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diff --git a/old/63865-0.txt b/old/63865-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 41cfc7f..0000000 --- a/old/63865-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10800 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of His Official Fiancée, by Berta Ruck - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: His Official Fiancée - -Author: Berta Ruck - -Release Date: November 23, 2020 [EBook #63865] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian -Libraries) - - - - - - - - - - -_His Official Fiancée_ - - - - - _His Official Fiancée_ - - _By Berta Ruck (Mrs. Oliver Onions)_ - - [Illustration] - - _TORONTO: - WILLIAM BRIGGS - 1914_ - - _Printed in Great Britain_ - - - - -DEDICATED TO THE TWO GRANNIES - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAP. PAGE - - I.—THE SUMMONS 1 - - II.—THE PROPOSAL 12 - - III.—THINKING IT OVER—— 21 - - IV.—ACCEPTED! 29 - - V.—THE FIRST LUNCH TOGETHER 47 - - VI.—WHAT THEY SAID 67 - - VII.—CHOOSING THE RING 77 - - VIII.—THE ENGAGEMENT IS ANNOUNCED! 88 - - IX.—THE LOVER WHO CAME TOO LATE 101 - - X.—“HIS” MOTHER’S INVITATION 118 - - XI.—MEETING “HIS” PEOPLE 130 - - XII.—THE FIRST DINNER 140 - - XIII.—THE FIRST TÊTE-À-TÊTE 149 - - XIV.—THE FIRST QUARREL 160 - - XV.—“THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS” 177 - - XVI.—THE ORDEAL BY INSPECTION 189 - - XVII.—THEO SITS UP 193 - - XVIII.—THE FIRST KISS 211 - - XIX.—THE FIRST HANDSHAKE 222 - - XX.—FRIENDS 253 - - XXI.—THE FIRST LETTERS 277 - - XXII.—THE WOODEN WOMAN 287 - - XXIII.—“MANY WATERS——” 305 - - XXIV.—THAT GIRL 317 - - XXV.—THE FIRST AVOWAL 324 - - XXVI.—“ALL CHANGE HERE” 330 - - XXVII.—PARTING COMPANY 343 - - XXVIII.—THE FIRST GLEAM 362 - - POSTSCRIPT.—FULL MOON 381 - - - - -HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE - - - - -CHAPTER I - -THE SUMMONS - - -“‘_A girl without a sweetheart_,’ girls—(I was readin’ something about it -this very morning ’s I was coming along in the Toob),” chattered little -Miss Holt over her work. “_A girl without a sweetheart is like a ship at -sea, without knowing what port she’s to put in at_——” - -“Accounts for the way a lot of ’em seem to pick their sweethearts on the -principle ‘_Any port in a storm!_’” said Miss Robinson, with her little -sniff. - -“Well! Seems to me there’s a good deal in the idea that a poor husband -is better than none,” came philosophically from Miss Holt, whose back -is always curved like a banana over her typing-table, and who “smarms” -her dull brown hair down under a hair-net until her head looks like a -chocolate. “After all, my dear, if you’re married, you’re married; and -nobody can say you aren’t. But if you _aren’t_ married, you aren’t. And -nobody can say you _are_!”. - -“How true,” said Miss Robinson dreamily. “Got that, Miss Trant?” - -And she gave a sardonic glance towards me, to see if I was thoroughly -taking this in. I was trying not to. The buzz of Cockney whispering which -goes on, intermittently, all day long in our murky “typists’-room” was -beginning to get on my nerves again almost as badly as it did in the -first week that I worked at the Near Oriental Shipping Agency. I didn’t -raise my eyes. Then, above the click and the buzz, came a shriller: - -“Miss Trant, if you please?” - -My fingers fell from the typewriter, and I looked up with a start into -the sharp little South-London face of our smallest office-boy. - -“Yes? What is it, Harold?” - -“Miss Trant, Mr. Waters says he wishes to see you in his private room at -two o’clock.” - -“To see _me_?” I asked in a panic; hoping that it might not be true, that -by some lucky chance my ears had deceived me. They hadn’t. - -“Yes; at two o’clock sharp, miss.” - -“Very well, Harold,” I heard myself say in a small, dismayed voice. - -Then I heard the door of our room shut upon the office-boy’s exit. - -I turned, to meet the shrewd, sympathetic brown eyes of Miss Robinson -over her machine. - -“Governor sent for you?” - -I nodded dismally. - -“Any idea what it’s about, Miss Trant?” - -“Oh, it might be about _anything_ this last week,” I sighed. “It might be -about my forgetting to enclose those enclosures to the Western Syndicate. -Or for leaving out the P.T.O. at the bottom of that Budapest letter. Or -for spelling Belgium B-e-l-g-u-i-m. Or half a dozen other things. I knew -Mr. Dundonald was going to complain of me. It’s been hanging over me for -the last three days. Anyhow I shall know the worst to-day.” - -“P’raps he’ll give you another chance, dear,” said little Miss Holt. - -“That’s not very likely,” I said. “He’s such an abominably accurate -machine himself that he’s ‘off’ anybody in this office who isn’t a -machine too, girl or man.” - -“D’you suppose the Governor even knows which of us _is_ a girl and which -is a man? because I don’t,” put in Miss Robinson. “I bet you he——” - -“Talking in theyairr!” interrupted the grating Scotch accent of Mr. -Dundonald, as he passed through to the Governor’s room, where, alas! I, -Monica Trant, was soon to present myself. - -A deathly silence, broken only by the clicking of the four typewriters, -fell upon our department. - -But I’m pretty sure that all the work _I_ did from then on until -lunch-time was of very little good. - -That gloomy typists’ room, looking over the “well” of the great buildings -in Leadenhall Street, and so dark that we worked always by electric -lights, switched on one over each machine, faded away from me. I ceased -to know I was breathing in that familiar smell of fog and mackintoshes -and dust and stuffiness. I ceased to hear the muffled roar of the City -outside, and the maddening “click! click-a-click-pprring!” of the -typewriters within, as I shut myself into my own mind. - -Dismally I reviewed my own situation. - - * * * * * - -Here was I, “alone in London,” all my poor little capital spent on the -business-training which I had joyfully hoped was going to bring me in -a nice “independent-feeling” income of at least two pounds a week. At -the offices of William Waters and Son, of the Near Oriental Shipping -Agency, a post I had obtained after weeks of weary searching for work, my -salary was twenty-five shillings a week. _Now_, in all probability, I was -going to lose even that. And then what was I to do? How was I to go on -contributing my half of the rent of the Marconi Mansions flat; how was I -to pay for even my cheap meals and my “these’ll-have-to-do” clothes? How -_was_ I to earn my living? - -Obviously, I’m not cut out for a business-girl! - -My three months in the office has plainly shown me that. - -“You lack method, Miss Trant”—as Mr. Dundonald, the head of our -department, has told me more than once. “You lack _concentrrayshn_. You -are intelligent enough, for a young lady, but when I think I can rrely -on you, what happens? I find ye out in some rideeclus mistake that -the rrrawest student from Pitman’s wouldn’t make. And this after I’ve -warrrned you times and again. What do you think is going to be the end of -it?” - -Evidently the sack. - -And what else _is_ there I can do? - -Nothing! - -I can’t draw fashion-plates or write articles for the magazines. - -Go on the stage—no, I never _could_ remember my cue, even in private -theatricals. I love children—but people want diplomas and Montessori -Systems with their nursery-governesses. For serving in a shop I don’t -suppose I’m tall enough. That’s one of the inconsistencies of men—they -quote poetry about a girl being “just as high as their hearts,” and then -advertise for parlour-maids and mannequins who must stand well over five -foot nine, which I don’t. Though, even if my nickname _is_ “Tots,” thank -goodness I’m not dumpy, like little Miss Holt, who thinks a poor husband -is better than none.... - -What about the principal profession open to women—getting married? - -Well, but I never see any men, now a days—you can’t call -things-in-the-City _men_, exactly—whom I could get married _to_. Besides, -there’s nobody, now that I’m an unbecomingly-dressed pauper, who would -want to marry me.—Except, perhaps ... Sydney Vandeleur ...? Dear old -Sydney is a friend left over from the days before the smash in our -family when “_the world was more than kin when we had the ready tin_.” -I’ve seen him several times since, and he was just the same as ever, so -sympathetic and amusing; such a “pal,” and with something about him that -made me quite certain he’d be ready to become something more, the minute -I encouraged him. - -“Encouraging” him wouldn’t be too unpleasant either, though I never was -in love with Sydney. By this time I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m -not a bit the falling-in-love type of girl. Major Montresor, of father’s -regiment in the old days, told my brother Jack once that “little Monica -had the makings of a first-class flirt; she belonged to the successful -Order of the Cold Coquette.” After listening to the dodderings and -drivels and despairs of girls who _aren’t_ cold, I’m rather thankful that -I _am_. At least I can be fond enough of people in a sensible sort of -way. I could be of Sydney. - -I suppose it will end in my getting him to marry me.... - -But not yet. I haven’t even got his address! He and his mother have gone -on a tour to Japan, and they won’t be within reach for so much as a -dinner for about a year. Whereas it’s to-day, _this afternoon_, that I’m -to get the sack without knowing what else is to happen to me! - -A pretty depressing outlook! - - * * * * * - -At one o’clock I went out to lunch at what the typists here call “The Den -of Lyons,” with Miss Holt and Miss Robinson. - -Our fourth typist, pretty, anæmic Miss Smith, had evidently made other -arrangements to-day. She wore another hat; a fresh bunch of violets was -tucked into her long coat, and she monopolized the looking-glass while -she attended to her complexion with a pot of face-cream, a clean hankie, -and a book of _papiers poudrés_. - -“We’re extremely smart to-day, Smithie,” said Miss Robinson. “What’s on?” - -“I’m going out to lunch with Still Waters.” - -This was “the” office joke at the Near Oriental. - -“Still Waters” meant no one less than Mr. William Waters, Junior, the -head of the firm, who acted as General Manager, and from whom I had just -received that fatal summons. He would as soon think of having a word to -say to one of his typists out of business-hours as of giving a dance in -the office itself. So that the excuse “_I’m going out with Still Waters_” -always means that the speaker intends to keep her engagement to herself. -It’s an open secret in the office that Smithie, who keeps a manicure-set -in her hand-bag and who blushes twice daily down the telephone, has “got -some sort of boy.” - -“Oh, all right, haughty! Don’t bother to apologize,” said Miss Holt. And -we left Miss Smith to her preparations. - -Presently we caught sight of her again in the crowd outside. She didn’t -see us, or anything else, I think. She was smiling and sparkling and -flushed, and “looked as different as a fortnight’s holiday,” as Miss -Robinson said. All three of us glanced from her to the young man she was -with. To bring _that_ transfiguring light into a girl’s face, wouldn’t -you have expected him to be a mixture of some Greek God and Bombardier -Billy Wells?—Far from it. “Smithie’s boy” was scarcely taller than she; -narrow-chested office-shouldered, with a face as pale and peaked as a -long envelope. - -“What a kid!” criticized Miss Holt as we passed. - -“All men _are_ awful kids,” pronounced Miss Robinson, “but you do bar -them looking it. Of the two, I don’t know that I wouldn’t rather have ’em -like graven images!” - -Which brought us back to the horrible subject of that graven image, our -Governor. - -Over glasses of hot milk and the poached-eggs-on-toast, the plates of -which rasped on the marble-topped table of the shop that _always_ smells -of steak-and-kidney pie, the other girls made themselves specially -agreeable to the colleague who was preparing for the sack in another hour. - -“It is too bad. We shall miss you from our room,” said good-natured -little Miss Holt. “Still—(Here, miss! I said egg, I didn’t say -sardine-sandwich! I wish you’d attend when anyone speaks!... She would, -if I’d a boy with me! Such is life!)—Still, it isn’t as if there wasn’t -other posts you could get. Easily. Don’t you look so hopeless, Miss -Trant. You’ve a taking way with you, and a nice smile; wasn’t I passing -the remark, only the other day, about what a pretty smile Miss Trant’d -got? And, say what you like, looks _do_ count when a young lady’s in -business!” - -“Yes, it’s a pity Miss Trant don’t know she’s good-looking. We ought -to have told her about that, before,” said Miss Robinson dryly. “But -you’re all right. _You’ll_ get taken on somewhere where they don’t make -an international affair of it over one misplaced comma or a tiny smudge -off a new ribbon. _You’ll_ get round the men. I don’t mean Still Waters. -He’s not a man, of course. He’s a machine that can say ‘_Now, Miss -Trant!_’”—here she broke into perfect mimicry of the Governor’s curtest -tone. “And’ _What is the meaning of this evening’s cables being one-fifth -of a second after time?