Confessions of a Young Lady by Richard Marsh

Author:Richard Marsh
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781620133712
Publisher: Duke Classics

IX - The End of His Holiday

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CHAPTER I

"That's a fine girl!"

The lady thus tersely referred to by Mr Harry Davison was followed into the room by a gentleman who was as noticeable as herself. As they searched for a vacant seat they were attended by the glances of the breakfasters. Chance had it that they found an unoccupied table which was close to that at which Mr Davison was seated. Mr Lintorn finished his breakfast, eating it steadily through, while Mr Davison, eating nothing, stared at the lady. Having discussed the meal, Mr Lintorn, fitting his eyeglass into its place, eyed the new-comers.

"I thought so."

"Thought what?"

Mr Lintorn paused before replying. He rose from his chair. An odd smile was on his face.

"They're some people I knew in the Riviera."

With a little nod to his friend, he moved towards the new arrivals. Left alone, Mr Davison observed Mr Lintorn's proceedings with surprise. He thought he perceived that that gentleman was not received with too effusive a welcome. It pleased Mr Davison to perceive it. But Mr Lintorn seemed in no way discomposed. Breakfasters finished and rose and went, but he stayed on. Mr Davison stayed too. He got up at last and began to walk about the room, lingering once or twice in the vicinity of the little table. Still Mr Lintorn declined to take the hint. In the end he had the courage of despair.

"Er, excuse me, Lintorn: er—"

There he ceased. He was Nottinghamshire born and bred, a handsome, sunny-faced lad scarcely out of his teens, with the flush of health upon his cheeks; but assurance was not his strongest point. Scarcely had he opened his mouth than he was overwhelmed by the fear that he was making an ass of himself. He became a ruby. Then the young lady did an extraordinary thing; she helped him over the stile.

"Mr Lintorn," she spoke English with quite a charming accent, "will you not permit us to know your friend?"

It was said with such a pretty little air that the request was robbed of singularity. Mr Lintorn, to whom, indeed, the proposition seemed a little unexpected, acceded to the lady's wishes.

"M. de Fontanes, Mdlle. de Fontanes, permit me to introduce to you Mr Davison."

Mr Davison's awkwardness continued, although the lady was so gracious. Perhaps her exceeding graciousness only increased his sense of awkwardness; it is so with some of us when the grass is green. They left the hotel together, this quartet; together they even wandered on the sands. Behind, the old gentleman with Mr Lintorn; in front, mademoiselle with Mr Davison. Under these circumstances, despite his awkwardness, Mr Davison seemed to enjoy himself, for when they parted he turned to Mr Lintorn.

"Lintorn, she's a goddess!"

Mr Lintorn, through his eyeglass, surveyed his friend. Then he lit a cigarette. Then he pointed to a lady, who could boast of some sixteen stone of solid figure.

"Another goddess," he observed.

"That monstrosity!"

"Perhaps some people do prefer them lean."

"Lean? You call Mdlle. de Fontanes lean? Why, she's as graceful as a sylph!"

"I shouldn't be surprised.

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