Free The Nymph and the Lamp by Thomas H Raddall Page A

air.
    Carney sat forward with a rapt face lit by the glare in which those fantastic creatures moved, clenching his fists when the villain became outrageous, shaking his head when the heroine failed to see how outrageous the fellow was. Miss Jardine smiled. She felt like a maiden aunt who has taken a small boy to the matinee. Once, when the simpering she-ghost got into a predicament that she thoroughly deserved, Carney put out a hand and seized Miss Jardine’s wrist with such force that she barely suppressed a cry. But she did not move. Her wrist lay passive in his grasp until, in the same unconscious way, he let it go.
    When they emerged into the clean air of the August evening Carney drew in a great breath and blew it out through his bearded lips.
    â€œThat’s better,” he announced with satisfaction.
    â€œBut I thought you liked the show?”
    â€œOh, I did. I didn’t like that dark chap, though. By Jingo, I could have knocked his head off. I don’t understand why the other chap didn’t, there in the first reel. He could see what the fellow was.”
    â€œSo could the girl, if she had any sense.”
    â€œI thought she was rather nice.”
    â€œI thought she was an idiot.”
    He turned and looked at Miss Jardine in surprise.
    â€œBut you couldn’t expect a girl like that to know anything about a fellow of his sort!”
    â€œI could and I did. Even nice girls are supposed to have some common sense. And he was so obvious. He fairly dripped nastiness. Of course, life’s not like that anyhow. The man who looks like a hero usually turns out to be the villain sooner or later; and the really nice man might be anybody, like…” She was going to say “you” but she checked the word on her tongue. She did not mean quite that. Carney was nice, of course, but not in the romantic sense. You looked upon him as you might have regarded a good-natured uncle when you were small and the world seemed full of huge man-creatures, stern, indifferent, and all as old as the hills.
    â€œLike what?” Carney demanded.
    â€œI can’t think of the right word. Anyhow, nice men seldom have a cameo profile and I hope they have a lot more sense than our hero. It isn’t any good striking attitudes when the lady’s making a fool of herself. Frankly I don’t think she was worth bothering about, but a good shake right at the start might have helped. What she really wanted was an old-fashioned smacking, country-style.”
    Carney chaffed, “You’re still pretty much the school ma’am, aren’t you?”
    â€œOf course I am! I’m pretty much a cat, too. All women are—or didn’t you know? Sometimes I’d like to get out on the tiles and howl. It must be fun. You see? I’m the character, not you. Here’s where we turn; and you may see me to my lodgings if you like. It isn’t far. I live downtown to save tram fares.”
    They had come to one of those steeply descending Halifax streets that break the long procession of shops with a sudden glimpse of the shipping. There was no moon but the harbor water had a faint shine in the starlight, and a liner with rows of yellow portholes lay framed for a moment between the buildings on her way to sea. Miss Jardine slipped an impulsive hand under Carney’s arm.
    â€œHow lovely! Don’t you ever want to go back to ships? I would, if I were a man.” They swung down the street in long strides, due partly to the slope but with a touch of exhilaration, as if the sight of the water in the starlight had set them forth on an adventure. So it seemed to Carney at least. Miss Jardine’s light clasp charged his arm with electricity. When they abandoned the slope and turned along the street on which she lived, she attempted to withdraw her hand, but Carney pressed it firmly against his side.
    She halted at last at a doorway beside a small cafe. It was a dingy place. Through the