_’ He doesn’t count. You try for something where -there’s a human being at the head of affairs——” - -“And if it’s near she can come out to lunch with us just the same as -before she left,” suggested Miss Holt. - -“She hasn’t even left yet,” said Miss Robinson encouragingly. “What price -one of those fancy cakes, Miss Trant? Choose the least poisonous-looking, -and I’ll treat you—for luck!” - - * * * * * - -At a quarter to two we got back to the office. - -I went and washed in the dressing-room. I took down all my hair. My -hair’s my pet vanity; it’s very long and thick and silky, and “just -the colour of massed black pansies against her honeysuckle-coloured -flesh-tints,” as Sydney Vandeleur once said. He “puts” everything like -the artist that he is. (Oh, why wasn’t it to meet _him_ that I was -preparing, instead of that young frozen ogre of a Governor?) I wound the -long swathe smoothly round my head again, pinned it firm, and made sure -it was all right at the back, _not_ with any idea of impressing Still -Waters (who would scarcely have noticed the fact had all his typists been -completely bald, so long as they were efficient), but merely because to -feel perfectly neat made me a little less painfully nervous. - -The clock, striking two, chimed in with my humble tap at the door of Mr. -Waters’ private room. - -“Come in!” called the dreaded voice of our Governor. - -And, trembling inwardly, in I went. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE PROPOSAL - - -The large, light room, with its handsome furniture, seemed to stretch -for miles between the door and the big writing-desk, covered with green -leather, at which Mr. Waters himself sat, frowning over a letter. The -desk was generally bare but for the note of his day’s appointments, with -the hours, on the turnover date-ticket. - -“Two o’clock,” and a heavy “X” marked this coming interview, as I could -not help seeing when I finished what seemed like a long and tiring walk -over the thick crimson carpet, and stood meekly at his elbow. - -He looked up, alert, clean-shaven, his fair hair brushed as sleek and -shiny as the nap of his own silk hat, his mouth closed as tightly as his -own cash-box; he was the very picture of a successful young City man, -whose one and only interest is his business. - -“Ah! That you, Miss Trant?” he said, in the quick, curt, business-like -voice that Miss Robinson can imitate so perfectly. - -He wheeled round in the chair to face me. - -“Sit down, please.” - -I was thankful to sit down. Although I don’t think my panic showed in -my face, my knees were actually beginning to give under me. Mr. Waters -pointed to a plump, green morocco-covered chair. Down I sat, on the very -edge of it. I set my teeth to listen to what this office tyrant had to -say. - -(How extraordinary that he and Sydney Vandeleur should _both_ be “men”!) - -If he only wouldn’t keep me; if he’d only just tell me to go, and get it -over.... - -But his first remark took me absolutely by surprise. - -“Now, Miss Trant. If you don’t mind, I want to ask you a few questions. -Don’t think them impertinent, for they are not so intended, and they are -necessary to the matter in hand. And—please don’t misunderstand them.” - -Here his alert face grew even more business-like. His keen grey eyes -met my startled brown ones steadily for a moment. Then he added, in an -emphatic, “_underlined_” sort of tone: - -“There is nothing in these questions to which your father, or anyone -belonging to you, could take any exception. You understand?” - -“Understand”—No! I certainly didn’t. What could he mean me to understand? -I hadn’t grasped it even when he repeated the question a trifle -impatiently. - -“You do understand that, Miss Trant?” - -“Oh—er—yes—of course,” I murmured, in duty bound. - -But I was so utterly dazed by this unlooked-for flight-off-at-a-tangent -of the Governor’s that I heard myself answering as if in a dream the -questions he put next. - -“Twenty-one. You’re of age, then,” I heard him saying through the daze. -“Both parents dead: m’m. No one else belonging to you?” - -“One brother in South Africa,” my lips answered mechanically. And my -inward wonder, “_What on earth has that got to do with Mr. Waters?_” was -mingled with an added dull twinge of anxiety. For I haven’t heard from -poor old rolling-stoney Jack for three months or more. - -“No one belonging to you in London? M’m. And you’re dependent for your -living upon what you earn here?” - -(Yes! or else I shouldn’t have to sit here answering questions about -things that are absolutely no business of yours! was what I thought -rebelliously.) I said aloud, reluctantly, “Yes.” - -“Where do you live, then—alone?” - -“I share rooms with another girl in Battersea,” I had to tell him, -still wondering resentfully what in the world might be the meaning of -this catechism. _Wasn’t_ it the prelude to dismissal, after all, then? -_Wasn’t_ he preparing to be hateful and sarcastic, and to tell me he felt -my talents were being wasted at the Near Oriental (this is one of Mr. -Dundonald’s pet _clichés_), and that he advised me to look out elsewhere -for a better position at a higher salary—if I could get it? What _would_ -be the next question, then? - -It was _the_ last thing that I should have dreamed of his asking. - -“Do you mind telling me, Miss Trant, whether you are engaged to be -married?” - -Engaged? I? What _could_ he want to know that for? - -That was less his business, even, than any of the other questions he’d -put! - -It seemed doubly odd, since I _had_ been meditating on the possibility -of “getting engaged” that very morning. Ever since twelve o’clock, the -mental image of Sydney Vandeleur’s picturesque, dark face, with his -small Vandyke beard and gentle, adoring brown eyes, had been very near -me. There was always Sydney in the background, of course. Backgrounds -don’t count, presumably. Even if they did, though, what concern was it -of my business employer’s? I did wish I had enough self-assurance to -announce frankly, “Well, I _do_ mind telling you, as a matter of fact!” -But ... twenty-five shillings a week don’t provide a girl with much -self-assurance! - -I could only let him have the literal answer in return for his direct -(and unwarrantable) question. - -“Oh, no; I’m not engaged.” - -“Good!” said Still Waters briskly. (Why “good”?) - -“Now, Miss Trant, I can tell you the reason—or part of the reason—I -sent for you this afternoon. I must begin by impressing upon you very -definitely that”—here he paused, and at each word of the announcement -tapped solemnly on the big desk with his finger—“I don’t want to get -married myself.” - -“Of course not!” I almost gasped, wondering what in the world this very -obvious truth (for one _could_ not imagine Still Waters in connection -with marriage or engagements) had got to do with me? - -“At the same time, there are reasons why for a time, at least—say a -year—it should appear that I was going to be married. I may tell you -those reasons later on; that depends. At present I’ll merely tell -you that it is important to me that I should be officially, that is -nominally, engaged.” - -I gazed at him. There was no more expression in his face than in the -pearl pin in his expensive-looking grey tie. What could he mean? - -“I wish it to appear to everybody—to my family, to my acquaintances, to -the people in this office—that I am actually engaged,” he explained. “I -wish to find someone who, to outward appearances, could take the place of -my _fiancée_; could go about with me, stay at my home, and be introduced -all round as the girl I meant to marry. She must understand from the very -beginning that it was absolutely a matter of business; that the so-called -‘engagement’ would terminate at the end of the year, and that there could -be no possible question of its ending in marriage. If I found this lady, -I would make it worth her while; paying her at the rate of ten pounds a -week for her services. You follow me, Miss Trant?” - -I began to “follow,” but I could scarcely believe that he really intended -to carry out this mysterious scheme. It was more like the plot of a -Gilbert and Sullivan opera than any “business” I’d ever heard of in real -life. Still more incredible was what came next. - -“It seemed to me from the first that the most suitable person for the -post would be—yourself.” - -“Me?” I echoed, aghast. Oh, this was getting out of comic opera, and into -the realms of nightmare! Was he _really_ suggesting that I—— - -“Yes; you, Miss Trant. You are a lady in every essential, if I may say -so, of looks and manner. You seem to possess the gift of making yourself -generally liked. You’re distinctly intelligent, in spite of your work, -which is——” here for one instant a gleam of what looked almost like -humour seemed to flash from the Governor’s eyes. But it was gone again -so swiftly that I couldn’t be sure whether it had ever been there. I -must have been mistaken. He went on imperturbably: “I am a very fair -judge of character, and I believe you to be trustworthy. As a mark of my -confidence in you, I shall pay into your account the whole sum of five -hundred pounds so soon as you let me know that you consent to enter into -this arrangement.” - -“Five hundred pounds?” I echoed stupidly. - -“Yes; that is payment for the entire year at the rate of ten pounds -weekly. I hope you will see your way to accepting it. Think it over -to-night, please,” said Still Waters, in his curtest, most business-like -tone, “and let me have your answer here—if you can, that is” (meaning -“you must!”) “at eleven-fifteen to-morrow morning. I need hardly tell you -that this must remain strictly between ourselves. I think that’s all.” - -He glanced at the round-topped mahogany clock above the fireplace, then -put his hand out to the row of electric-bell pushes on his desk. Our -interview was over. - -“Good afternoon, Miss Trant.” - -“Good afternoon,” I murmured rather feebly, as I retraced my steps over -that long, long stretch of carpet to the door. - -I felt furious with myself for lacking the ordinary pluck to tell the -Governor then and there: - -“I shan’t need to-night to think the question over. My answer is ‘No!’ I -can’t possibly undertake such an arrangement.” - -For how can I? How can I accept such an extraordinary position? -“Officially” engaged to the Governor—the office tyrant, the mummy, the -fault-finding automaton! Fancy “going about” with him, letting everyone -imagine that I was actually going to marry him! Fancy playing that -Gilbertian part, with no rouge and no fun and no footlights to carry -me through it, in a “piece” that went on all day and every day! And -fancy—this was almost the most appalling thought of all—fancy having to -face all the other girls in the office. - -Oh, impossible; quite impossible! I can’t do it. I must summon up all my -courage and tell him so to-morrow. - - * * * * * - -“Well?” whispered Miss Robinson, from the next typing-table. “What _did_ -the graven image say? Was he a brute? _Is_ it the sack? Or is he giving -you another chance?” - -“I think he means to give me another chance,” I murmured. (Such a -chance!) “I am——” - -“_Talking_, ladies!” broke in the warning. “Miss Trant, it’s generally -you, I notice!” - -And Mr. Dundonald’s voice brought back the bugbear that has haunted me -since twelve this morning—the terror of being penniless and out of work -once more. - -Oh, if I could only attain to some job, _some other job_, that would -bring me in that princely salary of ten pounds a week! Imagine the -blessed relief, the security of knowing that one had five hundred pounds -in one glorious, solid lump at one’s back. But then, imagine accepting -the Governor’s terms before one earned it! Oh, no! - -The bogey “_out of work_” haunted me down into the Tube lift, along the -Embankment, all the way back up our grey Battersea street, with the -red-faced pavement-artist who always touches his cap to me, smiles and -points to his lurid chalk-drawing of a wreck with the legend: “_Like the -Artist—On the Rocks!_” - -“I’m on the rocks myself, Blossom. This is probably the last penny I -shall be able to give you!” I told him, with a desperate little laugh. - -Then I turned in at the entrance to Marconi Mansions, and climbed up our -stone stairs to the cheap but cosy little top-flat which has for six -months meant “Home” to us two bachelor girls. - -How long should _I_ be able to afford to share it? - - - - -CHAPTER III - -THINKING IT OVER—— - - -I always expect to be in long before Cicely Harradine, the girl who -shares the place with me. We first made friends in a ten-shillings-a-week -bedroom at the Twentieth Century Club, when she was left much as I was, -a waif without any friends that counted, and with just a tiny lump -of capital. This she used up in paying her fees at the Slade School -of Art, where she’d gone, in her innocence, with a view to taking up -fashion-drawing. They all used to say at home that she’d “a gift” for -sketching, and she’d heard—we’ve all heard!