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Updated: June 6, 2025
Mavis went inside with Mr Napper, where she proved her title to her stolen property by minutely describing the contents of her bag, from which she was rejoiced to find nothing had been taken. Her unposted letter to Perigal was with her other possessions. As they were leaving the station, Mr Napper remarked: "The day before yesterday I had the greatest compliment of my life paid me."
"Thinking of Windebank?" asked Perigal, noticing her silence. "Yes." "Lucky chap! But he's an awfully good sort, straight-forward and all that." Mavis again assented. "A bit obvious, though." "What do you mean by that?" "Eh! Oh, well, you always know what his opinions are going to be on any given subject." "I think he's delightful."
She was alone, Perigal having gone to the bedroom to wash after his journey. She contrasted her present misery with the joyousness that had possessed her when last she had been under the same roof as her lover. Tears welled into her eyes, but she held them back, fearing they would further contribute to the undoing of her looks.
"One of the rare days I love," she murmured. She shut her eyes to appreciate further the sun's warmth. "If it were only like this all the year round," she thought. "This is going to be all my day," she said to Perigal, who was impatiently awaiting her. "I want to enjoy every moment of it for all I am worth."
"If she is, the punt striking the bank must have knocked her overboard." They looked, but no sign could be seen of the dog. Mavis called her name loudly, frantically, but no Jill appeared. "What shall I do? Oh, what shall I do?" she cried helplessly. "Look!" cried Perigal suddenly. "Look, those weeds!" Mavis looked in the direction indicated.
Letters arrived from Miss Toombs, Perigal, Windebank, and Montague Devitt, Mavis did not open them; they accumulated on the table on which lay her untasted food. The night came when Mavis was compelled to take a last farewell of her loved one. She looked at his still form with greedy, dry eyes, which never flinched.
Windebank did not heed the interruption; he went on: "Old Perigal, Charlie Perigal's father, is a rum old chap; lives alone and never sees anyone and all that. One day he asked me to call, and what d'ye think he said?" "Give it up." "Boy! you're commencing life, and you should know this: always bear in mind the value of money and the worthlessness of most women. Good-bye."
"You won't be there much longer! Do you know why?" "Tell me about yourself," she said evasively, as she wondered if talking to Windebank were unfair to Perigal. "Do you remember this?" he asked, as he brought out a crumpled letter for her inspection. "It's my writing!" she cried. "It's the foolish, dear letter you wrote to me."
The least important of the two letters was from Major Perigal; it had been forwarded on from Melkbridge. In his cramped, odd hand, he expressed further admiration for Mavis's conduct; he begged her to let him know directly she returned to Melkbridge, so that he might have the honour of calling on her again.
The prize was not a rich one, but she was too valuable to be destroyed, so Perigal directed Spellman to take her to Jamaica, allowing him four hands. Miss Susan did not at all like having his cruise cut so short, but we congratulated him on the honour of having a separate command, being ourselves very well contented to continue on board the Espoir.
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