The Star-Gazers. Fenn George Manville
hugging her and calling her dearest in a week. That’s the way to clear that hedge, so here goes.”
He stopped, took a short run and cleared the hedge at the side of the lane in reality to begin with, before striking off through one of the adjacent fir woods, so as to reach the sandy lanes and wild common on the way to Brackley.
Volume One – Chapter Three.
Concerning Virgo and Gemini
“And what does Glynne say?”
“Well, Sir John, she don’t say much; it isn’t her way to say a deal.”
“Humph! No; you’re quite right. But I should have thought that she would have said a good deal upon an occasion like this.”
“Yes, I thought she would have roused up a little more; but she has been very quiet ever since I went into training for the event.”
“Hang it all, Rolph, don’t talk about marriage as if it were a bit of athletic sport.”
“No, of course not. It was a slip.”
“Well, tell me what she did say.”
“That I was to talk to you.”
“Humph! Well, you have talked to me, and I don’t know what to say.”
“Say yes, sir, and then the event’s fixed.”
“Exactly, my dear boy, but I might say yes, and repent.”
“Oh no, you won’t, sir, I’m precious fond of her; I am, indeed. Have been since a boy.”
“No one could know my daughter without being fond of her,” said Sir John stiffly.
“Of course not; and that’s why I want to make sure.”
“Humph!” ejaculated Sir John. “You’ve a good income, my boy, and you’re a fine, sound fellow; but I don’t much like the idea of my little Glynne marrying into the army.”
“Oh, but I shall only stay in till I get my commission as major; and then I mean to retire and become a country squire.”
“Humph! yes; and go in more for athleticism, I suppose.”
“Well, I think an English country gentleman ought to foster the sports and pastimes of his native land – the hunt, the race meetings, and that sort of thing.”
“Humph! Do you? Well, I think, my boy, that we ought to take to agriculture and the improvement of stock. But there, I daresay you’ll tone down.”
“Then you have no objection, Sir John?”
“Who? – I? None at all, my boy; I liked your father, and I hope you’ll make her a good husband – as good a husband as I did my poor wife; though, as the common folk say, I say it as shouldn’t say it. Now then, have you any more questions to ask?”
“No, I don’t think I have. Of course I’m very happy and that sort of thing. A fellow is sure to be at such a time, you know.”
“Yes, yes, of course. To be sure. Then that’s all is it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t want to ask questions about settlements, eh?”
“No, I don’t want to ask any questions. I want Glynne, and you say I may have her; so that’s all.”
“Come along then, and see my pigs.”
Captain Robert Rolph looked a little chagrined at the suggestion respecting pigs; but he concealed his annoyance and walked briskly on beside his companion, Sir John Day, Bart of Brackley Hall, Surrey, a grey, florid, stoutly-built gentleman, whose aspect betokened much of his time being spent in the open air. He was an intent, bright, bustling-looking man, with grey, mutton-chop whiskers; and his drab-cord trousers, brown velveteen coat and low-crowned, grey hat, gave quite a country squire, country-town-bench turn to his appearance.
“I’ve great faith in these pigs,” he said, sharply. “Been at a deal of trouble to get hold of the breed, and if I don’t take a cup at the Agricultural Show this year, I shall be down upon some of those judges – in the Times.”
“Ah, ’tis disappointing when you’ve set your mind upon a cup and don’t get it,” said the captain. “How many have you won, Sir John?”
“What, cups? Thirty-four, my boy, thirty-four.”
“Ah, I’ve got fifty,” said the captain, with a touch of pride in his tone. “When I go in training for anything, I always say to myself, I shall put it off, and I pretty generally do.”
“Humph! yes,” said Sir John, shortly; “so I suppose. Oh, by the way though, Rolph, you’d oblige me very much by going back to the house. I’ll show you the pigs another day.”
“Certainly, certainly,” said the young man with alacrity.
“You see there’s my brother. He thinks a great deal of Glynne, and I never like to take any important step in life without consulting him. Do you understand?”
“Well – er, not exactly.”
“Oh, I mean, just go back and see him, and say what you did to me just now.”
“What! Do you mean I must ask his consent, Sir John?” cried the young man, aghast.
“No, no, no! of course not, my dear boy. Tell him I’ve given mine, and that it’s all settled, and that you hope he approves, and – you know what to say. He’ll like it. Be right, you see. Captain to senior officer, eh? There, be off, and get it over. I must go on and see the pigs.”
“Confound the major!” said Captain Rolph, as he stopped, looking after the brisk retreating figure of the baronet. “He’ll want me to ask the housekeeper next. Hang it all! it’s almost worth more than the stakes. I did think I’d got it over. The old major’s as peppery as a curry. He’ll want to order me under arrest if he doesn’t like the engagement. Well, here goes to get it over. Let’s see; just a mile to the park gates. Pity to waste it.”
He glanced round to see if there was anyone near, but he was quite alone on the hard, sandy, retired road; so, buttoning his well-cut morning coat tightly across his chest, he tucked up his cuffs and the bottoms of his trousers, selected two smooth pebbles about as large as kidneys from a stone heap, clasped one firmly in each hand, and then thrust one in his pocket for a moment while he referred to a stop watch, replaced it, took hold of the stone once more, and then, throwing himself into position, the gentlemanly officer seemed to subside into the low-type professional walking or running man.
For a few moments he remained motionless in a statuesque attitude, his brow all in wrinkles, his teeth set, lips tight, and his chest expanded and thrown forward as if he were waiting the order to start. Then he cried, “Off!” and bounded away at a rapid rate, running hard till he reached the park gates at Brackley, where he stopped short, threw away the stones, referred to his watch, and nodded and smiled as he drew himself up – the stiff, military officer once more.
“Not bad,” he said, “and as fresh as a daisy. I could have done it in half a minute less. Now, I’ll go and see the old man.”
Captain Rolph did not “see the old man” then, for when he reached the house, the old man – that is to say, Major Day, formerly of a lancer regiment that took part in several engagements in the Sikh war, but who had long since hung up his sabre in his bedroom at Brackley – was out for a morning walk, following a pursuit in which he took great delight – to wit, gathering fungi, a family of plants that he made his study, and he was coming back with a small, bright trowel in one hand, his stout stick in the other, and a large salmon creel slung from his shoulder, when he encountered his brother, the baronet, striding away to his model farm.
Major Day was a fierce-looking, smart, officer-like man of sixty, with curly grey hair that stood out from his well-shaped head, piercing eyes, heavy dark brows, and a massive, zebra-patterned moustache, the rest of his face being closely shaven.
Perhaps “zebra-patterned” is an unusual term to