A Damsel in Distress

"I must do something," he muttered. "I must do something quick."

"Beg pardon," said the house-agent.

"Nothing," said George. "Well, I'll take that cottage. I'd better

write you a cheque for the first month's rent now."

So George took up his abode, full of strenuous--if vague--purpose,

in the plainly-furnished but not uncomfortable cottage known

locally as "the one down by Platt's." He might have found a worse

billet. It was a two-storied building of stained red brick, not one

of the thatched nests on which he had looked down from the hill.

Those were not for rent, being occupied by families whose ancestors

had occupied them for generations back. The one down by Platt's

was a more modern structure--a speculation, in fact, of the farmer

whose wife came to "do" for George, and designed especially to

accommodate the stranger who had the desire and the money to rent

it. It so departed from type that it possessed a small but

undeniable bath-room. Besides this miracle, there was a cosy

sitting-room, a larger bedroom on the floor above and next to this

an empty room facing north, which had evidently served artist

occupants as a studio. The remainder of the ground floor was taken

up by kitchen and scullery. The furniture had been constructed by

somebody who would probably have done very well if he had taken up

some other line of industry; but it was mitigated by a very fine

and comfortable wicker easy chair, left there by one of last year's

artists; and other artists had helped along the good work by

relieving the plainness of the walls with a landscape or two. In

fact, when George had removed from the room two antimacassars,

three group photographs of the farmer's relations, an illuminated

text, and a china statuette of the Infant Samuel, and stacked them

in a corner of the empty studio, the place became almost a home

from home.

Solitude can be very unsolitary if a man is in love. George never

even began to be bored. The only thing that in any way troubled his

peace was the thought that he was not accomplishing a great deal in

the matter of helping Maud out of whatever trouble it was that had

befallen her. The most he could do was to prowl about roads near

the castle in the hope of an accidental meeting. And such was his

good fortune that, on the fourth day of his vigil, the accidental

meeting occurred.

Taking his morning prowl along the lanes, he was rewarded by the

sight of a grey racing-car at the side of the road. It was empty,

but from underneath it protruded a pair of long legs, while beside

it stood a girl, at the sight of whom George's heart began to thump

so violently that the long-legged one might have been pardoned had

he supposed that his engine had started again of its own volition.