When he yawned--and he yawned pretty often, I guess, during that month--she thought of the size of his mouth, and when he put his heels upon the fender she sat and brooded upon the shape of his feet.At meal-time, not feeling hungry herself, having nothing to do to make her hungry, she would occupy herself with watching him eat; and at night, not feeling sleepy for the same reason, she would lie awake and listen to his snoring.After the first day or two he grew tired of talking nonsense, and she of listening to it (it sounded nonsense now they could speak it aloud; they had fancied it poetry when they had had to whisper it); and having no other subject, as yet, of common interest, they would sit and stare in front of them in silence.One day some trifle irritated him and he swore.On a busy railway platform, or in a crowded hotel, she would have said, 'Oh!' and they would both have laughed.From that echoing desert the silly words rose up in widening circles towards the sky, and that night she cried herself to sleep.Bustle them, my dear boy, bustle them.We all like each other better the less we think about one another, and the honeymoon is an exceptionally critical time.Bustle her, my dear boy, bustle her."My very worst honeymoon experience took place in the South of England in eighteen hundred and--well, never mind the exact date, let us say a few years ago.I was a shy young man at that time.
Many complain of my reserve to this day, but then some girls expect too much from a man.We all have our shortcomings.Even then, however, I was not so shy as she.We had to travel from Lyndhurst in the New Forest to Ventnor, an awkward bit of cross-country work in those days.
"It's so fortunate you are going too," said her aunt to me on the Tuesday; "Minnie is always nervous travelling alone.You will be able to look after her, and I shan't be anxious.
I said it would be a pleasure, and at the time I honestly thought it.On the Wednesday I went down to the coach office, and booked two places for Lymington, from where we took the steamer.I had not a suspicion of trouble.
The booking-clerk was an elderly man.He said--"I've got the box seat, and the end place on the back bench."I said--
"Oh, can't I have two together?"
He was a kindly-looking old fellow.He winked at me.I wondered all the way home why he had winked at me.He said--"I'll manage it somehow."
I said--
"It's very kind of you, I'm sure.
He laid his hand on my shoulder.He struck me as familiar, but well-intentioned.He said--"We have all of us been there."
I thought he was alluding to the Isle of Wight.I said--"And this is the best time of the year for it, so I'm told." It was early summer time.
He said--"It's all right in summer, and it's good enough in winter--WHILE IT LASTS.You make the most of it, young 'un;" and he slapped me on the back and laughed.
He would have irritated me in another minute.I paid for the seats and left him.
At half-past eight the next morning Minnie and I started for the coach-office.I call her Minnie, not with any wish to be impertinent, but because I have forgotten her surname.It must be ten years since I last saw her.She was a pretty girl, too, with those brown eyes that always cloud before they laugh.Her aunt did not drive down with us as she had intended, in consequence of a headache.She was good enough to say she felt every confidence in me.
The old booking-clerk caught sight of us when we were about a quarter of a mile away, and drew to us the attention of the coachman, who communicated the fact of our approach to the gathered passengers.Everybody left off talking, and waited for us.The boots seized his horn, and blew--one could hardly call it a blast;it would be difficult to say what he blew.He put his heart into it, but not sufficient wind.I think his intention was to welcome us, but it suggested rather a feeble curse.We learnt subsequently that he was a beginner on the instrument.
In some mysterious way the whole affair appeared to be our party.
The booking-clerk bustled up and helped Minnie from the cart.Ifeared, for a moment, he was going to kiss her.The coachman grinned when I said good-morning to him.The passengers grinned, the boots grinned.Two chamber-maids and a waiter came out from the hotel, and they grinned.I drew Minnie aside, and whispered to her.
I said--
"There's something funny about us.All these people are grinning."She walked round me, and I walked round her, but we could neither of us discover anything amusing about the other.The booking-clerk said--"It's all right.I've got you young people two places just behind the box-seat.We'll have to put five of you on that seat.You won't mind sitting a bit close, will you?"The booking-clerk winked at the coachman, the coachman winked at the passengers, the passengers winked at one another--those of them who could wink--and everybody laughed.The two chamber-maids became hysterical, and had to cling to each other for support.With the exception of Minnie and myself, it seemed to be the merriest coach party ever assembled at Lyndhurst.
We had taken our places, and I was still busy trying to fathom the joke, when a stout lady appeared on the scene, and demanded to know her place.
The clerk explained to her that it was in the middle behind the driver.
"We've had to put five of you on that seat," added the clerk.
The stout lady looked at the seat.
"Five of us can't squeeze into that," she said.
Five of her certainly could not.Four ordinary sized people with her would find it tight.
"Very well then," said the clerk, "you can have the end place on the back seat.""Nothing of the sort," said the stout lady."I booked my seat on Monday, and you told me any of the front places were vacant.
"I'LL take the back place," I said, "I don't mind it.
"You stop where you are, young 'un," said the clerk, firmly, "and don't be a fool.I'll fix HER."I objected to his language, but his tone was kindness itself.
