§ 2
In the train back to London Mr. Preemby rehearsed these arrangements and made his plans.
“I shall come down here the day after to-morrow, after I have put my collections in order at the Mew. I shall put the best things so that they can be seen through the glass of the cabinet, but I think I shall lock them up, and I shall bring down a few necessary books, and then when I have quite settled in I shall go and have a good look at these celebrated Rocks here.”
“We could come down in the morning,” said Christina Alberta, “and go and look at them in the afternoon.”
“Not the same afternoon,” said Mr. Preemby. “No. I want my mind to be quite fresh and open when I look at the Rocks. I think it will be best to see them quite early—after a night’s sleep. When there are no other visitors. I think—I think, Christina Alberta, that for the first time I’d better go to them quite alone. Without you. Sometimes you say things, Christina Alberta—you don’t mean to say them of course—but they put me out....”
Christina Alberta reflected. “What do you expect to find at these Rocks, Daddy?”
Mr. Preemby waved his moustache and the rest of his face slowly from side to side. “I go with an Open Mind,” he said. “Perhaps all of Atlantis was not lost. Some of it may be hidden. There are legends preserved by the philosopher Plato. Partly in cipher. Who knows? It may be here. It may be in Africa. A plan. A sign. The toad rock must be most singular. In the British Museum there is a toad rock from Central America....”
He mused pleasantly for a time.
“I shall take a note-book,” he said, “and several coloured pencils.”
He continued to meditate. His next remark came after an interval of three or four minutes, and was a surprise for Christina Alberta.
“I hope, my dear,” said Mr. Preemby, “that among all these artists and people you are not getting Ram Shackle.
“I should be sorry to think you were getting Ram Shackle,” said Mr. Preemby.
“But Daddy, what makes you think I may be getting—Ram Shackle?” asked Christina Alberta.
“One or two little things I saw at the Mew,” said Mr. Preemby. “Just one or two little things. You’ve got to be careful, Christina Alberta. A girl has to take care of herself. And your friends—decidedly Ram Shackle. Don’t mind my making a remark about them, Christina Alberta. Just a word in season.”
Christina Alberta’s answer came after a little interval, and without her usual confident ring. “Don’t you worry about me, Daddy,” she said. “I’m all right.”
Mr. Preemby seemed about to change the subject. Then he remarked, “I don’t like that feller, Teddy Winterton. He’s too familiar.”
“I don’t like him either,” said Christina Alberta. “He is too familiar.”
“That’s all right,” said Mr. Preemby. “I thought you didn’t notice,” and relapsed into meditation.
But this sudden and unprecedented intervention in her personal affairs made Christian Alberta thoughtful for all the rest of the way to London. Ever and again she glanced furtively at her Daddy.
He seemed to have forgotten her.
But it was dreadfully true. Teddy Winterton had become—altogether—too familiar.