On The Firing Line [9]
steps.
"At last," she said cordially, while she gave him her hand. "I began to fear you had already gone to the front."
"Not without seeing you again," he answered, as he followed her back to the bamboo chairs at the shaded western end of the veranda. "In fact, I began to be rather afraid I should never see the front at all."
"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "Has something happened since I saw you?"
"A great deal has happened. The thing I referred to was my first sight of British regulars."
Her face cleared.
"Oh, is that all?"
"It is a good deal," he assured her, as he sat down. "I came out here with all sorts of high notions regarding volunteers."
"Well?" she questioned smilingly.
"Well, they have been taken out of me. An untrained man isn't worth much in any line, least of all in the firing line. Still, it would be very ignominious to go back home again."
Her eyes swept over his alert, well-groomed figure.
"And when do you start for the front, Trooper Weldon?"
"How do you know I start at all?"
"How do I know you are sitting opposite me?" she asked lightly. "Having eyes, I use them."
"And they tell you--?" he responded.
"That you are looking content with life."
The laughter died out of his eyes.
"I am," he said gravely; "perfectly content. I am enrolled in the Scottish Horse, and I go tomorrow."
"The Scottish Horse?" she asked quickly. "Which squadron?"
"Do you know anything of it?"
"A little," she answered; "but that little is good. Then it is to Maitland that you are going?"
"Are you omniscient, Miss Dent?"
"No; merely an inquisitive girl who remembers the answers to the questions that she asks. My father, you know, is in the thick of things, and it seems to me I have met half the British army, in the four days I have been at home."
"Officers, or Tommies?" he reminded her.
She laughed at the recollection of her former prejudice.
"You told the truth, Mr. Weldon. One of the men I danced with, last season, is riding across Natal in the same squadron with his groom. In my one London season, I met only officers. Out here, I find Lord Thomas turned into Tommy Atkins, and I meet him every day. But, aside from the war, what do you think of Cape Town?"
"What would I think of Table Mountain without its tablecloth?" he parried. "In both cases, the two things seem inseparable."
"Wait till you know the place better, then," she advised him. "It really does have a life of its own, apart from its military setting."
"I am afraid there's not much chance of my knowing it better," he answered a little regretfully.
"Maitland is only three miles away, and you've not met my mother yet," she suggested.
"Is she at home now?" Weldon asked, with the conscious air of a man suddenly recalled to his social duty.
"Not this afternoon. She has taken Miss Arthur for a drive through Rondebosch. That is quite one of the things to do, you know."
"I didn't know. Is the redoubtable Miss Arthur well?"
The dimple beside the girl's firm lips displayed itself suddenly, and her eyes lighted.
"Wonderfully. Her convalescence has been remarkably short. More remarkable still is the fact that she has neglected to mention her illness to any one."
"How soon does she go back?"
The blue eyes met his eyes in frank merriment.
"Not until she has finished informing my mother of the present London code of chaperonage."
Weldon raised his brows.
"Then I shall find her here, when I come back at the end of the war."
She made no pretence of misunderstanding him.
"Are you so much less strict in Canada?"
"We are--different," he confessed. "Miss Arthur's lorgnette would be impossible with us. I don't mean the lorgnette itself; but the acute accent which she contrives to give to it. Mrs. Scott is more of a colonial matron."
"Dear little lady! Have you seen her since she landed?"
"Once. They are at the Mount Nelson, and Carew and I called on them there. They are leaving for De Aar, Monday."
"And what about Mr. Carew?"
"He goes with me to Maitland.
"At last," she said cordially, while she gave him her hand. "I began to fear you had already gone to the front."
"Not without seeing you again," he answered, as he followed her back to the bamboo chairs at the shaded western end of the veranda. "In fact, I began to be rather afraid I should never see the front at all."
"What do you mean?" she asked quickly. "Has something happened since I saw you?"
"A great deal has happened. The thing I referred to was my first sight of British regulars."
Her face cleared.
"Oh, is that all?"
"It is a good deal," he assured her, as he sat down. "I came out here with all sorts of high notions regarding volunteers."
"Well?" she questioned smilingly.
"Well, they have been taken out of me. An untrained man isn't worth much in any line, least of all in the firing line. Still, it would be very ignominious to go back home again."
Her eyes swept over his alert, well-groomed figure.
"And when do you start for the front, Trooper Weldon?"
"How do you know I start at all?"
"How do I know you are sitting opposite me?" she asked lightly. "Having eyes, I use them."
"And they tell you--?" he responded.
"That you are looking content with life."
The laughter died out of his eyes.
"I am," he said gravely; "perfectly content. I am enrolled in the Scottish Horse, and I go tomorrow."
"The Scottish Horse?" she asked quickly. "Which squadron?"
"Do you know anything of it?"
"A little," she answered; "but that little is good. Then it is to Maitland that you are going?"
"Are you omniscient, Miss Dent?"
"No; merely an inquisitive girl who remembers the answers to the questions that she asks. My father, you know, is in the thick of things, and it seems to me I have met half the British army, in the four days I have been at home."
"Officers, or Tommies?" he reminded her.
She laughed at the recollection of her former prejudice.
"You told the truth, Mr. Weldon. One of the men I danced with, last season, is riding across Natal in the same squadron with his groom. In my one London season, I met only officers. Out here, I find Lord Thomas turned into Tommy Atkins, and I meet him every day. But, aside from the war, what do you think of Cape Town?"
"What would I think of Table Mountain without its tablecloth?" he parried. "In both cases, the two things seem inseparable."
"Wait till you know the place better, then," she advised him. "It really does have a life of its own, apart from its military setting."
"I am afraid there's not much chance of my knowing it better," he answered a little regretfully.
"Maitland is only three miles away, and you've not met my mother yet," she suggested.
"Is she at home now?" Weldon asked, with the conscious air of a man suddenly recalled to his social duty.
"Not this afternoon. She has taken Miss Arthur for a drive through Rondebosch. That is quite one of the things to do, you know."
"I didn't know. Is the redoubtable Miss Arthur well?"
The dimple beside the girl's firm lips displayed itself suddenly, and her eyes lighted.
"Wonderfully. Her convalescence has been remarkably short. More remarkable still is the fact that she has neglected to mention her illness to any one."
"How soon does she go back?"
The blue eyes met his eyes in frank merriment.
"Not until she has finished informing my mother of the present London code of chaperonage."
Weldon raised his brows.
"Then I shall find her here, when I come back at the end of the war."
She made no pretence of misunderstanding him.
"Are you so much less strict in Canada?"
"We are--different," he confessed. "Miss Arthur's lorgnette would be impossible with us. I don't mean the lorgnette itself; but the acute accent which she contrives to give to it. Mrs. Scott is more of a colonial matron."
"Dear little lady! Have you seen her since she landed?"
"Once. They are at the Mount Nelson, and Carew and I called on them there. They are leaving for De Aar, Monday."
"And what about Mr. Carew?"
"He goes with me to Maitland.