The Complete Five Towns Collections. Bennett Arnold

undressed slowly without a light, and lay down. He had no desire to sleep, nor did he attempt to do so; not for a ransom would he have parted with the fine, full consciousness of life which thrilled through every portion of his being. The brief summer night came to an end; and just as the sun was rising he dozed a little, and then got up without a trace of fatigue. He went to the balcony again, and drank in all the sweet invigorating freshness of the morning. The sunlit streets were enveloped in an enchanted silence.

      Chapter XVIII

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      Nearly three weeks later came the following letter from Adeline. In the meanwhile she had had a rather serious relapse, and he had seen her only once or twice for a few minutes.

      My dear Mr. Larch,—This time I am quite sure I am well again. Nurse is obliged to leave to-day, as she is wanted at a hospital, and she has persuaded me to go to Littlehampton at once, and given me the address of some rooms. I shall leave Victoria to-morrow (Wednesday) by the 1.10 train; Lottie will go with me, and the house will be locked up. Good-bye for the present, if I don't see you. We shall not stay more than a week or ten days. I will write to you from Littlehampton.

      Ever yours most gratefully,

       A. A.

      P. S. I was expecting you down to-night.

      "'If I don't see you'!" he repeated to himself, smiling, and examining Adeline's caligraphy, which he had not seen before. It was a bold but not distinguished hand. He read the note several times, then folded it carefully and put it in his pocket-book.

      By reason of an unexpected delay at the office he almost missed her at Victoria. The train was due out at least a minute before he rushed into the station; fortunately trains are not invariably prompt. Adeline was leaning from a carriage window to hand a penny to a newspaper boy; the boy dropped the penny, and she laughed. She wore a black hat with a veil. Her cheeks were a little fuller, and her eyes less unnaturally brilliant, at any rate under the veil; and Richard thought that he had never seen her look so pretty.

      "There it is, silly boy, there!" she was saying as he came up.

      "I thought I'd just see if you were all right," he panted. "I should have been here earlier, only I was detained."

      "How kind of you to take so much trouble!" she said, taking his hand, and fixing her eyes intently on his. The guard came along to fasten the doors.

      "Luggage all in?" Richard asked.

      "Yes, thanks. Lottie saw to it while I got the tickets. I find she is quite an experienced traveller." At which Lottie, effaced in a corner, blushed.

      "Well, I hope you will enjoy yourself." The whistle sounded, and the train jerked forward Adeline began to wave a good-bye.

      "I see there's a Sunday league trip to Littlehampton on Sunday," he said, walking along with the train.

      "Oh! Do come down."

      "You'd like me to?"

      "Very much."

      "I will, then. Send me the address."

      She gave a succession of little nods, as the train carried her away.

      Chapter XIX

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      Richard's eye travelled expectantly over the tanned crowd of men in flannels and gaily attired girls which lined the platform of Littlehampton station, but Adeline was not to be seen. He felt somewhat disappointed, and then decided that he liked her the better for not having come to meet him. "Besides," he thought, "the train being a special is not in the time-table, and she would not know when it was due."

      Her lodging was in a long, monotonous terrace which ran at right angles to the seashore, turning its back upon the river. Noon was at hand, and the fierce rays of the unclouded sun were untempered by any breeze. The street lay hushed, for everyone was either at church or on the sands. In response to his inquiry, the landlady said that Miss Aked was out, and had left a message that if a gentleman called, he was to follow her to the jetty. Obeying the directions given to him, Richard soon found himself by the banks of the swift Arun, with the jetty some distance in front, and beyond that the sea, which shimmered blindly in the heat. Throngs of respectably dressed people wandered up and down, and a low, languid murmur of conversation floated out as it were from the cavities of a thousand parasols. Perspiring children whose hands were chafed by gloves full of creases ran to and fro among the groups, shouting noisily, and heedless of the frequent injunction to remember what day it was. Here and there nurses pushing perambulators made cool spots of whiteness in the confusion of colour. On the river boats and small yachts were continually sweeping towards the sea on the ebbing tide; now and then a crew of boys would attempt to pull a skiff against the rapid current, persevere for a few strokes, and then, amid scoffs from the bank, ignominiously allow themselves to be whirled past the jetty with the other craft.

      Richard had never seen a southern watering-place before, and he had fondly expected something different from Llandudno, Rhyl, or Blackpool, something less stolid and more continental. Littlehampton fell short of his anticipations. It was unpicturesque as a manufacturing town, and its summer visitors were an infestive, lower-middle class folk, garishly clothed, and unlearned in the fine art of enjoyment. The pure accent of London sounded on every side from the lips of clerks and shop-girls and their kin. Richard forgot that he was himself a clerk, looking not out of place in that scene.

      Presently he espied a woman who seemed to belong to another sphere. She was leaning over the parapet of the jetty, and though a black and white sunshade entirely hid her head and shoulders, the simple, perfectly hung black skirt, the neatly shod foot, the small, smoothly gloved hand with thin gold circlet at wrist, sufficed to convince him that here, by some strange chance, was one of those exquisite creatures who on Saturday afternoons drove past the end of Raphael Street on their way to Hurlingham or Barnes. He wondered what she did there, and tried to determine the subtleties of demeanour and costume which constituted the plain difference between herself and the other girls on the jetty. At that moment she stood erect, and turned round. Why, she was quite young.... He approached her.... It was Adeline.

      Astonishment was so clearly written on his face that she laughed as they exchanged greetings.

      "You seem startled at the change in me," she said abruptly. "Do you know that I positively adore clothes, though I've only just found it out. The first thing I did when I got here was to go over to Brighton, and spend terrific sums at a dressmaker's. You see, there wasn't time in London. You don't despise me for it, I hope? I've plenty of money—enough to last a long, long time."

      She was dazzling, and she openly rejoiced in the effect her appearance had made on Richard.

      "You couldn't have done better," he answered, suddenly discovering with chagrin that his own serge suit was worn and shabby.

      "I'm relieved," she said; "I was afraid my friend might think me vain and extravagant." Her manner of saying "my friend"—half mockery, half deference—gave Richard intense satisfaction.

      They walked to the end of the jetty and sat down on a stone seat.

      "Isn't it beautiful?" she exclaimed enthusiastically.

      "What—the town, or the people, or the sea?"

      "Everything. I've scarcely been to the seaside before in all my life, and I think it's lovely."

      "The sea would be splendid if one could see it, but it blinds one even to glance at it in this heat."

      "You shall have half my sunshade." She put it over him with a protective gesture.

      "No, no," he demurred.

      "I say yes. Why don't men carry sunshades? It's only their pride that stops them.... So you don't like the town