Part 13 (1/2)
”It's jolly here and cool and out of the crush. You don't want to watch the Johannesburg chap, do you?”
She would have preferred to watch the play on the centre court. It was clear that the Johannesburg man would carry off the champions.h.i.+p in the men's singles; but she gave in to his wish and decided to remain where she was.
Sinclair's manner was nervous and preoccupied; but the girl did not appear to notice it; she did not want to talk. Her companion smoked cigarettes and stared with a sort of strained attention at the game and jerked out an occasional comment. Presently he remarked apropos of nothing:
”I had a rise yesterday. That was an altogether unexpected stroke of luck.”
”Yes!” she exclaimed, turning an interested, unsuspicious face towards him. ”I am pleased. Why didn't you tell me before?”
He laughed.
”Too absorbed in our game,” he said, ”to think of it. But I'm thinking of it now. It makes a difference.”
”I suppose it does. You'll be bursting forth into extravagances. Why don't you keep a car?”
”Not yet,” he said. ”I want other things more urgently than that.”
”What things?”
”I'll tell you to-night,” he said, reddening.
”Yes,” she said, her thoughts reverting to the discussion in the pavilion. ”During half a programme you'll find time enough to tell me a good deal.”
He glanced at her quickly.
”You didn't mind?” he said. ”It's only the second half; and you'll be tired. You won't want to dance much.”
”Oh, indeed! Then what do you propose we shall do? If we don't dance we might as well remain at home.”
”We'll dance all you want to,” he replied. ”And we'll go for a stroll along the sea wall. The weather is too hot for being inside. You shall do what you like anyhow.”
”You are always so amenable, George,” she said, smiling. ”And you always get your own way in the end.”
He smiled back at her with gay confidence.
”My luck's in,” he replied. ”The G.o.ds smile on me. I told you, Esme, that I meant to win.”
”I did my utmost to prevent you,” she said.
”You understand co-operation, partner,” he returned coolly. ”That's good enough for me.”
She did not in the least understand the drift of his remarks, although he believed he was tactfully preparing her for the declaration he intended making that night. The last thing she antic.i.p.ated was the proposal which hovered continually in the forefront of Sinclair's mind.
He intended to put his luck to the test that evening, and felt fairly confident as to the result. He had not the remotest suspicion of possessing a rival. The road ahead, so far as he could see, was perfectly clear.
Book 2--CHAPTER FIFTEEN.
It seemed to Sinclair that all the conditions that night favoured his suit. It was a perfect evening, warm and still, with a brilliant moon in a cloudless sky lighting the world with a luminous whiteness in which everything was revealed scarcely less clearly than in the daylight. It was a night for lovers, for the open air and solitude; it was not a night for dancing. Sinclair, after the first dance, which he had with Esme, was content to remain on the outskirts of the crowd and look on at the rest. The floor was thronged with dancers. The lights, the music, the colour of the moving crowd, appealed pleasantly to the senses. He liked to watch; and every now and again he caught Esme's eye and won a smile from her which cheered him. She appeared more than usually sweet and kind that night, he thought.
The supper dance gave him the right to claim her again. In the interim he had done a lot of thinking. He had his phrases turned and clear in his mind. He knew very definitely what he wanted to say; he had rehea.r.s.ed it in his thoughts endless times. And he knew the right atmosphere for the deliverance of those neatly turned sentences. He wasn't going to fling the thing at her in a crowded room with numberless people present. They would slip away together in the moonlight, and stroll along the sea wall, against which the tiny waves broke softly, running in and curling round the rocks, slapping musically against the stonework which checked their further advance. He could tell her to the accompaniment of the sea what he could not tell her in a hot and crowded place. He wanted her to himself, away from these others.
It was not a difficult matter to persuade her to go with him. With the finish of supper they left the hall together, crossed the moonlit square, pa.s.sed the Customs House, and so on to the sea wall, where the quiet of the night was undisturbed; the swish of lapping water and the low murmur of the sea were the only audible sounds in the surrounding stillness.