The Real Charlotte - Edith Somerville [94]
“Are they engaged, do you think?” whispered Miss Corkran, the curate’s sister, to Miss Baker.
“Engaged indeed!” echoed Miss Baker, “no more than you are! If you knew him as well as I do you’d know that flirting’s all he cares for!”
Miss Corkran, who had not the pleasure of Mr. Hawkins’ acquaintance, regarded him coldly through her spectacles, and said that for her own part she disapproved of flirting, but liked making gentlemen-friends.
“Well, I suppose I might as well confess,” said Miss Baker with a frivolous laugh, “that there’s nothing I care for like flirting, but p’pa’s awful particular! Wasn’t he for turning Dr. M’Call out of the house last summer because he cot me curling his moustache with my curling-tongs! ‘I don’t care what you do with officers,’ says p’pa, ‘but I’ll not have you going on with that Rathgar bounder of a fellow!’ Ah, but that was when the poor ‘Foragers’ were quartered here; they were the jolliest lot we ever had!”
Miss Corkran paid scant attention to these memories, being wholly occupied with observing the demeanour of Mr. Hawkins, who was holding Miss Mullen in conversation. Charlotte’s big, pale face had an intellectuality and power about it that would have made her conspicuous in a gathering more distinguished than the present, and even Mr. Hawkins felt something like awe of her, and said to himself that she would know how to make it hot for him if she chose to cut up rough about the launch business.
As he reflected on that escapade he felt that he would have given a good round sum of money that it had not taken place. He had played the fool in his usual way, and now it didn’t seem fair to back out of it. That, at all events, was the reason he gave to himself for coming to this blooming menagerie, as he inwardly termed Mrs. Beattie’s highest social effort; it wouldn’t do to chuck the whole thing up all of a sudden, even though, of course, the little girl knew as well as he did that it was all nothing but a lark. This was pretty much the substance of the excuses that he had offered to Captain Cursiter; and they had seemed so successful at the time that he now soothed his guilty conscience with a rechauffé of them, while he slowly and conversationally made his way round the room towards the green rep sofa in the corner, whereon sat Miss Fitzpatrick, looking charming things at Mr. Corkran, judging, at least, by the smile that displayed the reverend gentleman’s prominent teeth to such advantage. Hawkins kept on looking at her over the shoulder of the Miss Beattie to whom he was talking, and with each glance he thought her looking more and more lovely. Prudence melted in a feverish longing to be near her again, and the direction of his wandering eye became at length so apparent that