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It's no use going into details; suffice it to state that before the year was out she was again at the Fynes' door. This time she was escorted by a stout youth. His large pale face wore a smile of inane cunning soured by annoyance. The youth addressing Mrs Fyne easily begged her not to let "that silly thing go back to us any more."
I think that I have no sagacity no practical sagacity." Fyne made an inarticulate bass murmur of protest. I asked after the children whom I had not seen yet since my return from town. They had been very well. They were always well. Both Fyne and Mrs.
Marlow," she said in an unexpectedly confidential tone: "they are so utterly unsuited for each other." At the moment I did not know how to apply this remark. I thought at first of Fyne and the dog. Then I adjusted it to the matter in hand which was neither more nor less than an elopement. Yes, by Jove!
"She's quite capable of having told him herself," affirmed Fyne, with amazing insight. "But whether or no, I've told him." "You did? From Mrs. Fyne, of course." Fyne only blinked owlishly at this piece of my insight. "And how did Captain Anthony receive this interesting information?" I asked further.
The old King of Borva was discoursing of the fishing populations round the western coasts, and of their various ways and habits. "I wish I could have seen Tarbert," Lavender was saying, "but the Iona just passes the mouth of the little harbor as she comes up Loch Fyne. I know two or three men who go there every year to paint the fishing-life of the place. It is an odd little place, isn't it?"
I was most painfully affected when he was here by the difficulty of finding a single topic we could discuss together." While Mrs Fyne was talking of her brother I let my thoughts wander out of the room to little Fyne who by leaving me alone with his wife had, so to speak, entrusted his domestic peace to my honour.
He disguised himself and made night journeys that he might learn what would suit his purpose. He could be in turn an Irish drover, a Loch Fyne fisherman, a moor shepherd, a flourishing burgess of Lanark or Ruglen, even an enterprising spirit dealer from Edinburgh or Dundee, with facilities for storage of casks when the Solway undutied cargoes should reach these cities.
Gilfillan's resignation did not have that purely spontaneous character so desirable under the circumstances; two because they did not think that West had the qualifications, or would have the right point of view, for a people's college; and one for all these reasons, or for any other reason, which is to say for personal reasons. This one, said Mr. Fyne, was James E. Winter. "I know," said West.
Mrs Fyne confessed to me that they had remained all three silent and inanimate. He turned to the girl: "What's this game, Florrie? You had better give it up. If you expect me to run all over London looking for you every time you happen to have a tiff with your auntie and cousins you are mistaken. I can't afford it."
With that he ran out in lover-like haste leaving the hall-door wide open. Mrs Fyne had not found a word to say. She had been too much taken aback even to gasp freely. But she had the presence of mind to grab the girl's arm just as she, too, was running out into the street with the haste, I suppose, of despair and to keep I don't know what tragic tryst.
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