Betimes they came in to breakfast where Anthea awaited them at the head of the table. Then who so demure, so gracious and self-possessed, so sweetly sedate as she. But the Cavalier in the picture above the carved mantel, versed in the ways of the world, and the pretty tricks and wiles of the Beau s.e.x Feminine, smiled down at Bellew with an expression of such roguish waggery as said plain as words: "We know!" And Bellew, remembering a certain pair of slender ankles that had revealed themselves in their hurried flight, smiled back at the cavalier, and it was all he could do to refrain from winking outright.

CHAPTER VIII

_Which tells of Miss Priscilla, of peaches, and of Sergeant Appleby late of the 19th Hussars_

Small Porges was at his lessons. He was perched at the great oak table beside the window, pen in hand, and within easy reach of Anthea who sat busied with her daily letters and accounts. Small Porges was laboriously inscribing in a somewhat splashed and besmeared copy-book the rather surprising facts that:

A st.i.tch in time, saves nine. 9.

That:

The Tagus, a river in Spain. R.

and that:

Artaxerxes was a king of the Persians. A.

and the like surprising, curious, and interesting items of news, his pen making not half so many curls, and twists as did his small, red tongue.

As he wrote, he frowned terrifically, and sighed oft betwixt whiles; and Bellew watching, where he stood outside the window, noticed that Anthea frowned also, as she bent over her accounts, and sighed wearily more than once.

It was after a sigh rather more hopeless than usual that, chancing to raise her eyes they encountered those of the watcher outside, who, seeing himself discovered, smiled, and came to lean in at the open window.

"Won't they balance?" he enquired, with a nod toward the heap of bills, and papers before her.

"Oh yes," she answered with a rueful little smile, "but--on the wrong side, if you know what I mean."

"I know," he nodded, watching how her lashes curled against her cheek.

"If only we had done better with our first crop of wheat!" she sighed.

"Job Jagway said it was mouldy, you know,--that's why Adam punched him in the--"

"Georgy,--go on with your work, sir!"

"Yes, Auntie!" And immediately Small Porges' pen began to scratch, and his tongue to writhe and twist as before.

"I'm building all my hopes, this year, on the hops," said Anthea, sinking her head upon her hand, "if they should fail--"

"Well?" enquired Bellew, with his gaze upon the soft curve of her throat.

"I--daren't think of it!"

"Then don't--let us talk of something else--"

"Yes,--of Aunt Priscilla!" nodded Anthea, "she is in the garden."

"And pray who is Aunt Priscilla?"

"Go and meet her."

"But--"

"Go and find her--in the orchard!" repeated Anthea, "Oh do go, and leave us to our work."

Thus it was that turning obediently into the orchard, and looking about, Bellew presently espied a little, bright-eyed old lady who sat beneath the shadow of "King Arthur" with a rustic table beside her upon which stood a basket of sewing. Now, as he went, he chanced to spy a ball of worsted that had fallen by the way, and stooping, therefore, he picked it up, while she watched him with her quick, bright eyes.

"Good morning, Mr. Bellew!" she said in response to his salutation, "it was nice of you to trouble to pick up an old woman's ball of worsted."

As she spoke, she rose, and dropped him a courtesy, and then, as he looked at her again, he saw that despite her words, and despite her white hair, she was much younger, and prettier than he had thought.

"I am Miss Anthea's house-keeper," she went on, "I was away when you arrived, looking after one of Miss Anthea's old ladies,--pray be seated.

Miss Anthea,--bless her dear heart!--calls me her aunt, but I'm not really--Oh dear no! I'm no relation at all! But I've lived with her long enough to feel as if I was her aunt, and her uncle, and her father, and her mother--all rolled into one,--though I should be rather small to be so many,--shouldn't I?" and she laughed so gaily, and unaffectedly, that Bellew laughed too.

"I tell you all this," she went on, keeping pace to her flying needle, "because I have taken a fancy to you--on the spot! I always like, or dislike a person--on the spot,--first impressions you know! Y-e-e-s,"

she continued, glancing up at him side-ways, "I like you just as much as I dislike Mr. Ca.s.silis,--heigho! how I do--detest that man! There, now that's off my mind!"

"And why?" enquired Bellew, smiling.

"Dear me, Mr. Bellew I--how should I know, only I do,--and what's more--he knows it too! And how," she enquired, changing the subject abruptly, "how is your bed,--comfortable, mm?"

"Very!"

"You sleep well?"

"Like a top!"

"Any complaints, so far?"

"None whatever," laughed Bellew, shaking his head.

"That is very well. We have never had a boarder before, and Miss Anthea,--bless her dear soul! was a little nervous about it. And here's the Sergeant!"

"I--er--beg your pardon--?" said Bellew.

"The Sergeant!" repeated Miss Priscilla, with a prim little nod, "Sergeant Appleby, late of the Nineteenth Hussars,--a soldier every inch of him, Mr. Bellew,--with one arm--over there by the peaches." Glancing in the direction she indicated, Bellew observed a tall figure, very straight and upright, clad in a tight-fitting blue coat, with extremely tight trousers strapped beneath the insteps, and with a hat balanced upon his close-cropped, grizzled head at a perfectly impossible angle for any save an ex-cavalry-man. Now as he stood examining a peach-tree that flourished against the opposite wall, Bellew saw that his right sleeve was empty, sure enough, and was looped across his broad chest.

"The very first thing he will say will be that 'it is a very fine day,'"

nodded Miss Priscilla, st.i.tching away faster than ever, "and the next, that 'the peaches are doing remarkably well,'--now mark my words, Mr.

Bellew." As she spoke, the Sergeant wheeled suddenly right about face, and came striding down towards them, jingling imaginary spurs, and with his stick tucked up under his remaining arm, very much as if it had been a sabre.

Being come up to them, the Sergeant raised a stiff arm as though about to salute them, military fashion, but, apparently changing his mind, took off the straw hat instead, and put it on again, more over one ear than ever.

"A particular fine day, Miss Priscilla, for the time o' the year," said he.

"Indeed I quite agree with you Sergeant," returned little Miss Priscilla with a bright nod, and a sly glance at Bellew, as much as to say, "I told you so!" "And the peaches, mam," continued the Sergeant, "the peaches--never looked--better, mam." Having said which, he stood looking at nothing in particular, with his one hand resting lightly upon his hip.

"Yes, to be sure, Sergeant," nodded Miss Priscilla, with another sly look. "But let me introduce you to Mr. Bellew who is staying at Dapplemere." The Sergeant stiffened, once more began a salute, changed his mind, took off his hat instead, and, after looking at it as though not quite sure what to do with it next, clapped it back upon his ear, in imminent danger of falling off, and was done with it.