The Little Warrior

“Well, no. To be perfectly accurate, no. But —”

“Then that's all right. I know why you were doing it, and it was very sweet of you, but you mustn't.”

“But, Jill, you don't understand.”

“I do understand.”

“I have a motive —”

“I know your motive. Freddie told me. Don't you worry yourself about me, dear, because I am all right. I am going to be married.”

A look of ecstatic relief came into Uncle Chris' face.

“Then Underhill — ?”

“I am not marrying Derek. Somebody else. I don't think you know him, but I love him, and so will you.” She pulled his face down and kissed him. “Now you can go back.”

Uncle Chris was almost too overcome to speak. He gulped a little.

“Jill,” he said shakily, “this is a — this is a great relief.”

“I knew it would be.”

“If you are really going to marry a rich man —”

“I didn't say he was rich.”

The joy ebbed from Uncle Chris' face.

“If he is not rich, if he cannot give you everything of which I —”

“Oh, don't be absurd! Wally has all the money anybody needs. What's money?”

“What's money?” Uncle Chris stared. “Money, my dear child, is — is — well, you mustn't talk of it in that light way. But, if you think you will really have enough — ?”

“Of course we shall. Now you can go back. Mrs Peagrim will be wondering what has become of you.”

“Must I?” said Uncle Chris doubtfully.

“Of course. You must be polite.”

“Very well,” said Uncle Chris. “But it will be a little difficult to continue the conversation on what you might call general lines. However!”

Back in the box, Mrs Peagrim was fanning herself with manifest impatience.

“What did that girl want?” she demanded.

Uncle Chris seated himself with composure. The weakness had passed, and he was himself again.

“Oh, nothing, nothing. Some trivial difficulty, which I was able to dispose of in a few words.”

Mrs Peagrim would have liked to continue her researches, but a feeling that it was wiser not to stray too long from the main point restrained her. She bent towards him.

“You were going to say something when that girl interrupted us.”

Uncle Chris shot his cuffs with a debonair gesture.

“Was I? Was I? To be sure, yes. I was saying that you ought not to let yourself get tired. Deuce of a thing, getting tired. Plays the dickens with the system.”

Mrs Peagrim was disconcerted. The atmosphere seemed to have changed, and she did not like it. She endeavored to restore the tone of the conversation.

“You are so sympathetic,” she sighed, feeling that she could not do better than to begin again at that point. The remark had produced good results before, and it might do so a second time.

“Yes,” agreed Uncle Chris cheerily. “You see, I have seen something of all this sort of thing, and I realize the importance of it. I know what all this modern rush and strain of life is for a woman in your position. Parties every night — dancing — a thousand and one calls on the vitality — bound to have an effect sooner or later, unless— unless,” said Uncle Chris solemnly, “one takes steps. Unless one acts in time. I had a friend—” His voice sank—“I had a very dear friend over in London, Lady Alice—but the name would convey nothing —the point is that she was in exactly the same position as you. On the rush all the time. Never stopped. The end was inevitable. She caught cold, hadn't sufficient vitality to throw it off, went to a dance in mid-winter, contracted pneumonia —” Uncle Chris sighed. “All over in three days,” he said sadly. “Now at that time,” he resumed, “I did not know what I know now. If I had heard of Nervino then —” He shook his head. “It might have saved her life. It would have saved her life. I tell you, Mrs Peagrim, that there is nothing, there is no lack of vitality which Nervino cannot set right. I am no physician myself, I speak as a layman, but it acts on the red corpuscles of the blood —”

Mrs Peagrim's face was stony. She had not spoken before, because he had given her no opportunity, but she spoke now in a hard voice.

“Major Selby!”

“Mrs Peagrim?”

“I am not interested in patent medicines!”

“One can hardly call Nervino that,” said Uncle Chris reproachfully. “It is a sovereign specific. You can get it at any drug-store. It comes in two sizes, the dollar-fifty—or large—size, and the —”

Mrs Peagrim rose majestically.

“Major Selby, I am tired —”