. Technically speaking. Only, owing to the vaporous scruples of a certain young person I haven't been able to put in any work on it for several months. Bachmann has been very decent. He has practically promised to put it on in January, if it's any good at all. That means having it ready before Christmas, and I shall have to work like the very devil to do that. I work so confoundedly slowly, you see. Then there'll be all the bother of rehearsals, lasting up to the first night, which I suppose would be about the end of January. I should like to have up till then clear, but I should think by about the middle of February--say the fifteenth...."

"Oh, indeed," replied Miss Elliston, "you should say about the fifteenth, should you? I'm sorry, very sorry indeed, but as it happens I have another engagement for the fifteenth--several of them. Possibly I could arrange something for next June, though, or a year from next January; possibly not. Better let the matter drop, perhaps; sorry to have disturbed--"

"When will you marry me?" interrupted Harry, doing something that entirely destroyed the dignity of Miss Elliston's pose. "Next week--to-morrow--to-night? I daresay we could wake up a parson...."

"Sorry, dear, but I've arranged to be married on the fifteenth of February, and no other date will do. You're hurting my left shoulder-blade cruelly, but I suppose it's all right. That's better....

Oh, Harry, I do want you to work like the very devil on this play! Don't think about marriage, or me, or anything that will hinder you. Because, dearest, I have a feeling that it's going to be rather a good one. A perfect rip-snorter, to descend to the vulgar parlance."

"Yes," said Harry, "I have a feeling that it is, too."

The sound of carriage wheels crunching along the gravel drive floated down and brought them back with a start to the consideration of actualities. They both sat silently wondering for a moment.

"What about Mrs. Gilson?" suggested Madge.

"Might as well," replied Harry.

"All right. You'll have to do it, though."

"Very well, then. Come along."

They rose and stood for a moment among the scattered chairs, both thinking of their absurd meeting on that spot this very afternoon, and then turned and started slowly up toward the house. When they had nearly reached the verandah steps Harry stopped and turned toward Madge.

"Well, the whole world is changed for us two, isn't it?"

"It is."

"Nothing will ever be quite the same again, but always better, somehow.

Even indifferent things. And nothing can ever spoil this one evening?"

"Nothing?"

"Not all the powers of heaven or earth or h.e.l.l? We have a sort of blanket insurance against the whole universe?"

"Exactly," said Madge. "We're future-proof."

"That's it, future-proof. I'll wait here on the porch. No Fitzgerald, mind."

He did not have to wait long. Madge found Mrs. Gilson in the hall, as it happened, with Miss Fitzgerald receding bedward up the stairs and far too tired to pay any attention to Madge's gentle "Mr. Wimbourne is here and would like to see you, Mrs. Gilson." So the good lady was led out into the dark porch and as she stood blinking in the shaft of light falling out through the doorway Harry appeared in the blackness and began speaking.

"I do hope you'll excuse my being so rude and leaving your party, Mrs.

Gilson. There was a real reason for it. You see Madge and I"--taking her hand--"have come to an understanding. We're engaged."

Mrs. Gilson stood blinking harder than ever for one bewildered moment, and then the floodgates of speech were opened.

"Oh, my _dear_, how _wonderful_! Madge, my dearest Madge, let me kiss you! Whoever could have _dreamed_--Harry--you don't mind my calling you Harry, do you?--you must let me kiss you too! It's all so wonderful, and so unexpected, and I can't help thinking that if your dear mother--oh, Madge, you double-dyed creature, how long has this been going on and I never knew a thing? We all thought--your brother was so tactful and gave us to understand that you had acute indigestion or something, left over from the voyage, and we all quite understood, though I did think there might be something afoot when I saw your buckboard at the door. And I haven't heard a thing about Spain and Portugal, not a _thing_, though goodness knows there's no time to think of that now and you must let me give a dinner for you both at the earliest possible moment. When is it to be announced? I do hope before Labor Day because there's never a man to be had on the island after that...."

And so on. At last Harry made the lateness of the hour an excuse for breaking away and went round to the front door to get his buckboard.

Madge had to go with him, though she had no particular interest in the buckboard.

"She's a good woman," said Harry as he fumbled with the halter.

"Though--whoa there, you silly beast; you're liable to choke to death if you do that."

"The rein's caught over the shaft," explained Madge. "It makes her uncomfortable. Though what, dear?"

"That's the trace, and it's him, anyway. Oh, nothing. Only I never was so awfully keen on s...o...b..ring."

"She's a dear, really. If you knew what an angel she's been to me all summer! What makes her look round in that wild-eyed way?"

From Harry's answer, "He's tired, that's all," we may a.s.sume that this question referred to the horse, though her next remark went on without intermission: "I don't want you to go away to-night thinking--"

"I like s...o...b..ring," a.s.serted Harry. "Always did.... Now if that's all, dear, perhaps I'd better make tracks." The last ceremonies of parting had been performed and he was in the buckboard.

"Just a moment, while I kiss your horse's nose. It doesn't do to neglect these little formalities.... I'm glad you like s...o...b..ring, dear, because your horse has done it all over my shoulder ... no, don't get out. It had to go in the wash anyway. He's a sweet horse; what is his name?"

"d.i.c.k, I think. Oh, no--Kruger. Yes, he's that old."

"Because, dear," went on Madge, with her hand on the front wheel; "there's one thing one mustn't forget. There was--Mr. Gilson, you know."

"Good Lord," said Harry, struck by the thought.

"Yes, and what's more, there still is!"

"A true model for us?"

"Yes. After all, we have no monopoly, you know."

"Good Lord, think of it! Millions of others!"

"It gives one a certain faith in the human race, doesn't it?"

"For Heaven's sake, Madge, don't be ultimate any more to-night! You make me dizzy--how do you suppose I'm going to drive between those white stones? Do you want me to be in love with the whole world?" And Madge's reply "Yes, dear, just that," was drowned in the clatter of his wheels.

CHAPTER VII