Part 14 (2/2)

”Well, you've told me your adventures, so there's an end of that. But I've had a little adventure of my own this afternoon; though whether it would interest you to hear it----”

”Oh, do tell me!” said Austin, eagerly. ”An adventure--you?”

”I'm not sure whether adventure is quite the correct expression,”

replied Aunt Charlotte, ”and I don't quite know how to begin. You see, my dear Austin, that you are very young.”

”It isn't anything improper, is it?” asked Austin, innocently.

”If you say such things as that I won't utter another word,” rejoined his aunt. ”I simply state the fact--that you are very young.”

”And I hope I shall always remain so,” Austin said.

”That being the case,” resumed his aunt, impressively, ”a great many things happened long before you were born.”

”I've never doubted that for a moment, even in my most sceptical moods,” Austin a.s.sured her seriously.

”Well, I once knew a gentleman,” continued Aunt Charlotte, ”of whom I used to see a great deal. Indeed I had reasons for believing that--the gentleman--rather appreciated my--conversation. Perhaps I was a little more sprightly in those days than I am now. Anyhow, he paid me considerable attention----”

”Oh!” cried Austin, opening his eyes as wide as they would go. ”Oh, auntie!”

”Of course things never went any further,” said Aunt Charlotte, ”though I don't know what might have happened had it not been that I gave him no encouragement whatever.”

”But why didn't you? What was he like? Tell me all about him!”

interrupted Austin, excitedly. ”Was he a soldier, like father? I'm sure he was--a beautiful soldier in the Blues, whatever the Blues may be, with a grand uniform and clanking spurs. That's the sort of man that would have captivated you, auntie. Was he wounded? Had he a wooden leg? Oh, go on, go on! I'm dying to hear all about it.”

”That he had a uniform is possible, though I never saw him wear one, and it may have been blue for anything I know; but that wouldn't imply that he was in the Blues,” replied his aunt, sedately. ”No; the strange thing was that he suddenly went abroad, and for five-and-twenty years I never heard of him. And now he has written me a letter.”

”A letter!” cried Austin. ”This _is_ an adventure, and no mistake. But go on, go on.”

”I never was more astounded in my life,” resumed his aunt. ”A letter came from him this afternoon. He recalls himself to my remembrance, and says--this is the most singular part--that he was actually staying quite close to here only a short time ago, but had no idea that I was living here. Had he known it he would most certainly have called, but as he has only just discovered it, quite accidentally, he says he shall make a point of coming down again, when he hopes he may be permitted to renew our old acquaintance.”

”Now look here, auntie,” said Austin, sitting bolt upright. ”Let him call, by all means, and see how well you look after being deserted for five-and-twenty years; but I don't want a step-uncle, and you are not to give me one. Fancy me with an Uncle Charlotte! That wouldn't do, you know. You won't give me a step-uncle, will you? Please!”

”Don't be absurd, my dear; and do, for goodness' sake, keep that dreadful leg of yours quiet if you can. It always gives me the jumps when you go on jerking it about like that. Of course I should never dream of marrying now; but I confess I do feel a little curious to see what my old friend looks like after all these years----”

”Your old admirer, you mean,” interpolated Austin. ”To think of your having had a romance! You can't throw stones at Lady Merthyr Tydvil now, you know. I believe you're a regular flirt, auntie, I do indeed.

This poor young man now; you say he disappeared, but _I_ believe you simply drove him away in despair by your cruelty. Were you a 'cruel maid' like the young women one reads about in poetry-books? Oh, auntie, auntie, I shall never have faith in you again.”

”You're a very disrespectful boy, that's what _you_ are,” retorted Aunt Charlotte, turning as pink as her ribbons. ”The gentleman we're speaking of must be quite elderly, several years older than I am, and, for all I know, he may have a wife and half-a-dozen grown-up children by this time. You let your tongue wag a very great deal too fast, I can tell you, Austin.”

”But what's his name?” asked Austin, not in the least abashed. ”We can't go on for ever referring to him as 'the gentleman,' as though there were no other gentlemen in the world, can we now?”

”His name is Ogilvie--Mr Granville Ogilvie,” replied his aunt. ”He belongs to a very fine old family in the north. There have been Ogilvies distinguished in many ways--in literature, in the services, and in politics. But there was always a mystery about Granville, somehow. However, I expect he'll be calling here in a few days, and then, no doubt, your curiosity will be gratified.”

”Oh, I know what he'll be like,” said Austin. ”A lean, brown traveller, with his face tanned by tropic suns and Arctic snows to the colour of an old saddle-bag. His hair, of course, prematurely grey. On his right cheek there'll be a lovely bright-blue scar, where a charming tiger scratched him just before he killed it with unerring aim. I know the sort of person exactly. And now he comes to say that he lays his battered, weather-worn old carcase at the feet of the cruel maid who spurned it when it was young and strong and beautiful.

And the cruel maid, now in the full bloom of placid maternity--I mean maturity----”

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