FullReads

They preferred the bowling-green. Susannah conducted them to it, unlocked the box of bowls, and was returning to the house in a fluster, when, in the verandah before the front door, she came plump upon a bevy of young ladies, all as pretty as you please in muslin frocks and great summer hats to shield their complexions: whereof one, a little older than the rest (but pretty, notwithstanding), stepped forward and inquired, in a foreign-speaking voice, for Dr. Clatworthy.

“But he is in retard then!” this lady cried, when Susannah answered that, although she knew Dr. Clatworthy well, not a fur or feather of him had she seen that day (which was her way of putting it). “Ah, but how vexing! And Miss St. Maur was positive he would be beforehand!”

“Lor’ bless you, my pretty!” said Susannah, “If the doctor promised to be here, you may be sure he will be here.”

She went on to explain, as she had explained to the officers, that she was alone on the premises–her mistress had been called away upon sudden business–but if they would take the ups with the downs. . . . Then, her curiosity overcoming her–for, of course, she had heard gossip of the doctor’s intentions–“And which of you,” she asked, “is he going to marry, making so bold?”

“If Dr. Clatworthy is so ungallant–” began Miss Sophia, jabbing with the point of her parasol at a crevice in the flagstones of the verandah.

“Fie, dear!” cried Ma’amselle Julie, interrupting.

“Well, at any rate, the mazzards are ripe,” said Miss Sophia, “and I see no fun in waiting.”

“So that’s the maid,” said Susannah to herself, and pitied her–having herself no great admiration for Dr. Clatworthy, in spite of his riches: but she assured them that the doctor–the most punctual of men–would certainly arrive within a few minutes. And the mazzards were crying out to be eaten. If the young ladies would make free of the orchards while she fit and boiled the kettle . . .

“The fun of it is,” said Miss Sophia to Ma’amselle Julie ten minutes later, as they were staining their pretty lips with the juice of the black mazzards, “that if Dr. Clatworthy doesn’t appear–“

“But he will, dear.”

“The fun of it is that we haven’t, I believe, eighteenpence between us all.”

“Miss St. Maur was positive that he would be punctual,” said Ma’amselle Julie.

“But he isn’t, you see: and–oh, my dear, is it so wicked?–you can’t think how I wish he would never come–never, never, never!”

“Sophia!”

“Even,” went on Miss Sophia, nodding her head, “if I’ve eaten all these cherries under false pretences, and have to go to prison for it!”

Well, somehow, in all this the young ladies had been drawing nearer and nearer to the bowling-green, where the young officers were skylarking and trundling the bowls at the fat major at three shots a penny, and the pool going to the player who caught him on the ankles. When they were tired of this they came strolling forth in a body, the most of them with arms linked, just as Susannah appeared at the end of the path carrying a tray piled with tea-things.

“Hallo! Petticoats, begad!” said the youngest ensign among them; and Ma’amselle Julie, linking an arm in Miss Sophia’s, was turning away with a proper show of ignorance that any such thing as a party of young men existed in the world, when a voice cried out–

“Julie!”

“Eh?” the lady turned, all white in the face. “Eh? What–Edoo-ard? My cousin Edoo-ard?”

“Dear Julie!” It was the young French officer, and he ran and caught her by both hands and kissed them. “To think of meeting you, here in England! But let me introduce my friends–my friends the enemy.” And here he rattled off their names in a hurry.

“Really, one would suppose that Dr. Clatworthy was lost!” said Miss Sophia with a cold-seeming bow and a glance along the path.