Part 36 (1/2)
”But I am all alone, and very dull,” says Eleanor plaintively. ”Do rest and refresh yourselves.”
She sends for a man to take their horses, and receives them in the verandah with a gracious air.
”May I ask to whom we have the pleasure of speaking?” murmurs Captain Stevenson.
”Oh! didn't I introduce myself?” says Eleanor with a slight flush.
”How stupid of me! I am Mrs. Quinton, you know, or rather you _don't_ know,” laughing spontaneously. ”The fact is, Carol and I made a runaway match against the wishes of my relations--very shocking, was it not? But I am not going to appal you with domestic details. A whisky and soda is more to the point. Is not this an ideal spot?”
The visitors hardly notice the surrounding scenery. They are looking at the lovely features of their blus.h.i.+ng young hostess.
An Irish terrier has followed them hot and panting into the verandah.
”I have brought the dog I promised your husband,” says Captain Stevenson. ”He is a fine little fellow, and game for anything.”
”It is extremely good of you,” cries Eleanor, catching the dog up in her arms, and feeding him with biscuits.
She puts both the strangers at their ease at once. It is long since she has had anyone fresh to talk to, and the time flies, for they all three have much to say. Eleanor will not let them go.
”You must stay and lunch with me,” she murmurs persuasively. ”Carol will be so angry if I don't keep you, and the days are so long without him.”
”I can't think how it was we did not meet if he rode our way,” declares Major Short, when lunch is over, and Eleanor has begged them to smoke.
”Nor I; but he must be home early.”
”Is that your guitar?” asks Major Short.
”Yes, but unfortunately I cannot play it. Carol has taught me a few chords, but I have no music.”
”Short is the man to sing,” Captain Stevenson vouchsafes.
Eleanor seizes the instrument, and holds it out to him with a winning smile.
”Do give us one little song!” she pleads.
He takes the guitar with a kind look from his exquisite brown eyes, and strokes the strings, it seems so gently, that they whisper like the wind in the trees.
”What will you have?”
Eleanor leans forward with her chin between her hands, gazing at him intently.
”Anything you like.”
”This road,” says Captain Stevenson, leaning over the verandah, ”is the road to Mandalay. It seems impregnated with the spirit of Rudyard Kipling.”
”That shall be the song,” says Major Short.
Captain Stevenson half sits on the bal.u.s.trade, with the terrier beside him gazing up wistfully into his eyes. Eleanor retains her intent att.i.tude, as a voice more beautiful and mellow than any she has ever heard swells out on the hot air.
Eleanor is moved almost to tears by the magnetism of that wonderful sound, thrilling her very being, for she is highly emotional.
The tune is soft, and the well-known words to the familiar melody take pathos from their rough uncultured sentiment.