Part 6 (1/2)
Eleanor never worries about anything. Should the train be missed or the luggage stray, it is all the same to her. An hour's wait on a dull little platform is never grumbled at. ”We'll just have to sit and whistle,” she declares, and amuses herself mimicking the porters, which she succeeds in doing wonderfully well, while Philip, in spite of numerous eccentricities, forgives her everything, and wors.h.i.+ps her devotedly.
”Alas! that we have to return,” he sighs, as they glide in a small boat on the Lake of Geneva. ”I must be back in the city this week.”
”And you will make me _lots_ of money?” expanding her eyes and showing her beautiful teeth.
”Won't you be contented with a little?”
”Oh, no. I want to entertain. You must bring your friends from London, and the house you have so long neglected shall be packed with guests.”
”We'll see about that,” says Philip, not liking to damp her ardour.
”YOU must remember, though, that I am not a walking gold mine, little wife.”
”Can the boatman understand what we say?”
”He only knows a smattering of English. What a strong, steady stroke he pulls!”
Eleanor leans over the side, gazing down the clear depths. ”I never saw such wonderful water,” she says, ”you can see ever so far below.
How amusing it would be to drop pebbles in and watch them sink.”
”Here is a stray one on the seat,” said Philip, throwing it overboard.
Eleanor watches the descent with sparkling eyes.
”It is still in sight,” she cries, ”whirling through the water! My word! how clear the lake is. I must see it again.”
She glances round, but there are no more stones.
Before Philip has time to stop her she opens her purse and drops a coin over the side of the boat.
”Look! there it goes,” laughing lightly. ”Isn't it fascinating?”
[Ill.u.s.tration: ”Look! there it goes.”]
The rower has stopped, and with eager, covetous eyes watches the wilful waste. Those coins would mean bread to him and his children, while she throws them to feed the deep! Another and yet another fall from her slim hands.
Philip has turned quite pale with auger.
”Stop! Eleanor,” he says, sternly, ”you do not realise what you are doing. It is wicked.”
But she shrugs her shoulders and drops another.
”Do you hear what I say?” he mutters, grasping her wrist. ”I'll have no more of this. Look at that poor fellow's eyes; why, he would like to murder you. It is enough to call down the judgment of Heaven upon us.”
”Just one more, only five centimes, Philip, and the man shall have all that is left in my purse.”
”No,” he replies, still retaining her arm in an iron grip.
”Don't; you hurt me.”