by J. M. Barrie
CHAPTER XIII
THE HOUSE-BOAT 'TAWNY OWL'
'Mr. Angus, what is an egotist?'
'Don't you know, Miss Meredith?'
'Well, I know in a general sort of way, but not precisely.'
'An egotist is a person who--but why do you want to know?'
'Because just now Mr. Abinger asked me what I was thinking of, and whenI said of nothing he called me an egotist.'
'Ah! that kind of egotist is one whose thoughts are too deep forutterance.'
It was twilight. Rob stood on the deck of the house-boat _Tawny Owl_,looking down at Nell, who sat in the stern, her mother beside her, amida blaze of Chinese lanterns. Dick lay near them, prone, as he had fallenfrom a hammock whose one flaw was that it gave way when any one got intoit. Mr. Meredith, looking out from one of the saloon windows across theblack water that was now streaked with glistening silver, wonderedwhether he was enjoying himself, and Mary, in a little blue nauticaljacket with a cap to match, lay back in a camp-chair on deck with asilent banjo in her hands. Rob was brazening it out in flannels, and hadbeen at such pains to select colours to suit him that the effect wasatrocious. He had spent several afternoons at Molesey during the threeweeks the _Tawny Owl_ had lain there, but this time he was to remainovernight at the Island Hotel.
The _Tawny Owl_ was part of the hoop of house-boats that almost girdedTagg's Island, and lights sailed through the trees, telling of launchesmoving to their moorings near the ferry. Now and again there was theecho of music from a distant house-boat. For a moment the water wasloquacious as dingeys or punts shot past. Canadian canoes, the ghoststhat haunt the Thames by night, lifted their heads out of the river,gaped, and were gone. An osier-wand dipped into the water under a weightof swallows, all going to bed together. The boy on the next house-boatkissed his hand to a broom on board the _Tawny Owl_, taking it for Mrs.Meredith's servant, and then retired to his kitchen smiling. From theboat-house across the river came the monotonous tap of a hammer. Areed-warbler rushed through his song. There was a soft splashing alongthe bank.
'There was once a literary character,' Dick murmured, 'who said that tothink of nothing was an impossibility, but he lived before the days ofhouse-boats. I came here a week ago to do some high thinking, and Ibelieve I have only managed four thoughts--first, that the cow on theisland is an irate cow; second, that in summer the sun shines brightly;third, that the trouble of lighting a cigar is almost as great as thepleasure of smoking it; and fourth, that swans--the fourth thoughtreferred to swans, but it has slipped my memory.'
He yawned like a man glad to get to the end of his sentence, or sorrythat he had begun it.
'But I thought,' said Mrs. Meredith, 'that the reason you walk round andround the island by yourself so frequently is because you can think outarticles on it?'
'Yes,' Dick answered, 'the island looks like a capital place to thinkon, and I always start off on my round meaning to think hard. After thatall is a blank till I am back at the _Tawny Owl_, when I remember that Ihave forgotten to think.'
'Will ought to enjoy this,' remarked Nell.
'That is my brother, Mr. Angus,' Mary said to Rob; 'he is to spend partof his holidays here.'
'I remember him,' Rob answered, smiling. Mary blushed, however,remembering that the last time Will and Greybrooke met Rob there hadbeen a little scene.
'He will enjoy the fishing,' said Dick. 'I have only fished myself threeor four times, and I am confident I hooked a minnow yesterday.'
'I saw a little boy,' Nell said, 'fishing from the island to-day, andhis mother had strapped him to a tree in case he might fall in.'
'When I saw your young brother at Silchester,' Rob said to Mary, 'he hada schoolmate with him.'
'Ah, yes,' Dick said; 'that was the man who wanted to horsewhip you, youknow.'
'I thought he and Miss Meredith were great friends,' Rob retorted. Hesometimes wondered how much Dick cared for Nell.
'It was only the young gentleman's good-nature,' Abinger explained,while Nell drew herself up indignantly; 'he found that he had to give upeither Nell or a cricket match, and so Nell was reluctantly dropped.'
'That was not how you spoke,' Nell said to Dick in a low voice, 'when Itold you all about him, poor boy, in your chambers.'
'You promised to be a sister to him, I think,' remarked Abinger. 'Ah,Nell, it is not a safe plan that. How many brothers have you now?'
Dick held up his hand for Mary's banjo, and, settling himselfcomfortably in a corner, twanged and sang, while the lanterns caughtmyriads of flies, and the bats came and went.
When Coelebs was a bolder blade, And ladies fair were coy, His search was for a wife, he said, The time I was a boy. But Coelebs now has slothful grown (I learn this from her mother), Instead of making her his own, He asks to be her brother.
Last night I saw her smooth his brow, He bent his head and kissed her; They understand each other now, She's going to be his sister. Some say he really does propose, And means to gain or lose all, And that the new arrangement goes, To soften her refusal.
