So cheer up, Miss Marryun, and come an'
'ave this nice glarss o' stout I've brought in for you.' She unscrewed
the bottle as she spoke. 'I always find that when things are at their
worst, an' you're feelin' real pipped like, a glarss o' stout acts like
magic. Yes, it's the right stuff, is stout.'
The situation was distinctly ludicrous. Yet neither Marion nor I
laughed. We watched Elizabeth solemnly pouring out the stout, after
which she handed it to Marion, who, though she 'never touches' anything
alcoholic as a rule, took it and drank it off 'like a lamb,' as
Elizabeth expressed it.
There was a pause. Then the corners of Marion's mouth ceased to droop.
She smiled. I smiled. Elizabeth smiled.
There was another pause. 'I think, Elizabeth,' I remarked, 'I'll have
a glass--just a small glass--of stout myself.'
'You do right, 'm. I'll fetch you a glass.'
'And Elizabeth, if you'd care to have some----'
'Thank you very much 'm, I _did_ take the liberty of 'avin' a taste
already, but a little drop more wouldn't do me any 'arm, as the sayin'
is.'
She went out. Marion set down her glass and put away her
pocket-handkerchief. 'How silly of me to worry about Mr. Harbinger,'
she said. 'After all, I suppose Fate never intended us for each other.'
I recognized in a flash that Elizabeth had succeeded where I had
failed, and I was conscious of a certain admiration for her methods.
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