This witticism was never uttered. I thought I saw a golden fish. It was the honey head of the barmaid, bent over a love story, but, as the place had the appearance of the tourist cocktail lounge of a liner sunk two years previously in a hundred fathoms of grey-green ocean, I thought it was a golden fish. I was sharply corrected when she raised a face so dappled with flush and sun-gleam that I looked instinctively for the orchard boughs above her head.
All this was disconcerting, and effective in shattering my pose. It happens that these fresh and almost eatable faces have a peculiar effect on me. «Farewell before hail,» I thought, «to the sailor's languishing wife, and to the ardent anaemia at the Vicarage! I am off.»
I ordered one of the far inferior intoxicants that stood ranked behind her, and retired a pace, changing my name to Bert, a young man already doing well, at once cheeky and shy, but probably capable of being serious. One never knew what I could come out with next.
I was wondering about that myself when I saw that she, affecting to take no particular notice of me, had retired into the flowery thicket of her reverie. I realized that this must have grown very wild and tangly in the last month or two, because, before she could turn and peep out from it, it swallowed her up entirely, like a prospective sleeping beauty, and indeed she yawned.
I analyzed this yawn with the aloof precision of one of those scientists who are always helping Scotland Yard. I discovered it to be heavy with a super-saturation of sigh, its origin a plaintive protest against the difference between dreams and reality. Though this was only the middle of November, I diagnosed it as a premature December yawn, and in December they settled for reality. This emboldened me to act at once.
Affecting to consult my heart, exactly as if it had been a pocket watch, I gasped, bit my lip, and stared at her in wild surmise. You could never tell when I was joking. «Do you believe,» I said fervently, «in love at first sight?»
«No, sir,» she said severely. «That sort of thing doesn't appeal, thank you.»
It was clear she had not been a barmaid more than seven or eight weeks. From behind her professional hauteur she peeped out to watch for its effect, as bewitchingly as if she were a child wearing her mother's terrible hat.
«I'm not fooling,» I said (taken down a peg or two, you understand). «The fact is, believe it or not, I'm a bit psychic.» On this word, the most useful though not the most beautiful in our language, she raised her eyes to mine, which I had baited with pieces of an old sincerity which I carry about for just such purposes. I put a little in my voice too, as I added, «Do you know what I thought, the minute I saw you?»
«What?» said she.
«I'll tell you,» said I. «'That girl's tragic,' I thought. 'She's being wasted. There's a sort of bar between her and all sorts of delightful surprises. I wish it could be melted away.'»
«Not really!»
«I did,» said I. «Give me your hand. I can read it like a book, probably by your favourite author. Oh, I'm psychic all right. I had a sort of premonition when I came here. I knew I was going to fall desperately in love.»
«I know you're kidding,» said she, but she offered me her open hand, which proved to be quite illegible.
Nevertheless I spoke with confidence. «You've been thinking of love today. You've been dreaming of a stranger. Now don't deny it, because it's written in your hand. And that's not all.»
«What else does it say?» said she.
«Call it Fate,» said I solemnly. «Call it Kismet if you like; I can deny you nothing. Or, look here, let's call it Destiny. You can't go back on Destiny, you know. It would absolutely ruin it. It says … Guess what!»
«I can't,» she said. «Do tell me.»
I couldn't guess either. Dumbly I scrutinized her palm. She leaned a little farther over the bar, joining me in the study. Our foreheads touched. I remained conscious, but the shock had dislocated all connection between awareness and volition. With a divine shudder I heard myself reply, «It says we are going to be married.»
«Oh,» said she. «I don't know about that.»
«What?» I cried, hurt to the quick, all caution forgotten. «Is this mutual understanding? Is this two hearts beating as one? Don't let's start off with a rift like this between us.»
«I didn't mean it that way,» she replied remorsefully.
«Splendid,» I said. «Our first little quarrel healed already. And don't we sort of know one another better for it? Aren't we somehow closer? If not, we ought to be. Lean over a little farther.»
Fate had evidently triumphed. Her kiss was like cowslips and cream. I was unquestionably in love, and felt no longer responsible for my actions.
At that moment, however, a gong sounded in the echoing depths of the hotel. «Better go,» she said, already wifely. «Go and get your dinner. I'll be here later on.»
I bowed before the importance of Bert's dinner, and went. When I returned the bar was still empty of intruders, and she was still there. I rushed forward, I flung my arms about her, and resumed the kiss that had been so coarsely interrupted.
I had just been struck by the nice thought that perhaps after all it tasted of cream and honeysuckle, rather than cowslips, when I was also struck by a tremendous blow in the face.
«What?» I said, staggering back. «Are you tired of me already? You might at least have broken it more gently.»
«I'll call the manager,» said she.
«Do so,» said I. «Call the boots, too. Call the waiters. Call all the principal residents of T———— on Sea. Let them hear how you promised to marry me before dinner, and socked me in the puss for a kiss immediately afterwards.»
«Promised to marry you?» she cried. «Before dinner. Oooh! It must have been Bella. Fancy! Bella!»
«What is your name?» said I.
«Nellie, »said she.
«That's who it was,» said I. «Nellie. You. To the devil with this interfering, designing Bella, who …» But, as I spoke, she turned and darted through the door behind her.
I heard some delicious squeals and giggles. «I hope,» I thought, «she is giving that abominable Bella a good pinch. Pretending to be her! She had the poor girl all confused.» At that moment the door opened again, and out they came, hand in hand.
«I'm Nellie.»
«I'm Bella.»
«Keep quite still,» said I, clowning astonishment. «I must think for a little while about this.»
«Look! He's all bowled over.»
«Isn't he sweet?»
«Yes, he's a duck. Bella, you are lucky.»
«Your turn next.»
That was the rub. My mind darkened at the thought of a brother-in-law. You know what beasts men are. A thousand intricate jealousies tangled themselves before me. The girls were so exactly alike; they went together, as we say. Besides, who can choose between cowslips and honeysuckle?
It was time I said something. «Well!» said I. «By all that's wonderful! I wish old Fred were here tonight!»
«Who's Fred?»
«Fred? You'll like Fred. He's a splendid fellow. We're twins.»
«No!»
«Yes, identical twins. More alike than you are. Same looks. Same tastes. Same thoughts. I always know what he's thinking. Listen! He's sort of trying to get through to me now. I bet he knows I'm happy. He does. He's sending congratulations. In waves. He's asking something. What is it, Fred, old boy? Is there what? Oh, Is there one for me, Bert? That's what he's trying to say. What shall I tell him, Nellie?»
«Don't know, I'm sure.»
«Why don't you bring him along one day?» said Bella.
«I can't,» said I. «We're on a very special job. It's just half the time off for each of us. But I'll tell you what; I'll send him along.»