A Walk For Two

Sun (Auckland), Volume I, Issue 241, 31 December 1927, Page 22

A Walk For Two

By

Myra Morris

They had discovered, as it were in one flash, that they loved one another. Perhaps the sheen on the grass and the silken sound of the creek tumbling over the stones, and the song of the blackbirds, had something to do with it. "And now, I suppose, we'll have to be engaged,” said Poppy brightly. Craven nodded, caressing one tweedcovered knee with a brown hand. "I hope you don't want a ring,” he said solemnly, "because I haven’t a bean.” "How about a sixpenny priz*. packet?” suggested Poppy helpfully. "'You know, a whopping big turquoise and a cluster of glass diamonds.’’ "What a baby you are,” said Craven delightfully eyeing her in her short blue jersey frock and crinkled yellow shingle. "I am 25,” said Poppy. "Two years wiser than you, me lad. ’ "You are 15, '’ said Craven. They went slowly along the road. A blackbird sang all the way. An autumn sun, pale like honey, dripped through the tree branches. Kittle brisk splashes of colour had come into the blackberry bushes along the gutters. They passed a forge, where a man stood bending over a horse’s ho>r\ where there was a ringing sound of iron on stone. They passed little gardens with ragged, heavy-headed dahlias, and stiff, defiant-looking zinnias, and found a little shop that smelled of peppermints. Craven went inside, and bought, with perfect seriousness, a sixpenny packet, which, he explained carefully, was for a child A little further down the road they broke the paper. Pink and white egglollies, a blue cap, and a slender ring with three glass "rubies.” He tried it on her engagement linger, and it fitted perfectly. "Kiss me!” said Poppy, with sudden passion. Craven’s face went white, and liis eyelids twitched. They kissed there in the sunlight, clinging together, the only two in a rapturous world :>f their own. "I never dreamed that people could be so happy,” said Poppy, as they j walked on. "I could die of sheer joy. ! And we’ve another mile to go before we get back to Dorothy’s house. I grudge every step.” She looked sideways at the ugly young face of «‘raven, i "Darling, we must never hide anything from one another; we must always be perfectly frank about ourselves. 1 You've said that yourself.” "Something like,” said Craven, cheerfully, walking lazily with his slightly pigeon-toed gait. He didn’t want to talk, really—only to know that she was there, slightly dragging at his elbow. "ISTo one must know yet,” whispered Poppy, looking down at her absurd ring. “Why not?” Craven’s voice v;as brisk. "Well, it will make me look such a fool. You see, darling,” she went on, pulling at his arm, "I’ve always poked fun at you to the others. You always looked such a. funny old darling, with your hair sticking up as though you never brushed it, and jour awful manners. When I knew that Dorothy had asked you up to the hills for the week-end I nearly swooned with disgust. I didn’t want you one bit. Clare and I died laughing that day when you came in late to that bridge afternoon, and tipped up one of the tables. Clare said to me, Fancy being married to that,* and I said, ‘Don’t—l couldn’t! ” "Couldn’t what?” asked Craven, in a cold voice. "Imagine it, silly!” She squeezed his arm affectionately. "I lured you on, like Herod’s wife, you know, but I was only laughing. Remember the ».lght I hurt my foot, and couldn’t run ''r the last train? Well, I hadn’t hurt it at all, and ” “It cost me thirty bob for the tax',” said Craven, staring hard in front. Poppy laughed tenderly. "Poor o?o. thing, I didn’t know, then, that your blood-and-thunder father had made such a fuss about the car sma-'h It seemed so silly when you sell cars. What does one here or there matter?” “Apparently quite a lot,” *aid Craven grimly. “The old dad’s miles away now from taking me into any sort cf partnership. I’m simply continuing on as a sort of super-salesmen. That accounts for the pecuniary embarrassment.” “So you see, darling,” said Poppy, inconsequently, coming back. "I couid not tell them straight away. You see what a fool I’d look after calling you no end of killinglv funny names. ~ I could not foresee this.” Craven walked on steadily, wishing that she wouldn’t lean on him quite so heavily. She wasn’t exactly a feather-

weight. He unloosened himself, tended to pick a blackberry leaf, then strode on, unencumbered, proud of hi strategy. “Just as you like, dear,” he sa ; d cheerfully, as they rounded a shadowbend. "We'll say nothing. After a” | it’s our own funeral, and as thine*,’ ! are between the old dad and me it' better for me to keep out of the Lirne--1 light for a decent interval.” “I don’t quite see,” began Poppy, ! a piqued voice. “Well, it's this way, dear,” e.\plaj ne <| Craven patiently. “I had a girl out in the car that night we had the smash Dad always blames the woman. made it rather clear that it would be wise for me to eschew feminine company for a while, and if I were suddenly to confront him with the news 1 of our engagement ” Poppy’s blue eyes had taken on a j steel-like quality. “Oh,” she said softly, “a girl! You . didn’t tell me. Who was it?” “Well, as a matter of fact”—Craven was, clearing his throat unnecessarily —“it was Kitty White.” “Kitty White!” Some thing hard . had crept into Poppy's young voice “You came up with her in the train on Friday. At the time I took no notice —but, then, it wasn't for me you came at all?” she flashed. “You probably didn’t even know that I was here j or ” | “Well, as a matter of fact, Kittv told me.” confessed Craven awkwardly. • You see. I had been playing a lot of ! tennis with her. old dear. She’s fine on the court, Kitty. I may as well be trank, darling, but you run all over the place like a distracted crab. There L ; nothing a man hates more.” | They walked on in silence. The blackbird still sang, but there was an irritating sameness about its high, clear whistle. The wind, with its fain: ■ whiff of green things, had an icy edge to it. Something was different. | “Very well, then—if you want to | keep a secret,” exploded Poppy, breath- | ing down her nose, “do so, but it looks ; fishy. That’s it—fishy.” “I thought you yourself wanted it," j said Craven mildly. They walked on again, a little apart from one another, uncomfortably out i of step. ! “A pity you’re pigeon-toed, dear!" | cooed Poppy, looking down, and knowj ing that he was sensitive about his j feet. “It’s a wonder your mother did not correct it when you were a child." “All athletic types are slightly pigeon-toed,” he said shortly. “Including Kitty White,” said Poppy softly, dragging her heels. They walked on wordlessly. Dorothy’s house, with its red chimneys, was in sight. Poppy’s step lagged' Sh« was suddenly tired. What had happened to the glory of the day? Everything was unaccountably changed. The road was merely uninteresting. Would they never come to the end of it? There was nothing to say. Somehow they had said everything. Her heart missed a beat. They had said too much—both of them. That was what was called “being frank.” “It’s a beautiful day.” said Craven heartily, with his eyes in front. She assented coldly. “I hope it will be fine to-morrow.” “And the next day,” said Craven, and the conversation died again. Poppy stared at the enlarging red chimneys. “I hope you will get your game of tennis with the charming partner this evening” she said politely. “I hope so,” he said distantly. “I shall make an effort. Mercifully, she hasn’t the sense of humour that is always making a butt of someone.” There was silence again. Dorothy’s house was very near. Poppy looked down at her cheap little ring, with a mist over her eyes. “Anyhow, you wouldn’t have given Kitty’ a cheap thing like that,” she said in a constrained voice. ‘You wouldn’t have dared.” Ho turned and looked at her, and she looked away. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said steadily; “that’s just it. I wouldn’t!” They fumbled for each other’s fingers blindly. “That blackbird—it’s so beautiful, I can’t bear it,” said Poppy with a sigh.