—that there are fortunes to be -made out of fashion-plates. Only she hadn’t realized that for a girl of -her sort, lovely and good-hearted and “gormless,” there’s only one way -of getting a fortune; namely, by marrying it. And how _can_ you marry, -as she often says plaintively, if you never even _see_ any “possible” -men? All the people she seems to see nowadays—besides Slade students—are -the gorgeous Jewesses who deal at the “studio” where Cicely’s one real -“gift” (that of a tall, willowy figure) is now turned to advantage by -showing off the evening-frocks and opera-wraps of Madame Chérisette, in -Bond Street, in the show-rooms she can seldom leave until well after -seven o’clock. - -So to-day I was astonished to find the second-hand, cretonne-covered -couch in our sitting-room already occupied by what looked like a bundle -of rugs, dishevelled red curls, and arnica bandages, whence proceeded the -sound of dismal sobs. - -“Cicely!” I cried, alarmed. “You back already? Why, what’s happened?” - -“Oh, my dear, such an _awful_ catastrophe!” wailed the voice of Cicely, -while the willowy figure twisted itself into sitting up against our cheap -flock cushions. “What do you think? When I went out to lunch this morning -I managed to slip on a bit of banana-skin that some perfect _pig_ had -flung down at the crossing—No, Tots! it _wasn’t_ those shoes I will wear, -so you needn’t say that!—and I twisted my ankle and cut my head on the -kerb, and I had to be brought home in a taxi, and the doctor’s been, and -he says I’m to keep my foot up for a fortnight, and what—what on earth’s -to become of my job?” wept Cicely. “Chérisette won’t take me on again, -for there’s a girl waiting _now_ for my place! A _niece_ of somebody’s! -She’ll _snap_ it up! And _what_ am I to do? Hurp, hurp!” - -She could only sob, and I could only stroke her pretty, incompetent -fingers. - -“There’ll be that _doctor_ to pay! And it’ll be the _rent_ again in -three weeks’ time! It’s _always_ being the rent, in this place, Tots! It -_never_ was at home. And _I_ haven’t got any money saved now that I’ve -bought that bicycle for Saturday afternoons. Isn’t it perfectly awful? -Hurp, hurp! Oh, girls at home who get doctors and dentists and washing -and everything _f-found_ for them, hurp! are so fond of _envying_ girls -who earn their own livings because it’s so free and independent—how _can_ -they? _They_ wouldn’t want to earn their horrible livings if they _only_ -knew how ghastly it was as soon as you got ill and hadn’t anything but a -few shillings between you and goodness knows!” - -“‘_Earned increment is sweet, but that unearned is sweeter_,’” I quoted -bitterly. - -“Oh, you laugh at everything, Tots! This is serious. -_S-s-s-seven-and-sixpence!_ That’s all I’ve got left in the whole wide -world! And _you’ve_ nothing but your twenty-five bob a week!” - -(Yes! I thought; and even that modest salary will be lost to me -to-morrow. For when I tell the Governor that I find I can’t accept his -offer, he’s pretty certain to sack me. After his allusion to my “work,” -after Mr. Dundonald’s “warrrnings,” what else need I expect? But this -wasn’t the moment to tell my poor, distracted chum my own bit of bad -luck. Even if we _were_ both out of work and on those rocks together, it -must, for the present at least, be kept from _her_.) - -“Now look here, don’t you worry,” I said, more cheerfully than I felt. -“You _know_ you’re no end of a ‘find’ as a mannequin, because you’ve -got the voice that goes with the figure. It must be rather a shock when -Madame’s clients ask something that looks like a young duchess in a dream -of a gown ‘_What did you say the price was?_’ and get told in the accents -of Whitechapel ‘_Twenty-ite paounds, Madam!_’ That’s the pull _you’ve_ -got, so you know you’re sure of another good place as soon as your foot’s -right. Until then I—I can manage perfectly well for the two of us. What -about something to eat? Mrs. Skinner coming back to cook to-night?”—Mrs. -Skinner is _supposed_ to “do” for us. I often think that, in another -sense, she _will_! - -“No. She’s off for the whole day to go to a funeral. You said she might, -this morning.” - -“So I did. I thought it was a week ago—it feels like it. Well, I’ll get -supper.” - - * * * * * - -As I passed into our little dark cubby-hole of a kitchen, I saw something -that I’d overlooked before—a letter left lying on the mat, as it had -dropped through the letter-box. I picked it up. It was addressed to me. -And at the sight of the thin foreign envelope and the South African stamp -my heart sank even lower. I had a presentiment that I hadn’t come to the -worst yet. - -It was a letter from my brother in Cape Town; poor old ne’er-do-weel -Jack, who scarcely ever writes anything more than a picture postcard with -a view of the Cape of Good Hope, or something of that kind, unless he’s -in trouble and wants something. - -With a sigh I took out the crackling, scrawled sheet; and my eyes fell on -the last sentences first. - - “_You’ll have to get the money for me, old girl. You know - you can if you try. Ask Vandeleur to lend it to us; he’d do - anything for you. Haven’t got his address, or I would have - written to him myself. I am absolutely on the rocks, so don’t - wait. You’ll have to wire a hundred pounds to the Bank here——_” - -A hundred pounds? Mightn’t he just as well have said “a million”? What -was all this about? I took the letter into my own little room and sat -down on the camp-bed to read it through.... - -In five minutes I have grasped all that I can take in at present of the -situation; an old one. - -Jack is in trouble, worse trouble than ever before. Debts; an I O U that -was to fall due in six weeks. Threatened exposure of—_something_ that he -doesn’t explain. “_A business affair?_” - -Yes; Mr. Dundonald is quite right. I _have_ “no head for business -routine.” My head’s going round with the bewilderment of it. It _can’t_ -mean that Jack, my own brother, Father’s only son—one of the _Trants_—has -been “not quite straight” with the accounts that are in his care? He must -be mad! It must be the hot sun in that awful country. Not _Jack_——! - -But to suggest that I should turn to Sydney Vandeleur for the money, even -supposing that I knew where the Vandeleurs were to be found just now—oh! -As if I wouldn’t rather die! Yet there’s nothing else that I can do—— - -Stop. There is one thing. - -For, as if flashed in letters of fire over the dim purple sky over the -London roofs outside my window, I seem to see the words— - - “FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!” - -And they mean, not only a solution of the difficulties of Miss Trant, -typist, not only comforts and security for Cicely, the show-girl out of -work, but the saving of our family name and honour from disgrace. Help -instead of ruin for that poor dear weak-kneed broken reed of a brother of -mine. - -It’s Providence, that wildly eccentric scheme of the Governor’s. I don’t -care what its object may be. I only know that now—_now_—I daren’t refuse -to fall in with it. Never mind the details. The main fact is that _I must -have that hundred pounds, and this is the only way to it_. - - * * * * * - -I’ve just taken supper into our sitting-room, and I’ve been able to smile -quite recklessly down into the woe-begone, girlish face under the arnica -bandages. - -“Buck up, Cis, and eat some really good scrambled eggs with little bits -of ham chopped up in them. And then there’s some glass loganberries, -hot; and somebody’d been what Mrs. Skinner calls ‘pampering the milk,’ -so I got a brown jar of cream for them. _One_ comfort of living in a -_ménage_ without any _men_ (a joke, so please laugh) is that we can eat -what we _like_, instead of stodging horrible, gristly chops and steaks -and potatoes every night of our lives. And I brought in some red ink—not -Veuve Emu this time, but really decent Burgundy to cheer us up——” - -“But, my _dear_—!” protested Cicely, with the scared glance of the -business-girl who knows what it costs to eat and drink. - -“It’s not extravagance. I can afford it.” - -“You can’t! You can only _just_ manage to scrape along for yourself—and -you know your poor darling hat’s awful, and you told me you couldn’t get -another—you haven’t managed to put by a penny for ‘extras’—you told me -yesterday——” - -“Ah, yesterday! But I shall have some more money—_now_.” - -“What?—and you never told me when you came in? What, have Waters and Son -actually given you a _rise_?” - -“Supplementary duties,” I explained briefly, drawing a wooden chair up -beside Cicely’s couch and laying a clean towel over it for a tablecloth -before I set down the plate of ham-scramble. “Pretty well-paid, too. Yes. -I got the job to-day. And,” I concluded with resolution, “I begin it -to-morrow.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -ACCEPTED! - - -“And when do you think the ‘engagement’ had better be announced? At once?” - -This was what the Governor said to me this morning when I again presented -myself at his desk; this time with the timid “acceptance” which, after -poor Jack’s desperate appeal, is my only alternative. - -“At _once_?” I gasped. “Oh, but—How could it? The—well—people would think -it so”—I checked a hysterical laugh—“so _funny_!” - -“Funny? What’s funny about it?” took up the Governor, as sharply as if -he didn’t see anything at all odd in the whole situation. But he does. -He _must_! What a hateful trick men have of pretending they’re _not_ -pretending—when you’re unable to prove, in so many words, that they -_are_! People talk about women being more complicated; good gracious! -It’s we who are simple and straightforward. What was I to make of the -Governor, when he asked me, in quite an annoyed tone of voice, “I suppose -men at the heads of offices have become engaged to their employees before -now Miss Trant?” - -“Y-yes—of course—_Become engaged_.”—He was talking now as if _this_ were -_that_!—“But not if——” - -“Not if what?” - -“Well, not if they have never seen them to speak to!” I explained -falteringly. “You see, Mr. Waters, the three other typists in my room——” - -“Oh! Those girls!” said Mr. Waters casually, and I caught my breath. - -For in the tone of those two words from the Head of Affairs I heard the -rest of his meaning—“If _they_ think it odd—if _they_ make difficulties, -they can go, at once.” - -I saw that nightmare threat of “the sack” looming again, this time over -the heads of three girls who had worked with and always been very decent -to me. They—if they stood the least bit in this young office tyrant’s -way—could go! - -“It’s not only the girls,” I urged, clenching my hands to keep them from -shaking, and hating the man who made me so nervous. “It’s—everybody. Mr. -Dundonald, Mr. Alexander, they must all know that you scarcely exchanged -a word with me until you sent for me yesterday, when we—they all thought -you were going to dismiss me——” - -“Ah?” said the Governor coolly. - -“—S-so I can’t tell them, right on the top of _that_, that we are -actually engaged to be married! There’ll have to be—some—some other sort -of warning!” - -“Don’t see the necessity myself,” said Still Waters, fixing those keen -grey eyes upon me as if I were a letter-file or a paper-weight, or some -other inanimate object that they’d happened to fall upon while he was -meditating on other things. I wondered if he were thinking that, sooner -than be bothered over this affair, he would sack Mr. Dundonald, Mr. -Alexander and his whole staff! “Still, if you prefer it. You mean that -there had better be some intermediate stages; that I ought to begin by -singling you out from the others, seeing more of you, and so on. Quite -so.” - -It was uncanny, the cut-and-dried way in which he spoke of proceedings -which—well, are always looked upon as so intensely the opposite of -cut-and-dried! This affair was the imitation of something very different; -still, one hardly expected him to be able to map it all out, like the -diagrams in scientific dressmaking! - -“Now, how am I supposed to ‘see more’ of you?” he went on, in the same -tone as he might have asked, “_Where must I join this dotted line to -section D?_” - -“Ah, I have it.” (The sections were beginning to fit in neatly.) “You -will come into my room here each afternoon in Mr. Alexander’s place, and -take down my letters.” - -“Very well,” I agreed, relapsing into my usual outward meekness and -inward rebelliousness. - -What a _fearful_ nuisance, to be banished to the Siberia of the -Governor’s private room, after the murky but cheery atmosphere of the -typists’ “glory-hole,” and the society of three other girls! - -A couple of years ago I should have used the shibboleth of my set at -home to describe these same girls—“Terrible!