He talks so wild of broken hearts, Of futures that she'll mar, He says on Tuesday he departs For Cork or Zanzibar. His death he places at her door, Yet says he won't resent it; Ah, well, he talked that way before, And very seldom meant it.
Engagements now are curious things, 'A kind of understandin',' Although they do not run to rings, They're good to keep your hand in. No rivals now, Tom, Dick, and Hal, They all love one another, For she's a sister to them all, And every one's her brother.
In former days when men proposed, And ladies said them No, The laws that courtesy imposed Made lovers pack and go. But now that they may brothers be, So changed the way of men is, That, having kissed, the swain and she Resume their game at tennis.
Ah, Nelly Meredith, you may Be wiser than your mother, But she knew what to do when they Proposed to be her brother. Of these relations best have none, They'll only you encumber; Of wives a man may have but one, Of sisters any number.
Dick disappeared into the kitchen with Mrs. Meredith to show her howthey make a salad at the Wigwam, and Nell and her father went a-fishingfrom a bedroom window. The night was so silent now that Rob and Maryseemed to have it to themselves. A canoe in a blaze of coloured lightdrifted past without a sound. The grass on the bank parted, andwater-rats peeped out. All at once Mary had nothing to say, and Robshook on his stool. The moon was out looking at them.
'Oh,' Mary cried, as something dipped suddenly in the water near them.
'It was only a dabchick,' Rob guessed, looking over the rail.
'What is a dabchick?' asked Mary.
Rob did not tell her. She had not the least desire to know.
In the river, on the opposite side from where the _Tawny Owl_ lay, astream drowns itself. They had not known of its existence before, but itwas roaring like a lasher to them now. Mary shuddered slightly, turningher face to the island, and Rob took a great breath as he looked at her.His hand held her brown sunshade that was ribbed with velvet, thesunshade with the preposterous handle that Mary held upside down. Otherladies carried their sunshades so, and Rob resented it. Her back wastoward him, and he sat still, gazing at the loose blue jacket that onlyreached her waist. It was such a slender waist that Rob trembled for it.
The trees that hung over the house-boat were black, but the moon made afairyland of the sward beyond. Mary could only see the island betweenheavy branches, but she looked straight before her until tears dimmedher eyes. Who would dare to seek the thoughts of a girl at such amoment? Rob moved nearer her. Her blue cap was tilted back, her chinrested on the rail. All that was good in him was astir when she turnedand read his face.
'I think I shall go down now,' Mary said, becoming less pale as shespoke. Rob's eyes followed her as she moved toward the ladder.
'Not yet,' he called after
her, and could say no more. It was always sowhen they were alone; and he made himself suffer for it afterwards.
Mary stood irresolutely at the top of the ladder. She would not turnback, but she did not descend. Mr. Meredith was fishing lazily from thelower deck, and there was a murmur of voices in the saloon. On the roadrunning parallel to the river traps and men were shadows creeping alongto Hampton. Lights were going out there. Mary looked up the stretch ofwater and sighed.
'Was there ever so beautiful a night?' she said.
'Yes,' said Rob, at her elbow, 'once at Dome Castle, the night I saw youfirst.'
'I don't remember,' said Mary hastily, but without going down theladder.
'I might never have met you,' Rob continued grimly, 'if some man inSilchester had not murdered his wife.'
Mary started and looked up at him. Until she ceased to look he could notgo on.
'The murder,' he explained, 'was of more importance than ColonelAbinger's dinner, and so I was sent to the castle. It is rather curiousto trace these things back a step. The woman enraged her husband intostriking her, because she had not prepared his supper. Instead of doingthat she had been gossiping with a neighbour, who would not have hadtime for gossip had she not been laid up with a sprained ankle. It cameout in the evidence that this woman had hurt herself by slipping on amarble, so that I might never have seen you had not two boys, whomneither of us ever heard of, challenged each other to a game atmarbles.'
'It was stranger that we should meet again in London,' Mary said.
'No,' Rob answered, 'the way we met was strange, but I was expectingyou.'
Mary pondered how she should take this, and then pretended not to hearit.
'Was it not rather _The Scorn of Scorns_ that made us know each other?'she asked.
'I knew you after I read it a second time,' he said; 'I have got thatcopy of it still.'
'You said you had the card.'
'I have never been able to understand,' Rob answered, 'how I lost thatcard. But,' he added sharply, 'how do you know that I lost it?'
Mary glanced up again.
'I hate being asked questions, Mr. Angus,' she said sweetly.
'Do you remember,' Rob went on, 'saying in that book that men were notto be trusted until they reached their second childhood?'
'I don't know,' Mary replied, laughing, 'that they are to be trustedeven then.'
'I should think,' said Rob, rather anxiously, 'that a woman might aswell marry a man in his first childhood as in his second. Surely thegolden mean----' Rob paused. He was just twenty-seven.
