The Potters Thumb

I must indeed, in common honesty to my future creditors.

Besides, if I went home I should never see you again, Lewis. I should not like that—would you? If the words in themselves were a direct challenge, they came from the shadow where she sat, so daintily, so airily, that half a dozen replies were possible without trenching on sober affirmation or denial. Yet her hearer hesitated. There must always be a time when a man settles whether or no he shall ask a certain woman to be his wife, and this was not the first time the idea of marrying his cousin had occurred to Lewis Gordon.

He was not the head of a Department, but he was in a fair way to become one in the future. He had money of his own, and she liked him in a way. But when he had said the words, they sounded too little, or too much, so he took refuge in jest again. The light on the bronze slipper shifted, showing an impatient movement of the pretty foot. Girls do, sometimes, especially in India. As she spoke a couple swooped out into the almost empty circle of polished floor. The waltz, nearing its end, gave them a swinging measure, and those two were dancers indeed.

One could not choose but look, until, as the last chord crashed, they stopped as if petrified, to smile at each other, before hurrying away.

Lewis Gordon watched them, his hands on his knees, a cynical smile on his face. Stupid nonsense into the bargain—which is intolerable. I am ashamed of myself. Her companion rose to accompany her with a shrug of his shoulders. She interrupted him with a gay laugh. When I am duly installed as chaperon I must consult you on matrimonial questions; but not till then, if you please, Lewis. Dacre, I haven't seen her for an age; not since I went to Meerut.

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He took his dismissal placidly, as men do in a society where they cannot claim the undivided attention of at least one woman. Besides, Gwen Boynton's chief charm lay in the impossibility of forgetting that—provided she did not wish to do something else—she would be quite as gracious to the person who cut into your place as she had been to you.

Furthermore that he was sure to hold as good page: Boynton, as Rose Tweedie had remarked, admitted no inferior players to her table.

Boynton—a perfectly unexceptional man who, on the verge of retirement, had lost all the savings of a long bachelorhood in one unfortunate venture, and had died of the disappointment. Beyond a perfectly lovely mouth and the faultless curves of chin and throat, there was nothing remarkable in her face; nothing at least to account for her remarkable charm.

That, however, was indubitable; even Lewis Gordon, sipping his coffee outside the circle which gathered round her quickly, kept his eyes upon her. So he noticed hers turn more than once to Dan Fitzgerald, who stood at the table waiting to replace Rose Tweedie's tumbler of lemonade. Perhaps she hasn't got over her fancy either; that is the only thing I can think of likely to create a difficulty.

Yet, if half an hour afterwards he had by chance wandered into that portion of the gardens devoted to zoology he would have seen something to confirm his suggestion. For the two figures leaning over the iron rail surrounding the ornamental water were those of Mrs. Boynton and Dan Fitzgerald.

The moon shone on the water; the clumps of bamboo and plantains on the central island showed softly dark; masses of feathery tamarisk trees and the sweeping curves of a sandhill or two beyond the garden shut out the world. The conversation between these two, however, was sufficiently sensible to stand the test of their surroundings. And why every one should jump to the conclusion that I am going to marry a man who is almost old enough to be my father I cannot imagine. Really the world is too idiotic. I haven't seen you for six weeks, Gwen; you've been away, remember.

And I hurried so for that promised dance, which you forgot. Yes; we'll say you forgot it. One never knows who mayn't come this way. Do let us be reasonable, Dan. We are not boy and girl now, to squabble and make it up again. You tell me always that I love you—have always loved you—will never love any one else; and perhaps you are right. Isn't that confidence page: But it was so, Gwen, in the old days; yet you threw me over. I knew it then, and it made me go to the devil—more or less.

I spoilt your life as well as my own by my cowardice. And I'm as bad as ever now, Gwen,—afraid to make you poor. Why don't I speak up, Gwen, instead of giving in to the worst part of you? He stared at her for an instant in sheer downright incredulity.

Then he laid his hand on hers sharply, and with the touch something that was neither dislike nor fear, yet which seemed to alarm her, came to her face. For you know it is all yours—that I'd starve to give you a pleasure. Why shouldn't you, dear? There's no fear; look how I've got on since you gave me the hope two years ago when I came to you in your trouble. It was so soon. But now there is no reason—no reason at all.

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I'll get my promotion all right. Keene is there at Hodinuggur, so nothing can go wrong again. You don't know—you don't understand. If I only had you to myself, I would not fear anything. And you wouldn't, either, if I had the chance of teaching you what it means to page: And don't be hurt or angry, dear.

I've promised to marry you sometime—I have indeed. Oh, Dan, how foolish you are! She laid her delicately gloved hand on his arm, as he leant over the railings, trying to hide the bitter pain her look had given him; but he only shook his head. Perhaps you are right, and I should be happy.

Only, what is the use of talking about it just now? We have settled so many times that nothing can be done until your promotion comes. That will be next year, won't it? Oh, Dan, do cheer up. I have to go out to dinner, and it is getting late; but I'll drop you at the page: I didn't mean to hurt your feelings; you know that; but you are so impetuous.

Something had disturbed the peace of the pond, for a confused gabbling and quacking filled the air. Dan tried to fight against it for a minute, then with an inward curse gave up the struggle. As they walked back to the carriage Gwen felt grateful to the birds. They had saved the Capitol, for a very little more of Dan's hurt feelings might have made her promise anything.

It was her way when brought face to face with pain. To make up for what he had suffered she was very gracious to him as they strolled along the winding walks set with English flowers, and the barred cages where big yellow tiger's eyes gleamed out of the shadows; gleamed quite harmlessly of course. But when she returned that evening to the rooms in the hotel which she occupied during the winter months her mood had changed; for Lewis Gordon had been at the dinner.

How foolish, how wrong, how unfair to poor Dan it had been to let him pay; and what a dreadful tie to her, for of course if he did not get his promotion she could not possibly marry him and then the obligation would be unbearable. Gwen, brooding over the situation by the fire, felt aggrieved.

She was one of those women who, paradoxical as it may seem, gain the power of exciting passion by their own absolute lack of comprehension as to its first principles. To say she had no heart would have been an unkind calumny. She was really very fond of Dan; more fond of him when he was absent perhaps than when he was present, but she had not the remotest conception of what his love meant to him. So as she sat thinking of him in her seamless dress—Gwen's evening dresses always had a seamless look, and the lace about her fair shoulders always seemed pinned on with cunning little diamond brooches glittering and sparkling—she told herself that it all depended on promotion, and that, in its turn, depended largely on a boy whom she had never seen, who had gone to live in page: And at that moment George, pondering over a cigar in the verandah before turning in, was meditating, not upon the mysterious mound of Hodinuggur, with the light in the Diwan's Tower challenging the feeble flicker in the potter's house, but on something far more mysterious than either—his dinner.

George gave up the puzzle and went to bed depressed by the consideration that if Hodinuggur was strange and unkenned to him, he was quite as strange and unkenned to it. Genu valgum Genu varum Genu recurvatum Discoid meniscus Congenital patellar dislocation Congenital knee dislocation. Acheiropodia Ectromelia Phocomelia Amelia Hemimelia. Arthrogryposis Larsen syndrome Rapadilino syndrome. Macrocephaly Platybasia Craniodiaphyseal dysplasia Dolichocephaly Greig cephalopolysyndactyly syndrome Plagiocephaly Saddle nose.

Pectus excavatum Pectus carinatum.

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