Six weeks had sloped by.
The train ran slowly into the station. I got out. Then I rememberedmy umbrella and got back. Then I got out again. "Porter," I said.
The individual addressed turned round, and I saw it was thestation-master. For a few moments he regarded me with indignation,obviously wondering whether he would be exceeding his duty if heordered me to be flung to the engine. Two inspectors hovered longinglynear him. Then he said "Chut!" and turned away.
I fought my way the length of the platform to the vicinity of theluggage van. Four porters were standing looking moodily at the luggagealready upon the platform.
I touched one on the shoulder.
"Yes," I said, "it's a nice bit of luggage, isn't it?"
He said it was.
"Don't you think it's that dressing-case that does it? Lends an air ofdistinction to the rest. Bucks it all up, as it were, eh?"
Before he could reply:
"So you're down for the week-end too," said a voice I should haverecognized amid the hubbub of the heavenly choir. "Staying atWatereaton?"
It was she.
Such a pretty girl. Very fair, very blue eyes, a beautiful skin,and--yes, a dimple. She was wearing a long, fur coat, while a littleblack felt hat with a ghost of a brim leaned exquisitely over one ofthe blue eyes. Her hands were plunged into deep pockets, but a pair ofmost admirable legs more than made good the deficit.
I sighed.
"Disappointed?" she said.
"Not in you--you're beautiful. But in myself. Yes, I shall resign."
"Resign?"
"My scout-hood."
"You were wrong about my hair, but--"
"But what?"
"You knew me again, at any rate."
"But of course. You've the same voice and the same dear laugh,and--yes, you've got--"
"What?"
"The same ear-rings," said I.
The Brother of Daphne Page 4