—Impossible!” I should -have noticed nothing about them beyond their cheap “stock” clothes and -the Cockney accents that used to be such an hourly jar to my nerves. -I shouldn’t have differentiated the sentimental “Smithie” from Miss -Robinson, who has more capacity in her carbon-stained little finger than -most of the girls who were with me at Wycombe Abbey had in their heads. I -should scarcely have considered them of the same race of being as myself, -and as for being on friendly, talkative terms with them—Well, having -to fend for oneself in the labour-market does knock a good deal of the -nonsense out of one. Here I was, quite annoyed at the prospect of giving -up the companionship of the three for the afternoons! - -Still, it would be worth it. My employer would be as good as his word -about the five hundred pounds. He’d open an account for me. And at -lunch-time I shall be able to cable that much-needed hundred to Cape Town. - -I’m to begin earning it as private clerk—to a living tape-machine! - -“Yes. That will be quite the best plan,” he went on. “That will pave -the way for it.” His tone became if anything more “scientifically -diagrammatic” still as he said, “To-day is May fourteen; let me see—How -long do you suppose it would take before it would be considered the -natural thing for me to fall in love with you?” - -“‘Natural’? How could it ever be considered natural” was on the tip of my -tongue, “for you to fall in love with anybody?—You, who think it ought to -be mapped out into a certain number of days, like that sum about ‘_twenty -reapers reaping so many acres in a week_.’” - -Primly I answered aloud, “I should think you could please yourself, Mr. -Waters.” - -“Well, we will see about that presently,” said my employer, turning to -the desk. “And now there is this——” After speaking about “the time it -took to fall in love,” I thought he’d reached his limit. But no. He went -further. - -From a drawer that he unlocked he took out a paper that he handed to me. - -“I have taken the precaution of having our whole arrangement put down in -black-and-white, if you will kindly sign it here.” - -—“In _black-and-white!_”—“_sign——!_” - -I felt the angry colour surging up into my face; I was all the more -furious because I dare not show the real rage I was in. - -“Oh, yes. I’ll sign it,” I said, with desperate meekness, “if you really -think it’s necessary. If you imagine that I am the kind of girl who might -take advantage of our—our contract afterwards, sue you for breach of -promise, or——” - -“Come, come!” Still Waters interrupted briskly, peremptorily. “It’s -just because I didn’t think you were ‘that kind of girl,’ amongst other -reasons, that I selected you for my post. This instrument is drawn up -largely on your own account. You have a pen——?” - -I took it out of the case fastened to the front of my very utilitarian -blue delaine blouse. I hate wearing it there. I always look upon it as -the sign of servitude and the mark of the beast, but it’s the custom—and -business-like. - -“Right. Now, Miss Trant, I think that’s all for this morning. You can -arrange to come in and take down my letters each afternoon at a quarter -to three, beginning to-morrow.” - -“Yes,” I said, in my meekest tone. - - * * * * * - -Loud were the murmurs of commiseration that broke from my three friends -in my own room when they heard of this novel arrangement. - -“What, my dear? _You_ to take down his old letters? That’s the Governor’s -idea of giving you one more chance, I suppose,” sniffed Miss Robinson, -“before he sacks you! Pity he didn’t tell you to go, and get it over -yesterday!” - -“He’s simply impossible to please. Why, when I come here first,” said -Miss Holt, “he had had three girls at it in one week and they all came -out in tears because the Machine had snapped their heads off. For one -thing, he dictates at such a rate that I don’t know how he expects anyone -to follow him without they have to ask him to repeat it, and _then_ he -glowers at you like a Gordian! See if he doesn’t!” - -“It’ll be ‘_Now, Miss Trant!_’” mimicked Miss Robinson, gabbling at -top-speed. “‘_Got that? Go on_— - -“‘_We can offer no further explanation of same beyond facts already -supplied, and are of opinion that there is nothing to be gained by -prolonging this correspondence._’ Certainly nothing to be gained by you, -my poor dear!” - -“No, he’ll be sending for that stolid Scotch Sandy back before the -afternoon’s over!” - -“Don’t discourage the girl too much before she starts. Still, I wish you -weren’t forsaking our room for the afternoons, Miss Trant. We shall miss -your merry prattle and your footstep on the stair.” - -“Yes, and there won’t be much prattling for you in there,” said Miss -Smith. “More like sitting among the mummies and sphinxes and things in -the British Museum. Girls, can you imagine Still Waters ‘prattling’ to -anybody, even as a little boy?” - -“That man was never anything so human as a little boy,” declared Miss -Robinson. “He was created grown-up and ready-made and put together like a -Remington. Probably in the very act of clicking out— - -“‘_Contract B.954. Our buyers advise us as under_,’ and so on. - -“I wouldn’t mind what I betted that _he_ never cried over going to school -for the first time, or began to fancy himself more when he’d sat out at a -dance and flirted——” - -“_Flirted!_ The Governor!” I put in—quite forgetting What would -presumably be my cue very soon, and laughing with the others. - -“You might just as well think of him falling really desperately in love -with——” - -“_Talk_-ing, ladies,” broke in the usual voice, followed by the usual -lull. - -But the usual twinge of fear didn’t visit me this time. - -Let Mr. Dundonald report me; let him complain of me, bitterly, to the -Governor if he likes! All Caledonia, stern and wild, can’t get me turned -out of the Near Oriental _now_. To-morrow sees me unshakably installed -as—the Governor’s private clerk! - - * * * * * - -I must say Mr. Waters is even more paralysingly alarming to work for in -this capacity. - -His dictation—Well! Miss Robinson described it. He simply doesn’t -realize, doesn’t _mean_ to realize, that “a clerk” is composed of -anything more than a pad and a scurrying pencil. He literally does not -_see_ that these objects may be trembling in the grasp of the anxious -slip of a young woman, who has to guide them! He’s excruciatingly -particular about the transcribing of his sheaf of letters. And I -shudder—that is, I _should_ have shuddered only last week—to think what -would happen to Miss Trant, typist, if she brought in anything to be -signed one second after four-thirty, which is his time for leaving. - -But now I’m secure in the knowledge that however much that machine of a -young man with the closed cash-box of a mouth may long to sack me as a -typist, my other, more lucrative, post could not be so easily filled. - -Hurray! - - * * * * * - -To-day is Friday: that Day of Terror in the office, the day of the -outward mails. But it’s brought no terror to me. My week’s salary, if you -please, has amounted to eleven pounds, five shillings. - -Twenty-five shillings of that was paid out to me in the usual way by Mr. -Wallis, our cashier—little dreaming that my purse was already bulging -with ten more than welcome sovereigns that I got in exchange for my own -cheque (The grandeur of that!) at the Bank where that providential five -hundred pounds (four hundred since) has been put down to the account of -“Miss M. Trant.” - -I daren’t allow myself to think what would have happened if it hadn’t -been for that. - -As it is, I am able to take home quite a lot of invalid dainties to -Cicely (left to the tender mercies of Mrs. Skinner) as well as a lovely -lemon-coloured azalea in a pot, and a brand-new novel (four-and-six—half -her share of the house-keeping money!). - -Spending this fortune will come fatally easily to me, I know. But I’ve -a dim presentiment that the earning of it isn’t going to be as easy as -that! - -This morning, which now seems about a year since I began my -“supplementary duties,” Harold summoned me to appear at twelve o’clock, -instead of after lunch, before the Governor. - -First of all I was seized with nervous flurry, wondering what on earth -I’d done. Then I remembered that it wouldn’t really matter about that. -What mattered was what I should _have_ to do next? - -There was another cut-and-dried plan for this in the very tone of -the Governor’s “Good morning” when he glanced up to see me standing -submissively beside his desk again. - -“Now, Miss Trant, you have been working in here exactly a fortnight,” he -reminded me. - -“Exactly a fortnight.” I wonder if he is going to keep count of every -one of the three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of the year which must -elapse before I shall be able to say a gleeful good-bye to him and his -diagrammatic “engagement?” I expect so: I expect there’s a time-table for -each one, drawn up and carefully put away for reference in one of the -locked drawers of his big cleared desk. - -“I think that something more might be done at once about this arrangement -of ours.” - -“Oh, yes?” - -(A fortnight! Neither too long nor too short a time, he probably -considered, for some “fresh development” to take place.) - -“So what about my taking you out to lunch to-day?” - -What about it? A vivid mental picture of the expression on the faces of -Miss Robinson, Miss Holt and Smithie rose before me. What—_what_ would -they look like when——Well! They’ve _got_ to look it sooner or later, so -it might as well _begin_ to-day. - -“Certainly,” I nearly said. Then I hesitated. No! Why _should_ he be able -to “fit in” every single detail of his plans, with the ease of a born -jig-saw genius? Why shouldn’t he have to make some rearrangement, consult -someone else’s convenience for _once_ in his life? I would just try to -put my tiny little spoke in his wheel here, to _see_. - -“Mr. Waters, would you mind making it to-morrow instead?” - -“Much the same to me,” returned my employer rather unexpectedly—still, -I suppose he _would_ allow a twenty-four hours’ margin in these -arrangements, in case of accidents. “But why wait?” - -“Oh, because”—No woman ever does anything for _one_ unadulterated motive; -a thing men won’t understand! So I had my second choice of reasons quite -ready, and it was quite naturally, as well as truthfully (for I _was_ -thinking of Smithie’s preparations for an outing), that I suggested—“it -would seem more ‘natural’ if I were to have on a new—my best hat to go -out to lunch in instead of the little old cap I put on because of this -drizzle to-day.” - -“Ah! Very well,” said Mr. Waters, with his succinct nod. He added, “I -suppose that sort of thing is what they mean when they say—when _women_ -say—that women have a much better eye to detail in business than men -have?” - -(I don’t _quite_ know how he meant that. But never mind, Mr. -Cut-and-Dried. I _have_ altered your time-table by a day, at least!) - -“To-morrow, then,” said Mr. Waters, after I had said “Is that all?” And I -went. - - * * * * * - -The next day was a regular “new-hat” day. Just the sort of day to go out -to lunch with a “hovering” _fiancé_—a real one!—I thought, as I set off -down the Embankment, leaving Cicely, whose foot isn’t quite right even -yet, at the open sitting-room window with a novel. - -It was brightly sunny, but, although we’re nearly in June now, there was -a nip of cold in the breeze; the smile of a flirt—of a “cold coquette,” -as Major Montresor described me once. I wonder what _he’d_ think if ever -he met me again? Probably that it was just like little Monica to “pull -off” making a good match with another froggy-natured person. - -I laughed at this as I was walking along to the corner where I get the -motor-bus. After all, there’s nothing to do but laugh at it—at the whole -affair. Actually, it was a momentous choice to have thrust upon any girl; -and it might have cruelly embarrassing side-issues. But what’s the good -of dwelling on momentous and cruel aspects of subjects that _have_ a -comic side to them? The only way is to look hard at that comic side—to -see the joke, the whole joke, and, most important of all, _nothing but -the joke_. - -I felt satisfactorily strung up to the coming “fun” of the situation when -I got into the typists’ dressing-room at the Near Oriental. - -Here I found Miss Holt listening to Miss Smith, evidently a little -headachy and nervous, attempting to “stand up” to Miss Robinson in some -argument. - -“The matter with _you_,” she was saying pettishly, “is that you’re -setting up to be a _man_-hater!” - -“Setting up? No such luck,” said Miss Robinson, maddeningly -good-tempered. “If _I_ could ever see a fellow I didn’t think was awful, -I’d begin thinking of setting up. But where _are_ all the men, good -gracious? What does a girl ever see, working in holes of offices? Weeds! -Indoor weeds, smelling of stale Virginians and wearing Number Thirteen -collars.” - -“Collars aren’t anything!” Miss Smith flushed an angry pink. - -“No; but what they go round are. And I must say I like to see a chap with -a good, thick, strong-looking one (that’s why all the _nice_ girls love a -sailor, Smithie) with plenty of sunburn and no spots on it, and—Hul-_lo_, -Miss Trant!” - -I had turned up at the right moment to prevent a squabble—I and my -brand-new hat bought out of Chérisette’s window, no less! and provided by -the princely salary. - -“I say, Miss Trant, my child, you’re blossoming out!” commented Miss -Holt, all eyes and envy. “How much did that roof cost you? It’s a good -one.” - -“It _is_ rather a good one,” I admitted quietly. “I’m so glad you like -it.” - -But I said no more until the morning’s work was over and we had trooped -back into the dressing-room to get ready for going out at one o’clock. -Then: - -“I can’t come to lunch to-day,” I said, drawing on the deliciously -“fresh”-feeling white gloves I’d bought for myself at the same time as -the hat, and giving a glance round the dressing-room to make sure that -they all took in the next announcement. “I’m going out.” - -“Who with?” seemed to burst, of its own accord, from three pairs of lips -at once. - -Drawing myself up to what there is of my full height, I smothered an -inclination to giggle foolishly, and answered with starchy dignity, -“Since you _must_ know, I’m going out to lunch with Still Waters.” - -“Oh, my dear, give that old joke a rest,” urged the most frequent user -of “the old joke,” Miss Smith, flushing anew with interest, “and tell us -who HE is! This is something quite new, Miss Trant, isn’t it? Doesn’t -she look conscious, girls? Didn’t I know that hat meant something? How -exciting! I’m _so_ glad, dear; but, do tell us! Not his name, of course——” - -For in the code of these girls, it’s not fair to ask for names. - -“—but just his _Christian_ name!” - -“William,” I admitted, smiling as “coyly” as I could. - -“William! Sounds a bit—stand-offish,” objected Miss Holt. “D’you call him -‘_Billy_,’ by any chance?” - -“Never,” I said solemnly, “not by any chance.” - -“Of course not. ‘Billy’s’ no class,” said Miss Robinson. “‘William? Ahem! -_William!