Our Admirable Betty

Chapter 21

"Zebedee," said the Major, staring down at his empty desk, "what's become of my manuscript and papers?"

"I' the orchard, sir."

"The orchard-why there?"

"Why sir, seeing the day s'fine, the sun s'warm and the air s'balmy I took 'em out into the arbour, your honour."

"And who the plague told you to?"

"Mrs. Agatha, sir, and seeing 'tis quiet there wi' none to disturb, d'ye see, I took same, hoping what wi' the sun so warm and the air so balmy and your History o' Fortification in ten vollums you might-capture a wink or so o' sleep, p'r'aps, you not having closed a optic all last night, your honour."

"Ha!" growled the Major and, limping to the open casement, scowled out upon the sunny garden.

"And you was ever fond o' the orchard, sir."

"Damn the orchard!"

"Heartily, sir, heartily if so commanded, though 'tis for sure a pleasant place and if you, a-sitting there so snug and secluded, could nod off to sleep for an hour or so, what with the sun so warm and the air so balmy, 'twould do you a power o' good, sir, you being a bit-strange-like to-day, d'ye see."

"Strange? How?"

"Your temper's a leetle shortish and oncertain-like, sir."

"Aye," nodded the Major grimly, "belike it is, Zeb." He turned and limped slowly to the door but paused there, staring down at the polished floor. "Zebedee," said he suddenly, without lifting his frowning gaze, "what a plague gave you to think there was-there could be aught 'twixt my lady and me?"

"Observation, sir." The Major's scowl grew blacker:

"And-Mrs. Agatha?" he enquired, "does she know?"

"Being a woman, sir, she do-from the very first."

"Ha!" exclaimed the Major bitterly, "and the maids-I suppose they know, and the footmen, and the grooms, and the gardeners and every peeping, prying--"

"Sir," said the Sergeant fervently, "I'll lay my life there's no one knows but Mrs. Agatha and me-her by nat'ral intooitions and me by observation aforesaid."

"Do I--show it so--plainly, Zeb?"

"No, sir, but Mrs. Agatha's a remarkable woman-and I've learned to know you in all these years, to know your looks and ways better than you know 'em yourself, sir, wherefore I did ventur' to put two and two together and made 'em five, it seems. For (I argufies to myself) it ain't nowise good for man to live alone seeing as man be born to wedlock as the sparks do up'ard fly and what's bred i' the bone is bound to be. Moreover man cleaveth to woman and vicey-versey, your honour. Furthermore (argues I) wedlock is a comfortable institootion-now and then, sir, and very nat'ral 'twixt man and maid whereby come heirs o' the body male and female, your honour. And furthermore (I argues) you're a man and she's a maid and both on you apt and fit for same, therefore, if so-why not? Moreover again (thinks I) if two folk do love each other and there ain't any kind o' just cause nor yet impedimenta-why then (says I) wherefore not obey Natur's call and--your honour--d'ye see--there y'are, sir!" Here the Sergeant stopped and stood at attention, breathing rather hard, while the Major, who had averted his head, was silent awhile; when at last he spoke his voice sounded anything but harsh.

"You're a good soul, Sergeant Zeb, a good soul. But that which is--impossible can-er-can never be.