"But you used to like it, darling. You said he had such a musical voice."
"Musical voice!" The pillow became a shapeless heap. "Mother, it was like a nightmare! If I had seen him again I should have had hysterics. It was awful! If he had been even the least bit upset himself I think I could have borne up. But he enjoyed it! He revelled in it! He said it was like Omar Khayyám in the Wilderness and Shelley's 'Epipsychidion,' whatever that is; and he prattled on and on and read and read and read till my head began to split. Mother"—her voice sank to a whisper—"I hit him!"
"Elsa!"
"I did!" she went on, defiantly. "I hit him as hard as I could, and he—he"—she broke off into a little gurgle of laughter—"he tripped over a bush and fell right down; and I wasn't a bit ashamed. I didn't think it unladylike or anything. I was just as proud as I could be. And it stopped him talking." "But, Elsa, dear! Why?"
"The sun had just gone down; and it was a lovely sunset, and the sky looked like a great, beautiful slice of underdone beef; and I said so to him, and he said, sniffily, that he was afraid he didn't see the resemblance. And I asked him if he wasn't starving. And he said no, because as a rule all that he needed was a little ripe fruit. And that was when I hit him."
"Elsa!"
"Oh, I know it was awfully wrong, but I just had to. And now I'll get up. It looks lovely out."
Martin had not gone out with the guns that day. Mrs. Keith had assured him that there was nothing wrong with Elsa, that she was only tired, but he was anxious, and had remained at home, where bulletins could reach him. As he was returning from a stroll in the grounds he heard his name called, and saw Elsa lying in the hammock under the trees near the terrace.
"Why, Martin, why aren't you out with the guns?" she said.
"I wanted to be on the spot so that I could hear how you were."
"How nice of you! Why don't you sit down?"
"May I?"
Elsa fluttered the pages of her magazine.
"You know, you're a very restful person, Martin. You're so big and outdoory. How would you like to read to me for awhile? I feel so lazy."
Martin took the magazine.
"What shall I read? Here's a poem by"
Elsa shuddered.
"Oh, please, no," she cried. "I couldn't bear it. I'll tell you what I should love—the advertisements. There's one about sardines. I started it, and it seemed splendid. It's at the back somewhere."
"Is this it—Langley and Fielding's sardines?"
"That's it?"
Martin began to read.
"'Langley and Fielding's sardines. When you want the daintiest, most delicious sardines, go to your grocer and say, "Langley and Fielding's, please!" You will then be sure of having the finest Norwegian smoked sardines, packed in the purest olive oil.'"
Elsa was sitting with her eyes closed and a soft smile of pleasure curving her mouth.
"Go on," she said, dreamily.
"'Nothing nicer,'" resumed Martin, with an added touch of eloquence as the theme began to develop, "'for breakfast, lunch, or supper. Probably your grocer stocks them. Ask him. If he does not, write to us. Price fivepence per tin. The best sardines and the best oil!'"
"Isn't it lovely?" she murmured.
Her hand, as it swung, touched his. He held it. She opened her eyes.
"Don't stop reading," she said. "I never heard anything so soothing."
"Elsa!"
He bent towards her. She smiled at him. Her eyes were dancing.
"Elsa, I—"
"Mr. Keith," said a quiet voice, "desired me to say"
Martin started away. He glared up furiously. Gazing down upon them stood Keggs. The butler's face was shining with a gentle benevolence.
"Mr. Keith desired me to say that he would be glad if Miss Elsa would come and sit with him for a while."
"I'll come at once," said Elsa, stepping from the hammock.
The butler bowed respectfully and turned away. They stood watching him as he moved across the terrace.
"What a saintly old man Keggs looks," said Elsa. "Don't you think so? He looks as if he had never even thought of doing anything he shouldn't. I wonder if he ever has?"
"I wonder!" said Martin.
"He looks like a stout angel—what were you saying, Martin, when he came up?"
