"Stephen's a good sort," said Enwright. "He'll be jolly pleased to show
you the ropes. Give him my best, old boy!"
Of course I took the letter. But I puzzled greatly over the affair.
What could be the meaning of this sudden warm attachment that Archie had
formed for me? Why should he want to pass me along to his cousin at a
time when that gentleman, back home after two years in India, would
be, no doubt, extremely busy? I made up my mind I would not present the
letter, despite the fact that Archie had with great persistence wrung
from me a promise to do so. I had met many English gentlemen, and I
felt they were not the sort--despite the example of Archie--to take a
wandering American to their bosoms when he came with a mere letter. By
easy stages I came on to London. Here I met a friend, just sailing for
home, who told me of some sad experiences he had had with letters
of introduction--of the cold, fishy,
"My-dear-fellow-why-trouble-me-with-it?" stares that had greeted their
presentation. Good-hearted men all, he said, but averse to strangers; an
ever-present trait in the English--always excepting Archie.
So I put the letter to Captain Fraser-Freer out of my mind. I had
business acquaintances here and a few English friends, and I found
these, as always, courteous and charming. But it is to my advantage to
meet as many people as may be, and after drifting about for a week I set
out one afternoon to call on my captain. I told myself that here was an
Englishman who had perhaps thawed a bit in the great oven of India. If
not, no harm would be done.
It was then that I came for the first time to this house on Adelphi
Terrace, for it was the address Archie had given me. Walters let me in,
and I learned from him that Captain Fraser-Freer had not yet arrived
from India. His rooms were ready--he had kept them during his absence,
as seems to be the custom over here--and he was expected soon.
Perhaps--said Walters--his wife remembered the date. He left me in the
lower hall while he went to ask her.
Waiting, I strolled to the rear of the hall. And then, through an open
window that let in the summer, I saw for the first time that courtyard
which is my great love in London--the old ivy-covered walls of brick;
the neat paths between the blooming beds; the rustic seat; the magic
gate. It was incredible that just outside lay the world's biggest city,
with all its poverty and wealth, its sorrows and joys, its roar and
rattle. Here was a garden for Jane Austen to people with fine ladies
and courtly gentlemen--here was a garden to dream in, to adore and to
cherish.