The Mystery of the Sea / Тайна моря - стр. 39
“This is most interesting. O! do tell me-if you don't mind.”
“I shall be delighted” I said, and I only expressed my thought. “Gormala” I began; but just then the stout lady in front of us, who was now a considerable way ahead, turned round and called to us. I could only hear “Miss Anita;” but the girl evidently understood, for she called out:
“All right! We are coming at once!” and she hurried on. It gave me a thrill of pleasure that she said “we” not “I;” it was sweet to have a part in such a comprehension. As we went she turned to me and said:
“You must tell me all about it; I shan't be happy till I hear the whole story, whatever it is. This is all too lovely and exciting. I hadn't an idea when we went out sleepily this morning that there would be so much in the day to think of afterwards.” I felt that I had taken my courage in both hands as I said:
“You'll both dine with me at the hotel, won't you. You have missed lunch and must be hungry, so we can dine early. It will be such a true pleasure to me; and I can tell you all about everything afterwards, if we can manage to get a moment alone.”
She paused, and I waited anxiously. Then she spoke with a delightful smile:
“That must be as Mrs. Jack says. But we shall see!” With this I had to be content for the present.
When we came up to her, Mrs. Jack said in a woeful way:
“Oh, Miss Anita, I don't know what to do. The sand is so heavy, and my clothes are so weighty with the wet, and my boots squish so with the water in them that I'm beginning to think I'll never be able to get warm or dry again; though I'm both warm enough and dry enough in other ways.” As she spoke she moved her feet somewhat after the manner of a bear dancing, so as to make her wet boots squeak. I would have liked to have laughed, though I really pitied the poor thing; but a glance at the concern on Miss Anita's face checked me. Very tenderly she began to help and comfort the old lady, and looked at me pleadingly to help her. “Why dear” she said “no wonder it is hard walking for you with your clothes so wringing wet,” and she knelt down on the wet sand and began to wring them out. I looked around to see what I could do to help. Just opposite, where we were the outcrop of rock on which the Hawklaw is based sent up a jagged spur of granite through the sand, close under the bent-covered hillocks. I pointed to this and we led the old lady over to it and made her sit down on a flat rock. Then we proceeded to wring her out, she all the while protesting against so much trouble being taken about her. We pulled off her spring-side boots, emptied them out and, with considerable difficulty, forced them on again. Then we all stood up, and the girl and I took her arms and hurried her along the beach; we all knew that nothing could be done for real comfort till we should have reached the hotel. As we went she said with gratitude in every note of her voice, the words joggling out of her as she bumped along: