Germans -- Travel -- England -- Kent -- Fiction; Humorous stories
But I did not care to prolong what was practically a _tête-à-tête_ one
moment more than necessary, and could not but at last perceive in her
persistent replenishings of my cup and plate the exactly contrary desire
in the lady. So I got up with a courteously declining, “No, no--a
reasonable man knows when to leave off,” murmured something about seeing
to things, bowed, and withdrew.
Where I withdrew to was the hop-field and a cigar.
I lay down in the shade of these green promises of beer in a corner
secure from observation, and reflected that if the others could waste
time taking supererogatory exercise I might surely be allowed an
interval of calm; and as there are no mosquitoes in England, at least
none that I ever saw, it really was not unpleasant for once to
contemplate nature from the ground. But I must confess I was slightly
nettled by the way the rest of the party had gone off without waiting to
see whether I would not like to go too. At first, busied by breakfast, I
had not thought of this. Presently, in the hop-field, it entered my
mind, and though I would not have walked far with them it would have
been pleasant to let the rest go on ahead and remain myself in some cool
corner talking to my gentle but lately so elusive friend.
I must say also that I felt no little surprise that Edelgard should gad
away in such a manner before our caravan had been tidied up and after
what I had said to her the last thing the night before. Did she then
think, in her exuberant defiance, that I would turn to and make our beds
for her?
My cigar being finished I lay awhile thinking of these things, fanned by
a gentle breeze. Country sounds, at a distance to make them agreeable,
gradually soothed ear and brain. A cock crowed just far enough away. A
lark sang muffled by space. The bells of an invisible church--Raggett’s,
probably--began a deadened and melodious ringing. Well, I was not going;
I smiled as I thought of Raggett and the eagle, forced to make the best
of things by themselves. All round me was a hum and a warmth that was
irresistible. I did not resist it. My head dropped; my limbs relaxed;
and I fell into a doze.
This doze was, as it turned out, extremely _à propos_, for by the time
it was over and I had once more become conscious, the morning was well
advanced and the caravaners had had ample time to get back from their
walk and through their work. Sauntering in among them I found everything
ready for a start except the Elsa, which, still with its left hind wheel
sunk in the soil, was being doctored by Menzies-Legh, Jellaby, and old
James.
“Hullo,” said Jellaby, looking up in the midst of his heated pushing and
pulling as I appeared, “been enjoying yourself?”
Menzies-Legh did not even look up, but continued his efforts with drops
of moisture on his saturnine brow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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