The Hound From The North. Cullum Ridgwell
are going to have tea early, Leslie, so that we can get through with it comfortably before the people come.”
“Oh yes, I forgot you are having a ‘Progressive Euchre’ party to-night. What time does it begin? I mean the party.”
“Seven o’clock. But you are going to stay to tea?”
Grey glanced up at the yellow face of the grandfather’s clock and shook his head.
“Afraid not, little girl. I’ve got some work to do in connection with Thursday week. I will drop in about nine o’clock. Who’re coming?”
“Is it really necessary, this work?” There was a touch of bitterness in Prudence’s voice. But the next moment she went on cheerfully. She would not allow herself to stand in her lover’s way. “The usual people are coming. It will be just our monthly gathering of neighbouring–moss-backs,” with a laugh. “The Turners, the Furrers–Peter Furrers, of course; he still hopes to cut you out–and the girls; old Gleichen and his two sons, Harry and Tim. And the Ganthorns from Rosebank and their cousins the Covills of Lakeville. And–I almost forgot him–mother’s flame, George Iredale of Lonely Ranch.”
“Is Iredale coming? It’s too bad of you to have him here, Prue. Your mother’s flame–um, I like that. Why, he’s been after you for over three years. It’s not right to ask him when I am here, besides–” Grey broke off abruptly. Darkness hid the angry flush which had spread over his face. The girl knew he was angry. His tone was raised, and there was no mistaking Leslie Grey’s anger. He was very nearly a gentleman, but not quite.
“I think I have a perfect right to ask him, Leslie,” she answered seriously. “His coming can make no possible difference to you. Frankly, I like him, but that makes no difference to my love for you. Why, you dear, silly thing, if he asked me from now till Doomsday I wouldn’t marry him. He’s just a real good friend. But still, if it will please you, I don’t mind admitting that mother insisted on his coming, and that I had nothing to do with it. That is why I call him mother’s flame. Now, then, take that ugly frown off your face and say you’re sorry.”
Grey showed no sign of obedience; he was very angry. It was believed and put about by the busy-bodies of the district, that George Iredale had sought Prudence Malling in marriage ever since she had grown up. He was a bachelor of close upon forty. One of those quiet, determined men, slow of speech, even clumsy, but quick to make up their minds, and endowed with a great tenacity of purpose. A man who rarely said he was going to do a thing, but generally did it. These known features in a man who, up to the time of the announcement of Prudence’s engagement to Grey, had been a frequent visitor to the farm, and who was also well known to be wealthy and more than approved of by Mrs. Malling, no doubt, gave a certain amount of colour to the belief of those who chose to pry into their neighbours’ affairs.
“Anyway I don’t think there is room for both Iredale and myself in the house,” Grey went on heatedly. “If you didn’t want him you should have put your foot down on your mother’s suggestion. I don’t think I shall come to-night.”
For one moment the girl looked squarely into her lover’s face and her pretty lips drew sharply together. Then she spoke quite coldly.
“You will–or I’ll never speak to you again. You are very foolish to make such a fuss.”
There was along silence between the lovers. Then Grey drew out his watch, opened it, glanced at the time, and snapped it closed again.
“I must go,” he said shortly.
Prudence had risen from the sofa. She no longer seemed to heed her lover. She was looking across the darkened room at the homely picture round the glowing stove.
“Very well,” she said. And she moved away from the man’s side.
The two old ladies pausing in their conversation heard Grey’s announcement and the answer Prudence made. Sarah Gurridge leaned towards her companion with a confidential movement of the head. The two grey heads came close together.
The school-ma’am whispered impressively–
“‘Maid who angers faithful swain
Will shed more tears and know mere pain
Than she who loves and loves in vain.’”
Hephzibah laughed tolerantly. Sarah’s earnestness never failed to amuse her.
“My dear,” the girl’s mother murmured back, when her comfortable laugh had gurgled itself out, “young folks must skit-skat and bicker, or where would be the making up? La, I’m sure when I was a girl I used to tweak my poor Silas’s nose for the love of making him angry–Silas had a long nose, my dear, as you may remember. Men hate to be tweaked, especially on their weak points. My Silas was always silly about his nose. And we never had less than half-an-hour’s making up. I wonder how Prudence has tweaked Mr. Grey–I can’t bring myself to call him Leslie, my dear.”
Prudence had reached her mother’s side. The two old heads parted with guilty suddenness.
“Oh, my dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Malling, “how you did startle me.”
“I’m sorry, mother,” the girl said, “but I wanted to tell you that Leslie is not coming to-night.” Prudence turned a mischievous face towards her lover.
Mrs. Malling wrinkled up her smooth forehead. She assumed an air of surprise.
“Why not, my child?”
“Oh, because you have asked Mr. Iredale. Leslie says it isn’t right.”
Prudence was still looking in her lover’s direction. He had his back turned. He was more angry than ever now.
“My dears,” said her mother with an indulgent smile, “you are a pair of silly noodles. But Mr. Grey–I mean Leslie–must please himself. George Iredale is coming because I have asked him. This house is yours to come and go as you like–er–Leslie. George Iredale has promised to come to the cards to-night. Did I hear you say you were going now? I should have taken it homely if you would have stayed to tea. The party begins at seven, don’t forget.”
Three pairs of quizzical eyes were fixed upon Grey’s good-looking but angry face. His anger was against Prudence entirely now. She had made him look foolish before these two ladies, and that was not easily to be forgiven. Grey’s lack of humour made him view things in a ponderous light. He felt most uncomfortable under the laughing gaze of those three ladies.
However, he would not give way an inch.
“Yes, I must go now,” he said ungraciously. “But not on account of George Iredale,” he added blunderingly. “I have some important work to do–”
He was interrupted by a suppressed laugh from Prudence. He turned upon her suddenly, glared, then walked abruptly to the door.
“Good-bye,” he exclaimed shortly, and the door closed sharply behind him.
“Why, Prudence,” said Mrs. Malling, turning her round laughing face to her daughter and indicating the door. “Aren’t you–”
“No, I’m not, mother dear,” the girl answered with a forced laugh.
Sarah Gurridge patted her late pupil’s shoulder affectionately. But her head shook gravely as though a weight of worldly wisdom was hers.
“I don’t think he’ll stay away,” said the mother, with a tender glance in the girl’s direction.
“He hasn’t chin enough,” said Sarah, who prided herself upon her understanding of physiognomy.
“Indeed he has,” retorted Prudence, who heard the remark.
Mrs. Malling was right, Leslie Grey was not going to stay away. He had no intention of doing so. But his reasons were quite apart from those Hephzibah Malling attributed to him. He wished to see George Iredale, and because of the man’s coming Grey would forego his angry desire to retaliate upon Prudence. He quite ignored what he was pleased to call his own pride in the matter. He would come because he had what he considered excellent reasons for so doing.
Prudence