Big Game - A Story for Girls

"Oh yes, he has. I was sitting in the kitchen this morning, and he came

and spoke to me under the impression that I was Elspeth! The impression

lasted until he got quite near. I was wearing an apron, but still,--I

wasn't pleased! When he saw my face instead of hers, he fled for his

life. But he did see it! He knows quite well what I am like."

"And in the depths of your little girl heart you think he is a strange

fellow, not to want to see you again! You can't understand why he

should go out of his way to be kind to Elspeth, and avoid some one

infinitely more attractive. Don't be offended, but that's a wrong view

to take of the case. In my brother's eyes Elspeth is more attractive

than yourself, for she is poor, you see, and ugly, and leads a life of

all work and no play. He might be able to do her a good turn. Besides,

he has known her for several years, and has had time to become

reconciled to her existence, so to speak. Custom goes a long way with

shy people. George would rather beard a den of lions than face the

company in the inn parlour on a wet evening, but he is a welcome guest

in the kitchen, and Mrs McNab adores him to the extent of submitting to

muddy boots without a murmur. He cracks jokes with her in a free-and-

easy manner which strikes awe into the heart of tremblers like myself.

It's my first visit to the Nag's Head, and I'm still in the stage of

abject submission. She's a wonderful woman!"

Margot smiled with returning composure. She divined her companion's

desire to change the subject of conversation, and was quite willing to

further his efforts. What she had already heard concerning George

Elgood supplied ample food for meditation.

Viewed in dispassionate light, it was not wholly disconcerting, for if

the citadel could but once be stormed, there seemed a certainty of

gaining sympathy and consideration. She must be content to wait in

patience, until the hermit had become reconciled to her existence; but

Ron, as a fellow-man, could venture on advances on his own account.

She must talk to Ron in private, and try to instil into him some of her

own energy and enterprise. He was a dear, wonderful fellow, but

absolutely wanting in initiative. Poets, she supposed, were always

dreamy, impracticable creatures, unfitted to attend to practical

interests, and dependent upon the good offices of some adoring woman

working meekly in the background.

Her eyes brightened eloquently as she watched her brother's approach

along the winding path. What a handsome young figure of manhood he made

in his Norfolk jacket and knickerbockers, the close-fitting deerstalker

cap showing the light chestnut hair, from which no barber's shears could

succeed in banishing the natural kink and curl. No one would suspect,

to look at him, that he cherished poetical ambitions! Margot was

English enough to be thankful for this fact, illogical as it may appear.

She was proud to realise that he looked a thorough sportsman, and in

absolute harmony with his surroundings, and instinctively her pride and

affection voiced themselves in words. The Chieftain might not be the

rose, but he was at least near the rose, and it would be well to enlist

his interest as well as that of his brother.