_’” in a pompous bass voice. “Dark or fair, Miss Trant?” - -“Fair.” - -“M’m. Well, I suppose Miss Trant _would_ pick a fair one, her being such -a reel brunette,” commented Miss Holt, “but as for me, I never could -take to a fair man. Puts me in mind of weak tea. About as fair ’s the -Governor, Miss Trant?” - -“Ye-es; just about.” - -“Anything for a bit of a change,” said Miss Robinson satirically. “I -should have thought you’d have liked another colour to sit opposite to -at lunch, after having to have the same sort of thing staring you in the -face all the afternoon. However!—no accounting for ’em!... I hope he’s -tall, though?” - -“Over six foot, I should think.” - -“Ah! Well grown, William! Is the young gentleman in the City, may I ask?” - -“Yes, he is.” - -“Isn’t she a good sort, answering all our impertinent questions like -this! One more, Miss Trant, and we won’t bother you. Where are you going -to meet him?” - -I don’t think she expected that I _would_ answer this. But I said quite -frankly, “I am to meet him just outside the front entrance in Leadenhall -Street.” And I whisked out of the room to the lift. I didn’t tell the -girls “Look out of that window on the other side of the landing and -you’ll see him.” - -I knew it wasn’t necessary. - -In two minutes’ time I was being helped into a taxi by the august hand of -our Governor himself. - -I lifted my head and looked straight up at the landing window. Yes, there -they were, all three of them, flattening their noses against the pane. -I nodded and smiled with bravado. My three colleagues were too utterly -taken by surprise to even smile back at me. The expression on their three -faces was even more pronounced than as I had foreseen it. Miss Holt was -standing in front, and as we drove away I saw her eyebrows rise to her -netted hair, while her mouth dropped open. - -I could almost _hear_ the gasp that came from it, of: - -“_Girls!_ Did you _ever_? She really _is_!—with Still Waters! Well! What -_ever_ next?” - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE FIRST LUNCH TOGETHER - - -“To the Carlton,” ordered Mr. Waters; and off we drove. - -I hadn’t been inside the Carlton since the days before the “smash”—the -days when I was a young lady of leisure, without an idea that I should -presently be toiling in the grimy typists’ room at the Near Oriental from -nine o’clock until six, wearing home-made delaine shirts, and trembling -lest I might lose my hard-earned twenty-five shillings a week! - -The last time I’d been taken there to tea, after a matinée, by my brother -Jack and Sydney Vandeleur, who had ordered roses of a very special pink -to match the frock I’d worn then, and had sent a message to the band to -play my favourite waltzes. Yes, as Jack said, Sydney would do anything -for me, always. I expect Jack thought that the hundred pounds which saved -his name came, as he suggested, from the Vandeleurs. Well, I couldn’t -possibly “give away” the truth about the anomalous position his sister -accepted in order to earn the money! - -Thank goodness, the Vandeleurs were at the other end of the world, and -wouldn’t be home for a year, thought I. By then my time would be up, and -they needn’t know of my make-believe “engagement”—except that it was -“broken off”! - -“I telephoned for a table,” said Mr. Waters, as we left the ordinary -work-a-day world of hurrying people and crowded, petrol-breathing -motor-buses in the Haymarket, and entered the restaurant—warm, perfumed, -bright with dainty clothes and pretty faces that smiled above the little -tables. - -Ours was in a delightfully cosy corner, next to an empty table reserved -for three persons. The decorations were of pink hothouse roses, almost -the same as Sydney’s! How very different from that marble-topped table in -the crowded “Den of Lyons” above which Miss Robinson, Smithie and little -Miss Holt were probably even now gossiping excitedly over this event; but -_how_ much rather I would have been with them! - -“Now, Miss Trant, what do you prefer for lunch?” - -(_My_ only variation of lunch for the last year having been from “Bovril -and a baked apple” to “Poached-egg-on-toast, with a glass of hot milk.”) - -“I don’t mind at all.” - -“Then I’ll order.” - -And very delicious were the things he did order. Apparently even a -machine liked perfect _bisque de homard_, and crisp whitebait—his one -touch of nature, in fact. - -I longed for Cicely—who does love nice food, poor child!—to be there to -help me enjoy this. In fact, I wished that Cicely and I could have had -the lunch to our two gossiping selves. How we should have enjoyed all -the luxuries, from the pretty glass to the freedom to chat, softly but -unrestrainedly, about everyone we noticed in the place. I have heard it -said that “Women would rather talk to other _women_ than to _men_, even -when they would rather talk to a _man_ than to a _woman_.” I don’t think -I’ve often met any single man I’d rather talk to than to a fairly amusing -member of my own sex. You have to say most things twice to men, and then -they don’t really understand.... - -Still Waters, of course (as his typists explain to each other at least -four times in a morning), isn’t what you could call a man. Somehow, in -surroundings that used to be more familiar to me than offices and City -streets, I lost a little of that awe-struck nervousness of my employer. -For a time I could almost forget he was that. He became—Well! he made me -feel as I did in the old days when I had got someone very heavy-in-hand -to take me in to dinner, or as if I were sitting out a dance with some -rather hopeless partner. I mean that was about as far as any conversation -between us went—a few stilted, distrait remarks, punctuating long -stretches of silence. - -Meanwhile, I glanced round the big place at the other luncheon-parties, -people laughing and chatting together—out evidently for amusement, not -“business”! - -Several times I caught glances directed at our own table. I wondered -what the people were thinking of us—of the enormously tall, fair young -man with “City” stamped all over him, from his smooth head to his glossy -boots, and the small, dark-eyed girl in the black velours hat which -looked so very much more expensive and stylish than her neatly-cut but -ancient serge costume would lead them to expect. - -Perhaps they thought that the big young man with the face as -expressionless as a fireproof curtain was slightly bored by taking his -country cousin round the sights of London? Perhaps they thought we were -really engaged? It didn’t matter. There was no one in the restaurant -who knew either of us. Idly I wondered who would come in and take the -“reserved” table close to us. - -“Miss Trant, you took good care that the other typists knew for a fact -with whom you were coming out?” - -“Oh, yes. They were all looking out of the landing window as we drove -off.” - -“Good!” said Still Waters. - -And again I almost fancied that I caught that flash of something like -humour in his granite-grey eyes, as I’d fancied it before, when he spoke -about my “intelligence” and my work. But again it was gone before I could -make sure. I was glad. One doesn’t want a machine to have any sense of -humour. And I shouldn’t find it so easy and unembarrassing to be on terms -of “official fiancéedom” with anything but a machine. - -“I shall take you out to lunch two or three times this week,” he -announced, in his orders-for-the-day voice, “and perhaps to tea. On -Saturday I shall ask you to come with me to a matinée that you can talk -about, and so on, to the others.” - -“Very well, Mr. Waters,” I said meekly. - -“And now that we’ve led up to it in this way, I see no point in waiting. -So next week, Miss Trant, the ‘engagement’ had better be announced.” - -“Certainly,” I agreed, again picturing to myself the stupefaction of -everybody at the Near Oriental, from Mr. Dundonald (a pity the shock -can’t incapacitate him for life!) down to Harold. - -At home there’d be Cicely. I’m fond of her, but I dread this. She -takes such an _exasperating_ interest in anything that can be called a -love-affair. I myself can’t see what there is so thrilling about “Who is -going to marry whom, and why?” - -But Cicely positively “collects,” just as some people collect -book-plates, all she can find out on this hackneyed subject. I know -she’ll insist on treating this arrangement between my employer and myself -as a real, romantic “_affaire de cœur_.” Well, I suppose I shall _have_ -to keep from slapping her! - -Then there’ll be Mr. Waters’ friends, whoever they are, to whom I shall -have to be introduced as the girl he’s going to marry. (Oh, _lor’!_ as -Mrs. Skinner puts it.) - -“After which,” pursued the Governor, “I think I shall have to ask you -to——What is it, Miss Trant? Just seen somebody you know?” - -“Yes,” I managed to murmur; “I know the lady who has just come in—at the -next table.” - -For at the table which had been reserved for three, two of the party had -just turned up. - -One was a fair-haired young girl, expensively frocked in blue velvet, but -still looking like school-room tea. The other—how well I knew the slim, -well-preserved silhouette of her figure, the carefully-graded bloom of -her face! - -It was Lady Vandeleur, whom I’d imagined to be in Japan! - -She is a charming woman, but she has two faults. One is that, with a son -of thirty-two, she insists on remaining twenty-five. The other is that, -unlike dear old Sydney, to whom the downfall of the Trant fortunes made -absolutely no difference, she’s never really liked me since the “smash.” - -Before that, she was quite eager to explain that I was “already” like -a young daughter to her. But it’s two years since I heard the tone of -effusive affection with which Sydney’s mother was speaking to the girl -beside her. - -“My dear child, aren’t you _starving_? I vote we begin. That naughty boy -of mine is so late. We really can’t wait for Sydney!” - -“For Sydney!” Goodness! Then presently Sydney himself would join them. He -would take the chair that faced our table—to which his mother sat with -her back turned. He would see me—he’d be sure to come across and speak! - -My mind was in a whirl of wondering what Sydney Vandeleur would think -when he saw the girl he admired lunching _tête-à-tête_ at the Carlton -with that big, imperturbable stranger. And then Sydney himself came in. - -I was in the middle of a particularly ambrosial _pêche Melba_, and anyone -would have thought I didn’t raise my eyes from it. But thank goodness, -my eyelashes are long enough for the purpose they’re given a girl—to be -looked up through, without a man seeing. In a flash I’d taken in all -of Sydney that one could see; his general appearance of a Cavalier’s -portrait; his look at the girl, his mood, a slightly different way he’d -had his hair (longish) and his little Vandyke beard trimmed since I saw -him last, the clothes he was wearing.... - -Of course nine girls out of ten never notice a man’s ordinary clothes. -Evening-dress they recognize; and, of course, flannels, because those are -white, and allow the man (especially after a hard game) to look a decent -shape if he is one. Anything else is lost on them. But I’m the tenth -girl. As Major Montresor once said, when he was huffy with me for telling -him his new Norfolk jacket was “too undergraduatey” for him, “Little -Monica notices like a valet!” - -Sydney’s clothes one couldn’t _help_ noticing; he’s so well-turned-out, -but never in a stereotyped style; in fact, he refuses to be dressed, as -he calls it, “through a stencil.” I’m sure he’d rather put on a false -nose and walk down St. James’s Street in it than appear in that hideous -conventional “rig” of the Governor’s. To-day, for the Carlton, Sydney -wore grey of such an exquisite soft stuff that it was hard to believe it -came from any ordinary man’s tailor; the tie below his bare throat was -dove-colour shot with heliotrope, and his silk socks and the line in his -shirt with its soft collar matched it exactly. There was one dark Russian -violet in his button-hole. - -All these details were familiar to me before Sydney so much as cast a -glance at our table. Then, in a lull, when I refused coffee, he seemed -to prick up his ears. With a quick turn from the girl in blue velvet, he -looked straight across and saw me at last. - -“_Monica——!