'We should strike the golden mean, you think?' asked Mary demurely. 'Butyou see it is of such short duration.'
After that there was such a long pause that Mary could easily have gonedown the ladder had she wanted to do so.
'I am glad that you and Dick are such friends,' she said at last.
'Why?' asked Rob quickly.
'Oh, well,' said Mary.
'He has been the best friend I have ever made,' Rob continued warmly,'though he says our only point in common is a hatred of rice pudding.'
'He told me,' said Mary, 'that you write on politics in the _Wire_.'
'I do a little now, but I have never met any one yet who admitted thathe had read my articles. Even your brother won't go so far as that.'
'I have read several of them,' said Mary.
'Have you?' Rob exclaimed, like a big boy.
'Yes,' Mary answered severely; 'but I don't agree with them. I am aConservative, you know.'
She pursed up her mouth complacently as she spoke, and Rob fell back astep to prevent his going a step closer. He could hear Mr. Meredith'sline tearing the water. The boy on the next house-boat was baling thedingey, and whistling a doleful ditty between each canful.
'There will never be such a night again,' Rob said, in a melancholyvoice. Then he waited for Mary to ask why, when he would have told her,but she did not ask.
'At least, not to me,' he continued, after a pause, 'for I am not likelyto be here again. But there may be many such nights to you.'
Mary was unbuttoning her gloves and then buttoning them again. There issomething uncanny about a woman who has a chance to speak and does nottake it.
'I am glad to hear,' said Rob, 'that my being away will make nodifference to you.'
A light was running along the road to Hampton Court, and Mary watchedit.
'Are you glad?' asked Rob desperately.
'You said I was,' answered Mary, without turning her head. Dick wasthrumming the banjo below. Her hand touched a camp-chair, and Rob puthis over it. He would have liked to stand like that and talk aboutthings in general now.
'Mary,' said Rob.
The boy ceased to whistle. All nature in that quarter was paralysed,except the tumble of water across the river. Mary withdrew her hand, butsaid nothing. Rob held his breath. He had not even the excuse of havingspoken impulsively, for he had been meditating saying it for weeks.
By and by the world began to move again. The boy whistled. A swallowtried another twig. A moor-hen splashed in the river. They had thoughtit over, and meant to let it pass.
'Are you angry with me?' Rob asked.
Mary nodded her head, but did not speak. Suddenly Rob started.
'You are crying,' he said.
'No, I'm not,' said Mary, looking up now.
There was a strange light in her face that made Rob shake. He was sonear her that his hands touched her jacket. At that moment there was asound of feet on the plank that communicated between the _Tawny Owl_ andthe island, and Dick called out--
'You people up there, are you coming once round the island before youhave something to eat?'
Rob muttered a reply that Dick fortunately did not catch, but Maryanswered 'Yes,' and they descended the ladder.
'You had better put a shawl over your shoulders,' said Rob, in rather alordly tone.
'No,' Mary answered, thrusting away the shawl he produced from thesaloon; 'a wrap on a night like this would be absurd.'
Something caught in her throat at that moment, and she coughed. Roblooked at her anxiously.
'You had better,' he said, putting the shawl over her shoulders.
'No,' said Mary, flinging it off.
'Yes,' said Rob, putting it on again.
Mary stamped her foot.
'How dare you, Mr. Angus?' she exclaimed.
Rob's chest heaved.
'You must do as you are told,' he said.
Mary looked at him while he looked at her, but she did not take off theshawl again, and that was the great moment of Rob's life.
The others had gone on before. Although it was a white night the plankwas dark in shadow, and as she stepped off it she slipped back. Rob'sarm went round her for a moment. They walked round the island togetherbehind the others, but neither uttered a word. Rob was afraid even tolook at her, so he did not see that Mary looked once or twice at him.
Long after he was supposed to be in the hotel Rob was still walkinground the island, with no one to see him but the cow. All the Chineselanterns were out now, but red window-blinds shone warm in severalhouse-boats, and a terrier barked at his footsteps. The grass wassilver-tipped, as in an enchanted island, and the impatient fairiesmight only have been waiting till he was gone. He was wondering if shewas offended. While he paced the island she might be vowing never tolook at him again, but perhaps she was only thinking that he was verymuch improved.
At last Rob wandered to the hotel, and reaching his bedroom sat down ona chair to think it out again by candle-light. He rose and opened thewindow. There was a notice over the mantelpiece announcing that smokingwas not allowed in the bedrooms, and having read it thoughtfully hefilled his pipe. A piece of crumpled paper lay beneath thedressing-table, and he lifted it up to make a spill of it. It was partof an envelope, and it floated out of Rob's hand as he read the addressin Mary Abinger's handwriting, 'Sir Clement Dowton, Island Hotel.'
