This was a drop of comfort. But as, at the next encounter, he still did not offer to join them--could it, indeed, be expected that he would prefer her company to that of the pretty, grown-up girls he was with?--as he again sidled past, Tilly, who had given him one of her most vivacious sparkles, turned and shot a glance at Laura's face.

"For pity's sake, look a little more amiable, or he won't come at all."

Laura felt more like crying; her sunshine was intercepted, her good spirits were quenched; had she had her will, she would have turned tail and gone straight back to school. She had not wanted Bob, had never asked him to be 'gone' on her, and if she had now to fish for him, into the bargain...However there was no help for it; the thing had to be gone through with; and, since Tilly seemed disposed to lay the blame of his lukewarmness at her door, Laura glued her mouth, the next time Bob hove in sight, into a feeble smile.

Soon afterwards he came up to them. His cousin had an arch greeting in readiness.

"Well, you've been doing a pretty mash, you have!" she cried, and jogged him with her elbow. "No wonder you'd no eyes for poor us. What price Miss Woodward's gloves this morning!"--at which Bob laughed, looked sly, and tapped his breast pocket.

It was time to be moving homewards. Tilly and her beau led the way.

"For we know you two would rather be alone. Now, Bob, not too many sheep's-eyes, please!"

Bob smiled, and let fly a wicked glance at Laura from under his dark lashes. Dropping behind, they began to mount the hill. Now was the moment, felt Laura, to say something very witty, or pert, or clever; and a little pulse in her throat beat hard, as she furiously racked her brains. Oh, for just a morsel of Tilly's loose-tonguedness! One after the other she considered and dismissed: the pleasant coolness of the morning, the crowded condition of the street, even the fact of the next day being Sunday--ears and cheeks on fire, meanwhile, at her own slow-wittedness. And Bob smiled. She almost hated him for that smile.

It was so a.s.sured, and withal so disturbing. Seen close at hand his teeth were whiter, his eyes browner than she had believed. His upper lip, too, was quite dark; and he fingered it incessantly, as he waited for her to make the onslaught.

But he waited in vain; and when they had walked a whole street-block in this mute fashion, it was he who broke the silence.

"Ripping girls, those Woodwards," he said, and seemed to be remembering their charms.

"Yes, they looked very nice," said Laura in a small voice, and was extremely conscious of her own thirteen years.

"Simply stunning! Though May's so slender--May's the pretty one--and has such a jolly figure ... I believe I could span her waist with my two hands ... her service is just A1--at tennis I mean."

"Is it really?" said Laura wanly, and felt unutterably depressed at the turn the conversation was taking.--Her own waist was coa.r.s.e, her knowledge of tennis of the slightest.

"Ra-THER! Overhand, with a cut on it--she plays with a 14-oz. racquet.

And she has a back drive, too, by Jove, that--you play, of course?"

"Oh, yes." Laura spoke up manfully; but prayed that he would not press his inquiries further. At this juncture his attention was diverted by the pa.s.sing of a fine tandem; and as soon as he brought it back to her again, she said: 'You're at Trinity, aren't you?'--which was finesse; for she knew he wasn't.

"Well, yes ... all but," answered Bob well pleased. "I start in this winter."

"How nice!"

There was another pause; then she blurted out: "We church girls always wear Trinity colours at the boat-race."

She hoped from her heart, this might lead him to say that he would look out for her there; but he did nothing of the kind. His answer was to the effect that this year they jolly well expected to knock Ormond into a c.o.c.ked hat.

Lunch threatened to be formidable. To begin with, Laura, whose natural, easy frankness had by this time all but been successfully educated out of her, Laura was never shyer with strangers than at a meal, where every word you said could be listened to by a tableful of people. Then, too, her vis-a-vis was a small sharp child of five or six, called Thumbby, or Thumbkin, who only removed her bead-like eyes from Laura's face to be saucy to her father. And, what was worse, the Uncle turned out to be a type that struck instant terror into Laura: a full-fledged male tease.--He was, besides, very hairy of face, and preternaturally solemn.

No sooner had he drawn in his chair to the table than he began. Lifting his head and thrusting out his chin, he sniffed the air in all directions with a moving nose--just as a cat does. Everyone looked at him in surprise. Tilly, who sat next him, went pink.

"What is it, dear?" his wife at last inquired in a gentle voice; for it was evident that he was not going to stop till asked why he did it.

"Mos' extraor'nary smell!" he replied. "Mother, d'you know, I could take my appledavy some one has been using my scent."

"Nonsense, Tom."

"Silly pa!" said the little girl.

Ramming his knuckles into his eyes, he pretended to cry at his daughter's rebuke; then bore down on Laura.

"D'you know, Miss Ra ... Ra ... Rambotham"--he made as if he could not get her name out--"d'you know that I'm a great man for scent? Fact. I take a bath in it every morning."

Laura smiled uncertainly, fixed always by the child.

"Fact, I a.s.sure you. Over the tummy, up to the chin.--Now, who's been at it? For it's my opinion I shan't have enough left to shampoo my eyebrows.--Bob, is it you?"

"Don't be an a.s.s, pater."

"Cut me some bread, Bob, please," said Tilly hastily.

"Mos' extraor'nary thing!" persisted the Uncle. "Or--good Lord, mother, can it be my monthly attack of D.T.'s beginning already? They're not due, you know, till next week, Monday, five o'clock."

"Dear, DON'T be so silly. Besides it's my scent, not yours. And anyone is welcome to it."

"Well, well, let's call in the cats!--By the way, Miss Ra ... Ra ...

Rambotham, are you aware that this son of mine is a professed lady-killer?"

Laura and Bob went different shades of crimson.

"Why has she got so red?" the child asked her mother, in an audible whisper.

"Oh, CHUCK it, pater!" murmured Bob in disgust.

"Fact, I a.s.sure you. Put not your trust in Robert! He's always on with the new love before he's off with the old. You ask him whose glove he's still cherishing in the pocket next his heart."

Bob pushed his plate from him and, for a moment, seemed about to leave the table. Laura could not lift her eyes. Tilly chewed in angry silence.

Here, however, the child made a diversion.

"You're a lady-kilda yourself, pa."

"Me, Thumbkin?--Mother, d'you hear that?--Then it's the whiskers, Thumbby. Ladies love whiskers--or a fine drooping moustache, like my son Bob's." He sang: "'Oh, oh, the ladies loved him so!'"

"Tom, dear, DO be quiet."

"Tom, Tom, the piper's son!" chirped Thumbby.

"Well, well, let's call in the cats!"--which appeared to be his way of changing the subject.

It seemed, after this, as though the remainder of lunch might pa.s.s off without further hitch. Then however and all of a sudden, while he was peeling an apple, this dreadful man said, as though to himself: "Ra ...

Ra ... Rambotham. Now where have I heard that name?"

"Wa ... Wa ... Wamboffam!" mocked Thumbkin.

"Monkey, if you're so sharp you'll cut yourself!--Young lady, do you happen to come from Warrenega?" he asked Laura, when Thumbkin's excited chirrup of: "I'll cut YOU, pa, into little bits!" had died away.

Ready to sink through the floor, Laura replied that she did.