A Dismal Autumn afternoon in the country. Without, a soft drizzle falling on yellow leaves & damp ground; within, two people playing chess by the window of the fire-lighted drawing-room at Holly Lodge. Now, when two people play chess on a rainy afternoon, tête-à-tête in a room with the door shut, they are likely to be either very much bored, or rather dangerously interested; & in this case, with all respect to romance, they appeared overcome by the profoundest ennui. The lady—a girl of about 18, plump & soft as a partridge, with vivacious brown eyes, & a cheek like a sun-warmed peach—occasionally stifled a yawn, as her antagonist, curling a slight blonde moustache (the usual sign of masculine perplexity) sat absently meditating a move on which the game, in his eyes, appeared to depend; & at last, pushing aside her chair, she rose & stood looking out of the window, as though even the dreary Autumn prospect had more attraction for her than the handsome face on the other side of the chess-board. Her movement seemed to shake her companion out of his reverie, for he rose also, & looking over her shoulder, at the soft, misty rain, observed rather languidly, “Cheerful weather!” “Horrid!” said the girl, stamping her foot. “I am dying of stagnation.” “Don’t you mean to finish the game?” “If you choose. I don’t care.” “Nor I—It’s decidedly a bore.” No answer. The bright brown eyes & the lazy blue ones stared out of the window for the space of five slow minutes. Then the girl said: “Guy!” “My liege!” “You’re not very amusing this afternoon.” “Neither are you, my own!” “Gallant for a lover!” she cried, pouting & turning away from the window. “How can I amuse a stone wall? I might talk all day!” She had a way of tossing her pretty little head, & drawing her soft white forehead, that was quite irresistible. Guy, as the most natural thing in the world, put his arm about her, but was met with a sharp, “Don’t! You know I hate to be taken hold of, Sir! Oh, I shall die of ennui if this weather holds.” Guy whistled, & went to lean against the fireplace; while his betrothed stood in the middle of the room, the very picture of “I-won’t-be-amused” crossness. “Delightful!” she said, presently. “Really, your conversation today displays your wit & genius to a remarkable degree.” “If I talk to you, you scold, Georgie,” said the lover, pathetically. “No, I don’t! I only scold when you twist your arms around me.” “I can’t do one without the other!” Georgie laughed. “You do say nice things, Guy! But you’re a bore this afternoon, nevertheless.” “Isn’t everything a bore?” “I believe so. Oh, I should be another person gallopping over the downs on Rochester! ‘What’s his name is himself again!’ Shall we be able to hunt tomorrow?” “Ask the clerk of the weather,” said Guy, rather dismally. “Guy! I do believe you’re going to sleep! Doesn’t it rouse you to think of a tear ’cross country after the hounds? Oh, Guy, a red coat makes my blood run faster!” “Does it?—Georgie, have you got ’Je l’ai perdu’—the thing I sent you from London?” “Yes—somewhere.” “I am going to sing,” said Guy. “What a treat!” “As you don’t object to my smoking, I thought you mightn’t mind my singing.” “Well,” said Georgie, mischievously, “I don’t suppose it does matter much which sense is offended. What are you going to sing?” Guy, without answering, began to hunt through a pile of music, & at last laid a copy of “The ballad to Celia” on the piano-rack. Georgie sat down, & while he leaned against the piano, struck a few prelude-chords; then he began to sing in a rich barytone, Ben Jonson’s sweet old lines. At the end of the first stanza, Georgie shut the piano with a bang. “I will not play if you sing so detestably out of time, tune & everything. Do make yourself disagreeable in some less noisy way.” “I think I shall make myself agreeable—by saying goodbye.” “Very well, do!” “Georgie—what is the matter?” He took her little hand as he spoke, but she wrenched it away, stamping her foot again. “Dont & dont & dont! I’m as cross as I can be & I won’t make friends!” she cried in a sort of childish passion, running away from him to the other end of the room. He stood for a moment, twirling his moustache; then, taking up his hat, said, “Goodbye.” “Goodbye—Are you very angry?” she said, coming a step or two nearer, & looking up through her soft lashes. “No, I suppose not. I believe I have been boring you confoundedly.” “I suppose I have been very cross.” “Not more than I deserved, probably. I am going to London for a few days. Will you give me your hand for goodbye?” She stood still a moment, looking at him thoughtfully; then put out her hand. “Ah, Guy, I am a worthless little thing,” she said, softly, as he took it.

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Fast and Loose Read Online

Contents

Chapter I

Hearts & Diamonds

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