A Seaside Wooing by Lucy Maud Montgomery. Part 2
Watch on KineScope.
July Twelfth
Something has happened at last. Today I went to the shore as usual, and I had decided absolutely not to look at him or at that end of the beach at all. But in the end I had to take a quick look, and saw him on the rocks with his spyglass looking at me. When he saw that I was looking, he put down the spyglass, held out his hands, and began to spell out something in the deaf-mute alphabet. Connie taught it to me last year because we wanted to talk secretly across the classroom. I gave one frightened look at Aunt Martha’s back, and then watched him while he spelled:
I am Francis Shelmardine. Aren’t you Miss Forrester, my sister’s friend?’
Francis Shelmardine! Now I knew who he reminded me of. I have heard endless talk from Connie on this wonderful brother of hers, Francis the clever, Francis the good-looking, Francis this, and Francis that. In fact, he has always been the young man who appears in my dreams. It was too wonderful. I just stared back at him through my spyglass.
‘May we know each other?’ he went on. ‘May I come over and introduce myself? Right hand, yes; left hand, no.’ Oh dear! He mustn’t come here. What would happen?
Sadly, I waved my left hand. He looked very disappointed as he spelled out:
‘Why not? Would your friends disapprove?’ I spelled back: ‘Yes.’
‘Are you unhappy because I asked you?’ was his next question.
What had happened to all Aunt Martha’s careful teaching?
I am embarrassed to say that I lifted my left hand shyly. I just had time to see his pleased smile before Aunt Martha came up and said it was time to go home. So I stood up, shook the sand from my dress, and obediently followed my good aunt home.
July Thirteenth
When we went to the shore this morning, I was so nervous and worried. I had to wait until Aunt got tired of reading and set off along the shore with Mrs Saxby. Then I reached for my spyglass.
Mr Shelmardine and I had a long conversation. With the deaf-mute alphabet we did not want to talk around things uselessly. So we used as few words as possible, and our conversation went something like this:
‘You’re not angry with me?’
‘No – but I should be.’
‘Why?’
‘It is wrong to deceive Aunt.’
‘I am not a dangerous person.’
“That is not the question.’
‘Is it not possible to change the way she thinks?’
‘Absolutely not.’
‘Mrs Allardyce, who is staying at the hotel, knows her well. Shall I bring her over to explain that I’m not a bad person?’
‘It won’t do a bit of good.’
“Then it is hopeless.’
‘Yes.’
‘Suppose you were free to do what you liked… Would you refuse to know me then?’
‘No.’
‘Do you ever come to the shore alone?’
‘No. Aunt does not permit me?
‘Must she know?’
‘Yes. I don’t like to go out if she doesn’t permit it.’
‘You will not refuse to talk with me like this sometimes?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps not.’
I had to go home then. As we went, Mrs Saxby told me that my face had a nice healthy colour. Aunt Martha looked very disapproving. If I’m ever really ill, I know she will spend her last cent to help me. But she doesn’t really like to see me enjoying life. She prefers to see me quiet and pale in this sad life.