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Updated: May 29, 2025
At this point many, indeed most, women would have gone to bed; but the familiar Hampshire air and the knowledge that half an hour's walking would take her to her beloved home acted on Mrs. Hignett like a restorative. One glimpse of Windles she felt that she must have before she retired for the night, if only to assure herself that it was still there.
The figure was too tall to be Eustace, and Eustace, she knew, was the only man in the house. Male figures, therefore, that went flitting about Windles, must be the figures of burglars. Mrs. Hignett, bold woman though she was, stood for an instant spell-bound, and for one moment of not unpardonable panic tried to tell herself that she had been mistaken.
Sam laughed heartily. "Are you worrying about that absurd business of poor old Eustace Hignett?" She started violently. "You know!" "Of course! He told me himself." "Do you know him? Where did you meet him?" "I've known him all my life. He's my cousin. As a matter of fact, we are sharing a stateroom on board now." "Eustace is on board! Oh, this is awful! What shall I do when I meet him?"
In all human plans there is ever some slight hitch, some little miscalculation which just makes all the difference. A moment's thought should have told Eustace Hignett that a half-smoked cigar was one of the essential properties to any imitation of the eminent Mr. Tinney; but he had completely overlooked the fact.
He meant to change the conversation if he had to do it with a crowbar. "I hear you have taken a house in the country, Mr. Mortimer," he said. "Yes," said Mr. Mortimer. He turned to Sir Mallaby. "We have at last succeeded in persuading your sister, Mrs. Hignett, to let us rent her house for the summer." Sir Mallaby gasped. "Windles!
Eustace Hignett scowled at the printed notice on the wall informing occupants of the stateroom that the name of their steward was J. B. Midgeley. "She was an extraordinarily pretty girl...." "So was mine. I give you my honest word I never in all my life saw such...." "Of course, if you would prefer that I postponed my narrative?" said Eustace coldly. "Oh, sorry! Carry on."
"Charge on," said Sam resignedly. Eustace Hignett fixed a despondent gaze on the shingle, up which the gray waves were crawling with their usual sluggish air of wishing themselves elsewhere. A rain-drop fell down the back of his neck, but he did not notice it. "It was the weather that really started it," he said. "Started what?" "The trouble. What sort of weather have you been having here?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, old man, during these last few days I had a notion that your mind was, so to speak, occupied elsewhere." "Who is she?" "Oh, a girl I met on board." "Don't do it!" said Eustace Hignett solemnly. "As a friend I entreat you not to do it! Take my advice, as a man who knows women, and don't do it!" "Don't do what?" "Propose to her.
"Tennyson principally," said Eustace Hignett with a reminiscent quiver in his voice. "The hours we have spent together reading the Idylls of the King!" "The which of what?" inquired Sam, taking a pencil from his pocket and shooting out a cuff.
Eustace Hignett shrivelled in the blaze. He was filled with an unendurable sense of guilt. "Well er yes," he mumbled weakly. Jane Hubbard buried her face in her hands and burst into tears. She might know what to do when alligators started exploring her tent, but she was a woman.
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