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We would both become shy shy of each other, and shy of the shameful doorway. And then the misery of the morning, to be quickly forgotten in the joy of life! It was now that the Battle of Neuve Chapelle quenched Pennybet.
Any conversation would be cosy that had been reared in the glory of such a garden, and in the comfort of those lazy chairs. Mrs. Pennybet began by declaring, as these shameless ladies do, that her hostess's fair-haired nephew was quite the most beautiful child she had ever seen; she could hug him all day; nay, she could eat him.
"As surely as they come fair-haired, they are brilliantly romantic and blindly adoring. And Edgar's every inch a Doe. Anybody can lead him into mischief. And anybody who likes will do so." "Oh, I suppose he's troublesome like all boys," suggested Mrs. Pennybet, with a rapid mental survey of the existence of Archie. "He will grow into a fine man some day."
And now came the gift of faith. It was born of my sharp jealousy, my present weariness of Pennybet, and my heroic resolution to rescue Doe from the degenerate hands of Freedham. Only go nobly to someone's assistance, and you will love him for ever. Love! It was an unusual word for a shy boy to admit into his thoughts, but I was even taking a defiant and malicious pleasure in using it.
You leave it to me, sir." In due course I threw open the door with a triumphant "There!" The door hit the side-wall with a bang that upset the nervous systems of neighbouring boys, who felt a little faint, had hysterics, and recovered. Mr. Cæsar, feeling that the class was a trifle unpunctual in starting, hurriedly entered. Then Pennybet distinguished himself.
His oars remained motionless for a long time, till he suddenly commented: "H'm." This encouraging remark Master Doe interpreted as a willingness to converse, and he let escape a burst of confidence. "You know, I like Archie Pennybet very much indeed. In fack, I think I like him better than anyone else in the world, 'septing of course my relations."
Ray, while Rupert, thinking with much wisdom that all the conditions were favourable, gazed up into the Colonel's face, and fired his last shot. "What really was the fair-haired knight's name?" "Perhaps you will know some day," answered the Colonel, half playfully, half wearily. In the course of the same summer Master Archibald Pennybet, of Wimbledon, celebrated his eighth birthday.
"Hallo, kid," repeated Master Pennybet; and then stopped, his supply of greetings being exhausted. "Hallo," answered Edgar, slowly and rather shyly, for he was two years younger than anyone present. "Welcome to the Fal," said Lady Gray to Mrs. Pennybet. "Archie, are you going to give me a kiss?" "No," announced Archie firmly. "I don't kiss mother's friends now."
Archibald Pennybet is the same as ever, unless, perhaps, his eyelids are drooping a little more in satisfaction with himself, and his nostrils becoming more sensitive to the inferiority of everybody else.
At the sight of the lane and the seat, Master Pennybet immediately decided how he would occupy his afternoon. He would move that seat along his garden wall, till it rested beneath some ample foliage where he could lie hidden. Then he would wait the romantic moments of the evening. And no sooner was it finished than he rushed into the lane, and addressed his splendid muscles to removing the seat.
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