_” - -I heard the quick, delighted, recognizing exclamation break from my old -admirer’s lips. (I _know_ he admires me, so why not say so?) - -For the life of me, I couldn’t help raising my eyes and meeting his own -fixed upon me. - -He half rose. Then his glance fell upon my companion. Mr. Waters was then -in the act of putting money down upon the little tray the waiter handed. - -And then I saw the expression of eager delight on Sydney’s dark, rather -dreamy-looking, face give place to a hurt surprise, as he sat back again -in his chair. - -At the same moment Lady Vandeleur turned quickly, fixing her own gaze -upon our table. - -Immediately the gaze became a blank stare, while her -exquisitely-pencilled eyebrows rose almost to the edge of her costly -“transformation.” She’d recognized me, of course. But stony displeasure -and outraged convention gleamed in the eyes that she instantly averted. - -You see, in her world a girl of my age is not supposed to lunch at the -Carlton without a chaperon of some sort, and with an unspecified young -man. - -Up to this occasion I, Colonel Trant’s daughter, had been of that world, -of those conventions. The Vandeleurs were evidently shocked at the lapse. - -Dear old Sydney, old-fashionedly chivalrous towards women, was also -old-fashionedly strict; and his mother—well! she was merely glad of the -excuse to cut me. - -Under the circumstances I need not have minded. But one is not -consistent. I minded horribly the idea of what they might be thinking -about me—that I had become horrid, forward, fast. - -Something that seemed as hard and hot as a baked paving-stone seemed to -settle between my chest and my throat as I fumbled at the last button of -my long white gloves, and, in answer to Mr. Waters’ business-like “Ready, -Miss Trant?” I rose to follow him out. - -Lady Vandeleur’s tortoiseshell-handled lorgnette rose also. I saw her -turn a searching scrutiny upon my blond, glossily-groomed, well-to-do -looking escort. - -Again a horrible hint of what she might be thinking of me passed through -my mind. She knew I worked now in the City; she would think—Sydney would -think—I had made it an excuse for “picking up” the attentions of a -wealthy business-man, perhaps my employer. From every point of view it is -considered “bad form” for the head of a firm to have anything to say to -his typist out of business-hours. - -All this she would say to Sydney, and to that girl. No, I couldn’t stand -that! There seemed only one thing in the world for me to do. “I’m forced -into it,” I thought rapidly, “so here goes.” - -I touched Mr. Waters’s sleeve, murmuring: - -“Please wait a moment.” - -He stopped, looking down at me inquiringly. I turned, smiling, to that -slim, expensively-gowned figure of outraged propriety at the other table. -I accosted her as if I thought she had not seen me. - -“Lady Vandeleur, don’t you know me?” - -My own voice sounded strangely artificial in my ears, but, thank -goodness, it was steady enough, with every syllable distinct. - -“Will you allow me to introduce Mr. Waters, my fiancé?” - -There! It was said! - -Transformation scene upon that carefully-preserved face at the table! -Gone, vanished, was the icy displeasure. A radiant smile, a gracious bow -to the imperturbable Mr. Waters met my announcement. An effusive clasp of -both my own hands. - -“My dear child, what surprising, what delightful news! How glad I am for -you,” cooed Lady Vandeleur. - -How glad she was for herself—glad to think that a hopelessly ineligible -girl, for whom Sydney had always displayed a regrettable weakness, was -now safely out of harm’s way—and his! - -Her gratification at this made her quite as affectionate as she had been -in the days when the Trant family was still worth marrying into. - -“So long since we heard anything of you, you naughty child! But this -quite makes up. Yes, we _were_ away; but there were alterations in our -plans”—with a quick gesture, a quick glance, towards the pretty débutante -opposite to her, evidently her latest “plan” for Sydney. “Now we are back -in town for the season. The old address, you know, in Belgrave Square. -Wednesday is my afternoon. Now, promise you will come and see us. A -‘soon’ Wednesday, mind! Do bring your _fiancé_!” - -“I shall be delighted.” It was the Governor’s imperturbable voice that -answered her. At that moment I could not have spoken. - -For as Sydney was murmuring conventional congratulations I had caught -sight of the look in his eyes. They are handsome eyes, deep and brown -and soft, like the eyes of some spaniels; and just then they looked so -bitterly hurt that I felt as if I had been cruel to some nice dog or some -helpless child. Perhaps Sydney cared more than I had ever imagined. - -I felt quite miserable when at last the purring farewells and the “so -very glad, dear childs” were left behind us, and we passed out of the -restaurant, through the wheeling glass doors into the Haymarket once more. - -As we walked up to Piccadilly Circus I turned to the Governor with the -apologies I felt I owed him. - -“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Waters! There seemed nothing else to be done. -Those people—they were old friends of my father’s; they would have -thought it so odd for me to be lunching alone with you.” - -“Oh, quite so, quite so!” put in the Governor, matter-of-fact and -reassuring. “I quite realized the situation.” - -Did he? - -Not all of it! Poor Sydney! I have never felt nearer the possibility -of falling in love with Sydney in my life. But the Governor was still -speaking. - -“In fact, I was not at all sorry that the occasion happened to come up. -It means, of course, that the announcement will have to be made rather -earlier.” - -“Oh, yes,” I agreed, with the usual sinking of the heart. - -We had reached the Circus now, and before I knew what he was going to do, -Mr. Waters had stepped quickly across to those sailor-hatted, shawled -flower-women, whose baskets make such a gorgeous splash of colour against -the stone background of the fountain. - -Back he came with a cluster of great red, fragrant carnations, which he -handed to me. - -“Oh, but really you should not have——” I was beginning, when I realized -that this also was part of the business—that never had flowers been -offered from man to maid under quite such unromantic circumstances -before, and that I had better take Still Waters’ gift as ostentatiously -as I could. - -I tucked the sweet crimson blooms into the breast of my blue serge coat. - -As we whizzed citywards in a taxi, the Governor spoke again. - -“Now, Miss Trant, there is another suggestion I have to make to you,” he -began. “To begin with, if I may say so, I like the way you dress.” - -Crisp, concise, business-like syllables; no girl could have interpreted -them into a _compliment_! - -“I like the way you go to business—always neat, always ladylike. No -ear-rings, no dingle-dangles and low necks like some of them; always -a very clean collar and a quiet tie, I notice—just the thing for the -office. But when I take you out rather more, I suppose you will have to -have one or two rather special evening gowns and afternoon frocks, and -theatre-wraps, and so on. I don’t know what they’re called. No doubt -you know the kind of thing to order. All part of the arrangement, you -understand. I’ll get a friend of mine in the City, whose wife runs a -really first-class dressmaking business, to let me have the address; and -then you will go to her—” - -All cut-and-dried, like all his other schemes! But this was something -different—very different as well. - -—“have yourself fitted out with all that is necessary, and send in the -bills to me.” - -“Please, no. Not that,” I heard myself say quickly. - -My employer turned upon me a face with some of the imperturbability quite -jerked out of it by surprise. - -“What’s that?” - -“If you don’t mind, I can’t—I would rather not do so as you suggest -about that,” said I, holding my head very high, but feeling myself turn -as crimson as the flowers in my coat, and speaking rather shakily, for -this was the first time I had ever asserted my own feelings in even the -mildest way before him. “I—I know it seems like straining at a gnat after -all the camels that I am preparing to swallow. Of course I will _get_ the -frocks and things. Only—please, you must allow me to pay for them out of -my allowance—my salary.” - -He looked at me doubtfully. - -“That seems scarcely fair—to you. It means paying out your own money on -things, that—well! I thought that would obviously come out as ‘_business -expenses_.’” - -I said, feeling miserably uncomfortable, “Don’t you see that I can’t -possibly allow you to pay for—to give me _frocks_?” - -“But—don’t you understand that—in the way of business, you will have to -allow me to give you other things?” - -“Other things? What?” - -“Why, presents. I don’t know what, exactly. You will probably have to -come round the shops with me yourself, and tell me. You are the best -judge of what a girl would like to show, as gifts, keepsakes, what-nots, -from the man to whom she is, presumably, engaged. It is part of this -affair!” explained Mr. Waters, a little impatiently, as the taxi was held -up at a crossing and waited panting for the signal to get on. “It would -‘look odd,’ as you yourself expressed it once, if I did _not_ offer you -presents.” - -“Presents,” I said, feeling really indignant with him for being so -obtuse, “are very different. For one thing, I should not have to keep -_them_ always. They would go back to you at the end of the year, as soon -as that paper I signed for you is torn up. But—girls don’t take _clothes_ -as presents, _ever_!” - -“I don’t see why not,” he said obstinately. “Besides—don’t they! A cousin -of my own, a girl” (fancy his having a girl-cousin!) “who was staying -with us last winter used to wear a magnificent stole and a muff of -leopard-skin—the leopards had been shot by her _fiancé_.” - -“Those were _furs_,” I explained. “Furs are different.” - -“A great many things would seem to be ‘different’ from what I imagined,” -he said, in a tone of voice that was almost petulant. I felt inclined -to say, “Yes! _You_ imagined that because you’re as infallible as a -tape-machine in business-hours, you can’t make mistakes outside the -office!” - -Whereas Sydney Vandeleur, who has no “business” outside his amateur art -criticism, with an occasional design for hand-wrought jewellery, would -never have made the _faux pas_ this man had done. It was so absurdly -ignorant and _gauche_ of him not to see it. And even now he seemed -inclined to dispute the point. - -“Feathers, now,” he said a little satirically. “Might not a girl wear -a couple of really good, expensive ostrich plumes, or whatever you -call them—the things that hang down the back like a sort of Niagara of -fluff—if they were sent to her by a man with facilities for buying direct -from South Africa?” - -“Oh, yes,” I said readily, feeling as if I were an editress answering -“_Queries on Etiquette_.” “Feathers are _quite_ as permissible as furs.” - -“Even supposing them to be very costly? Worth as much, say, as five times -the amount of the rest of the lady’s wardrobe?” - -“It’s nothing to do with the cost,” I explained patiently. “A -twenty-guinea fox stole a girl _might_ accept from a man. A four-pound -frock she _couldn’t_.” - -“I confess I don’t understand these _nuances_,” said Mr. Waters, almost -absent-mindedly. - -I said, “Any _girl_ would.” - -“Possibly. I can’t help wondering what held good instead of the -fur-and-feathers edict in the days when they composed——What I was going -to say,” he broke off quickly, “was that I always imagined that young -French girls were brought up to be more strict in these matters than -English ones. Yet I know a French girl—” - -(Surprising! He knows a girl!) - -—“her father’s an old business acquaintance of mine—” - -(Ah, that explains it.) - -—“and neither her father nor the young lady seemed to find anything -curious about the matter, when, in payment of some bet made at a -flying-meeting, I bought her quite a large boxful of pairs of gloves.” - -“Oh, gloves! Anybody can give gloves to anybody,” I told him. “_Gloves_ -aren’t like clothes.” - -“No, but I see some clothes about nowadays that are uncommonly like -gloves!” - -_Could_ it have been the Governor who muttered this _sotto voce_ to -himself? - -No! It must have been the comment that flashed through my own mind, and -that I imagined spoken aloud as the burly policeman whose back I had been -studying during this interlude dropped his hand and allowed our taxi to -whizz forward into the writhing tangle of traffic. - -There was no further stopping or talking until at last we reached the -imposing entrance of the Near Oriental Shipping Agency offices. - -I noticed that the Governor’s level eyebrows rose a trifle as he looked -at the indicator of the fares before paying the driver. Yes, I am sure -that many fifteen shillings’ worth of taxi-drive haven’t seemed as long. -I only hope this florin’s worth was as endless to him as it was to me! - -Then, just as I was turning away, my employer surprised me by saying -brusquely but quite nicely, “Miss Trant, you must do just as you like in -the matter of—of which we’ve been speaking. I didn’t mean to hurt your -feelings. I am sorry if I did—You understand that?” - -“Oh, of course,” I said, all meekness again. - -And then I set my teeth before I ran up the stairs into the typists’ -dressing-room and prepared to face the eyes of my three friends, Miss -Robinson, Miss Holt and Miss Smith. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -WHAT THEY SAID - - -In the dressing-room, where Miss Robinson was rinsing out the sooty basin -before washing her hands in it, Miss Holt “smarming” her hair-net down -over her little brown chocolate of a head, and Miss Smith tearing yet -another leaf out of the inevitable book of _papiers poudrés_, the silence -that met me was quite as death-like as if the girls had just been pulled -up by Mr. Dundonald’s “_Talk_-ing, ladies!” - -Talking? I didn’t need to be told that, _from_ the moment they’d seen, -out of the landing window, the last of that taxi in which the Governor -and his private clerk had driven off, _to_ the moment they had heard my -returning footstep on the stairs, they had done nothing _but_ talk about -me and my incredible, my epic lunch. - -As I drew the hat-pins from the admired new hat, I prepared for a -hurricane of comments and questions. - -None came. Not one of the girls seemed to have a word to say to me! - -Perhaps they thought they would hear more by seeming not too eager. -(That’s rather Miss Robinson’s style of “drawing out” her companions.) - -Perhaps they considered the subject too vast for immediate discussion. -Perhaps, for they are all good-natured girls, they had come to the -conclusion that it wasn’t fair to “rag” me about it—that I might be -feeling too utterly nervous and flurried over the unexpected (?) event. - -They didn’t even ask me whether I had enjoyed myself! I even saw them, -distinctly, avoid looking at me. - -Only Miss Holt’s eyes seemed drawn, as if in spite of herself, to the -flowers I was taking out of my coat to put in water in the grimy jam-jar -on the dressing-table that so often holds Smithie’s bunch of violets; and -it was Miss Holt who breathed an involuntary— - -“I say, what lovely carnations!” - -“Do have some,” I said, as a matter of course, dividing the cluster and -holding out half to her. - -“Oh, no. I wouldn’t deprive you for the world, Miss Trant,” murmured Miss -Holt, stiffly drawing back. - -I realized from her tone that she considered I had made a mistake. - -Of course! Those flowers ought to have been thought “too precious” to -share with anybody. Smithie would never think of giving one of her -“boy’s” violets away. Dear me, I thought, what an added bore, having to -remember to keep up the correctly sentimental attitude about every trifle -of this kind.... _Ah!_ - -I broke off what I was thinking at that moment with quite a sudden start. - -For, just as she turned away, I had caught Miss Smith’s glance at that -cluster of fresh, crimson carnations. It might have been a bunch of -withered wall-flowers that had been left too long in water, for the -disgusted wrinkle that lifted the prettiest typist’s small, powdered nose. - -“_I_ wouldn’t touch them,” it seemed to say. - -“Not _those_ flowers.” ... - -And at last I saw why. - -The reason my three colleagues had forborne to question, or chaff, or -even look at me when I came in from that expedition with the Governor was -_not_ because they were too considerate, too puzzled, or too wily. - -It was merely because they were shocked—scandalized! - -They were thinking worse things of me than I thought I saw behind Lady -Vandeleur’s lifted lorgnette. I found myself suspected—probably more -than suspected!—of having run counter to the standards of a class which -is perhaps more innately virtuous than Lady Vandeleur’s and my own and -Cicely’s, and certainly more rigid in its judgments. I remembered gossip -about typists and their employers, gossip from the days when I was taking -my training at Pitman’s. And out of this I could imagine for myself the -tone of the talk about me that had passed across that marble-topped table -in the “Den of Lyons” at lunch-time. - -“Well, Still Waters have been running deep, with a vengeance! This is the -meaning of her taking down his letters for a whole fortnight—_without any -complaints_, girls! We might have seen there was something funny in that!” - -“She’s been pretty artful, too, not letting on that there was anything -at all, until to-day!—And there must have been some sort of beginning. A -girl’s boss doesn’t take her out to a swagger lunch, with flowers and a -new hat and all, without there’s been some sort of a leading up to it!” - -Perhaps Miss Robinson might suggest—“Well, I should never have thought -she’d been that kind of girl. Fact of the matter is, I suppose she funked -losing her job if she didn’t.” - -But Smithie and Miss Holt would chorus vehemently, “She ought to have -lost her job, first! I would!—And chance it!” - -Yes; according to this jury of maidens, I was already pronounced -“_Guilty_.” - -And, innocent as I was of anything they would have thought “mattered” in -the least—for I don’t think the keeping-up of a false engagement would -have outraged their conventions at all in comparison—I felt myself turn -hot and cold with shame over the false position. - -I was even thankful not to have to stay in the same room with these -other girls that afternoon—thankful to be able to beat a retreat to the -large, light office where I took down letters from the Governor’s rapid -dictation as if my whole life depended on it—thankful that he did make -such claims on the whole of my attention and capabilities; thankful that -the boring “dinner-partner,” who had allowed a glimpse of a slightly -more human personality in the cab when he’d discussed the difference -between frocks and furs, had been entirely swallowed up again in the -business-employer. - - * * * * * - -As he was leaving, he gave me the last of his orders for the following -day. - -“I should be glad if you would have lunch with me again to-morrow.” - -“Very well, Mr. Waters.” - -That means another ordeal in the dressing-room, where the ill-ventilated -atmosphere will again be set simmering with the unspoken—and the -unspeakable. I never did think that this ten pounds a week was going -to be exactly easy to earn. But I hadn’t bargained for this—This is -outrageous! It makes me hate everybody: Mr. Waters, to begin with, for -making the proposal; Jack next, for making it necessary for me to accept -it; the girls at the office here, for so hideously misconstruing the -position! - -My ordinary work, which had for two or three hours pushed my complicated -“supernumerary duties” to the back of my mind, has come to an end, and -the other thing looms well into the foreground again. I’ve walked nearly -all the way back to Battersea, but that hasn’t worked off my simmering -indignation even yet. - -I shall spend the evening ironing out washing-ribbon and oddments in our -tiny kitchen; I can’t stay with Cicely—I should only snap at her, and she -would wonder why. - -The one relief that I have been able to give to my feelings was when, -in crossing the bridge, I tore those glorious crimson carnations (which -I wouldn’t leave at the Near Oriental!) out of my coat again, and flung -them far, far down into the sluggish brown waters of the river below me. -How soon they were out of sight! How I wish that I could put them and -everything connected with them, out of mind! - - * * * * * - -To-day, the day of my second lunch with Mr. Waters, has been one -that I don’t think I shall ever forget, even when I’m a white-haired -maiden-lady, with no one to lunch with but a parrot or a tabby-cat, and -no man’s “appointments” to consult but those of the individual who has to -pay me over my Old Age Pension! - -Silence—a silence that ought to have rejoiced the heart of Mr. Dundonald, -reigned throughout the whole long morning. I knew that the girls meant me -to realize that Miss Trant, for outraging the code of the self-respecting -business-girl, had been “sent to Coventry.” - -This was what helped me to that stiffness of spine, that Suffragette-like -defiance of eye, and that unnatural clearness of diction which I felt -myself assuming at one o’clock in the dressing-room as I announced, “I -think it is at the Savoy that I am lunching with Mr. Waters to-day.” For -I flung it down like a gauntlet. - -It was Miss Robinson who accepted the challenge with a particularly icy -“Gracious!” - -The two others stared hard; while Miss Robinson, clearing her throat, -fixed her shrewd eyes on me and plucked up courage to add what Smithie -and Miss Holt were probably thinking. - -“Miss Trant! D’you mind me asking you if you’re going out with Mr. Waters -because you like it, or because you can’t say ‘No’?” - -“Who would say ‘No’”—I fenced flippantly—“to a Savoy lunch?” - -“Some girls might,” murmured Miss Smith. Miss Robinson, answering not my -words, but my tone, said, “Of course it’s none of my business—except -that while you’re here you are supposed to be one of us. And I can’t -say——” - -“Can’t say what?” I demanded, meeting her shrewd eyes squarely with my -defiant ones. She flushed a little, and I was glad. But she stuck to her -guns. - -“I can’t say that it looks any too well! A man in his position, and a -girl in yours! Under those circumstances——” - -“You know nothing,” I said, deliberately and coldly, “about the -circumstances.” - -Still more deliberately I tossed a glance into the inevitably -soap-splashed mirror at the set of my hat. Then, without another word, I -turned out of the open door and walked to the lift, humming a tune just -loud enough for them all to hear. - -This time I didn’t trouble to glance up from the entrance, where my -employer joined me, to the landing window. The girls would not be -watching me off this time. - - * * * * * - -“Savoy!” - -The taxi-driver touched his peaked cap with a quite unusual suggestion of -deference. I suppose he had found Savoy luncheon-escorts were generous -tippers. I wondered if he had ever before driven a couple in quite these -“circumstances.” - -Miss Robinson’s sincerely-meant reproof, “_It doesn’t look any too well! -A girl in your position. A man in his!_” echoed in my ears louder than -the whirring of the wheels and the noise of the traffic. It rankled -poisonously throughout the drive, throughout the whole luncheon. - -We lunched outside, which Mr. Waters said laconically would be -“more amusing for me than inside.” Personally I felt that nothing -would ever amuse me less than this duty-lunch with its hateful -obbligato-accompaniment of what those other girls were thinking, what -they were saying. - -Oh, it’s all very well to quote that French axiom— - -“_They say—What do they say?—Let them say!_” The average person will -always find that a counsel of perfection.—Especially the average girl. -The impulse _not_ to let them “say” if we can help it is nearly as -strong in us as the instinct of self-preservation, and of touching our -hair when we pass a mirror. So that there must be some really important -basic reason for it. I do wish I knew what would happen if that suddenly -crumbled away ...? - -But it isn’t “away” yet: it spoiled every trace of amusement that I -might otherwise have enjoyed in the lunch and the people that passed. -I’ve merely a vague impression of cab-whistles, of taxis whirling -up beyond the trellis of the low balustrade, of obviously American -figures appearing and disappearing among the evergreens; of a small, -unhappy-looking face with dark eyes that stared resentfully at me out of -the bowls of spoons, and of a voice that said half-absently, “I’m afraid -you’ve made a very poor lunch, Miss Trant.” - -“Oh, not at all.” - -“Perhaps you are tired?” - -“Oh, not in the least, thank you.” - -“Not too tired to come on somewhere? I thought if you didn’t mind”—this -always preludes an order—“we’d drive to Gemmer’s in Bond Street, and -choose that ring for you.” - -“Ring?” I repeated vaguely, as I put on my gloves. - -“You will have to have one, you know. An engagement ring, as the outward -and visible sign of the new conditions,” he said nonchalantly, as we -rose. “Must have a ring to clinch the effect!” - -Yes, I thought resentfully, that “clinches” it—for him. He doesn’t think -of my side of the affair at all! He doesn’t see that his accurately -mapped-out time-table includes any unpleasantness—just because _he_ -doesn’t choose to admit it! - -I turned to him as we sat in the cab. I felt like “the turning worm” as I -pulled myself together for what I meant to say. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -CHOOSING THE RING - - -“About that—engagement ring, Mr. Waters——” - -“Yes?” - -“You want me to take to wearing it, as soon as you have got it, I -suppose?” - -“That’s the idea,” he said, turning a little to look at me while I stared -straight at the big white-and-blue buses lumbering up the Strand, but -saw, clearer than the traffic, the faces of Miss Robinson, Miss Holt, and -Smithie wearing that partly contemptuous, but more angry, expression with -which I suppose a decent Trades-Unionist on strike might be entitled to -look down upon a blackleg. “Yes, of course it’s for you to wear at once. -What else?” - -“And—to show the others?” - -“Of course!” He looked still more surprised; a little impatient, too. I -suppose he felt that again an irritating spoke was being thrust into the -well-oiled wheel of his plan. - -“I am to show it to them and let them know, in that way, that I am -supposed to be engaged to you?” - -He answered this with another question. - -“Tell me, Miss Trant, have you been having any unpleasantness in the -office about this—coming out to lunch with me?” - -“N-no,” I said. “Of course,” I added more quickly, “it’s been awkward! -You could not expect it _not_ to have been awkward—at least, for me!” - -“Ah? Made awkward for you by those girls—what?” - -“No! Oh, no!” I fibbed swiftly. For again I could conclude his comment -with that relentless “_Well, then, they can go!_” And I couldn’t have the -girls sacked, calmly as I felt I could have seen them all three strangled -an hour before. “Only—a little difficult to explain.” - -“This will explain it,” said my employer coolly, as the taxi stopped -outside the glass door of the great jeweller’s. A page-boy in -green-and-silver swung it open for us. And Mr. Waters made me precede him -into the softly-carpeted shop with the long glass counters and the white -velvet stands curved to the shape of a woman’s neck, on which winked -and flashed, gleamed and glowed, diamonds—rubies—pearls—jewels of every -description. - -“The sight of flowers soothes and softens a woman’s mood. Jewels, on the -other hand, stimulate, excite and irritate her. Possibly because they -generally signify longings unattainable combined with the knowledge that, -given _that_ necklace, or gems like those, or _such_ a pair of ear-rings, -and any beauty she has would be tenfold increased.” ... That is how -Sydney Vandeleur explained it to me. He’s interested in jewels ever since -he won that Arts and Crafts competition for the design of a girdle in -silver, mother-o’-pearl, and peridot. And Cicely, of the red curls, once -confessed that she would marry an octogenarian if he could give her a -really lovely rope of black pearls! - -But that was in fun. This was business.... - -A small, olive-faced shopman in a frock-coat and with curls like a -retriever’s back bowed over the counter and flashed his teeth at us. -Mentally I nicknamed him Mr. Levi Smarm. It would have taken all Miss -Robinson’s powers of mimicry to reproduce the suavity of his “Sir? What -may I have the pleasure?” - -“We want to see some rings,” said my employer brusquely. - -“Engagement rings, sir, of course?” - -“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Waters, fixing a cold granite-grey stare just -above the retriever’s back—or rather, the jeweller’s head. “Now—” - -I felt that he had nearly rapped out his usual “Now, Miss Trant!” but -checked himself under the sympathetically intrusive eye of that Jewish -salesman as he turned to me—“what stones do you prefer?” - -“I? Oh! What does it matter?—I mean, I don’t mind in the least!” - -I was remembering things that various girl-friends had told me, in the -old days, of the choosing of their engagement rings; of various rings -I had seen. One girl, whose _fiancé_ had gipsy blood in his veins, had -chosen a gipsy’s silver wedding-ring. Another had a tiny enamel circlet -with the posy: - - “_The Gift is Small_ - _But Love is All._” - -If I _were_ the falling-in-love type of girl, which thank goodness -I’m not, this scene at Gemmer’s, so utterly opposed to all canons of -Romance and tradition, might have seemed a “desecration”—might have got -thoroughly on my nerves. - -But what _was_ on my nerves, which actually were jangled enough for the -moment, was—first, the attitude of the girls towards me ever since I -came back from the Carlton yesterday—and, secondly, the Governor’s blind -tactlessness, his intention of turning me loose among them, so to speak, -alone, to flaunt his ring on my finger! - -A positive rage against Still Waters boiled up in me as suddenly as hot -milk in the saucepan when you don’t watch it. So, when he suggested, -casually, “Let us say diamonds, then, shall we?” I heard myself retort -quickly, almost before I knew what I meant: - -“Yes, diamonds. Diamonds are always money afterwards, you know!” - -As soon as it was out of my mouth I realized that it was an appalling -thing to say under any circumstances. Mr. Levi Smarm, however, seemed to -consider it an extremely witty remark. - -He threw back his curly head and laughed quite pleasantly as he suggested -that surely the young lady was not thinking of an “afterwards” already? - -“It is always well to be provided for every contingency,” put in Mr. -Waters dryly. “I should like to see those diamond rings in that show-case -over there, please.” - -“There” was at the other end of the shop—which meant that our salesman -had to turn his frock-coated back upon us, and that he was out of earshot -of the next remarks between his “newly-engaged” customers. - -“Miss Trant!”—the Governor spoke curtly and hurriedly—“What was your -meaning just now when you said that ‘diamonds were always money -afterwards’?” - -“Well—I—I understood that they were! Perhaps I ought not to have said it -with the man there. I meant that you would not lose anything on it when I -return that ring to you in a year’s time from now!” - -“Who said anything about ‘returning’ the ring when the so-called -engagement is up?” asked Mr. Waters, looking directly at me. - -I was aghast. - -“But ... naturally I send it back!” - -“I had not intended that at all. You will have ... expenses connected -with this affair—railway-journeys, and so on, I mean.” He _meant_ clothes -again, I suspect, but could not say so. “I intended whatever value the -ring might have to stand for those.” - -“Thank you,” I said, nearly boiling up again. “In that case I won’t have -diamonds, please.” - -“This is a very pretty design, madam,” insinuated the returning Mr. -Smarm. “The colour of these stones is very beautiful.” - -“Yes, but I don’t think I’m going to have diamonds,” I persisted, feeling -quite amazed at my own boldness. I meant, however, to carry my point. -“I’d rather have pearls—or opals——” - -“Very seldom a young lady chooses opals for her engagement ring,” smiled -the shopman. “That superstition against opals loses our firm thousands -of pounds’ business a year; the majority of ladies considering them so -unlucky.” - -“I am not superstitious,” I said. “I would like—I am going to have an -opal ring, with very small stones in it.” - -“We are going to have diamonds,” remarked my employer quietly. “Fetch me -some other diamond rings to look at.” - -“I would rather not have them,” I urged, in the temporary absence of the -black curls and white teeth. - -“And I would rather that you had,” ordered my employer. “After all, -diamonds are the show-stones; everybody notices them. They look so -unmistakably _like_ an engagement, don’t you see?” - -“Yes—I see,” I said reluctantly, my nerves feeling more jangled than -ever. “But, Mr. Waters, if I must have them, I shall insist upon sending -back that ring when——” - -“When the time comes we can discuss that,” the Governor cut me short -just as Mr. Levi Smarm bent over us with his wave-offering of jewels on -a tray. “Yes. That’s a good one, that big fellow with the stones going -nearly all round. Those seem a fine colour.” - -“A perfect colour, sir; perfectly matched. I am sure that you will——” - -“Try it on,” said Mr. Waters, holding the winking, flashing circlet out -to me. - -I pulled off my left-hand glove, but here the suave shopman, evidently -accustomed to shopping couples who showed more appreciation of his -sympathy and understanding, interposed again. - -“Oh, pardon me, sir, but that will never do. That would be most -incorrect! No young lady would keep on an engagement ring that had not -been first slipped on to her finger by her _fiancé_ himself!” - -Mr. Waters’ glance of contempt at the shopman would have shrivelled up -the entire staff at the Near Oriental. But several little things had -shown me already that the man who is a Grand Mogul in his own offices can -go down several degrees in importance when he leaves the City. Mr. Levi -Smarm met that glance with another flashing smile, and evidently waited -for us to take this last hint on bridal or betrothal etiquette as it was -meant. - -I believe Mr. Waters was going to do so. A slight shrug of his broad, -sloping shoulders seemed to say, “We may as well have everything _en -règle_ while we’re about it,” as he turned to me. But I wasn’t going to -have any masquerading “frills” about this business that could possibly -be avoided, and this particular development in our “romance” _was_ -avoidable. I said very quickly and decidedly, “Oh, but I don’t believe in -anything of _that_ sort, you know.” Then quietly I took the ring, before -he knew what I was about, out of my employer’s hand, and slipped it on to -my own “wedding-finger.” - -There was a faint purple smudge off a new ribbon on my knuckle just above -the ring. I couldn’t help thinking how entirely characteristic of the -whole affair this was: the stain of my daily labour, showing side by side -with these wonderful stones—that must also be worn as part of the gaining -of my daily bread. - -The ring fitted as if measured for me. - -“You wish me to keep this?” I said briskly to the Governor. - -“Yes, I think that one will do perfectly,” he replied; and he turned to -the young jeweller again. - -It was to ask the price, I knew. I was seized with that ineradicable -feeling of distress that claims a woman under any circumstances -whatsoever—when mention is made of payment for her, by another. She loves -to be paid for—with all thought of price ignored. So I rose and turned to -bend over another glass counter under which gleamed pendants of pearls -and emeralds—which I scarcely saw, for another couple had strayed into -the shop—a plainish girl, simply and rather dowdily dressed; a man like -dozens of others—and they interested me. Their two faces were as radiant -as if they had come into a fortune sufficient to buy up the whole of -Gemmer’s six times over, but I heard the girl whisper, awe-struck and -ecstatic, “Oh, Harry, _no_! I _won’t_ let you! It’s _absurd_, for people -like us.” ... - -“People like us aren’t going to be married every day! Considering I -nearly wrecked my constitution and made myself unspeakably ill-tempered -by giving up smoking for eight months,” growled the young man, “just to -save up enough to _be_ absurd, you won’t catch me wasting it on being -_sensible_.” - -“I’ll write you out the cheque now, and wait while you ring up my -bank, then,” the Governor’s voice was saying; then came purrs from Mr. -Levi Smarm, of “Shall not detain you a moment, sir ... Thank you, sir; -perfectly all right. Much obliged. _Good_ afternoon, sir” (with a bend -to the waist). “Good _afternoon_, madam” (with an even lower bend). Then -he turned the eyes and teeth and curls on the young couple who had saved -up to be “absurd.” I wondered whether he would notice the difference -between them and—his last customers. Probably. Ah, but he could hardly be -expected to know quite _what_ it was! - -“I hope,” said Mr. Waters, civilly, on our way back to the office, “that -that little Hebrew bounder didn’t annoy you. That sort of thing is all -part of his business, you understand.” - -“Of course I understand,” said I submissively. - -“I am glad you—didn’t mind it,” said Mr. Waters. - -I longed to be able to retort, “_Mind?_ Why on earth should I? Please -try to understand that there’s no reason I need ‘mind,’ any more than -one of those curved white velvet stands at Gemmer’s should mind whose -hand clasps and unclasps the necklace of amethysts and peridots that it -displays. I’m quite content to let my finger be a ‘stand,’ to show off -these diamonds, for which—for some unexplained reason—you’ve got to pay -someone to be the ‘official’ wearer! All I ‘mind’ is the way you do these -things—it’s clumsy beyond belief!” - -One comfort that remains to me is that I need only wear this hateful ring -of his while I _am_ on show—and not at other times. - -No tightly-corseted Victorian has ever so longed to be alone in her -bedroom again and undo her torturing case of whalebone and coutil as I -shall long to get away, every time I’m wearing this “engagement” ring—to -the mere pleasure of taking it off! - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -THE ENGAGEMENT IS ANNOUNCED! - - -“Ten past three, by Jove; later than I thought again,” muttered my -employer as we reached the office again. “And I’ve got all those letters -to get through yet.... Miss Trant, I shall have to ask you to come -straight through to my room, please, and take these down at once, as I’m -off early this afternoon.” - -So, still in my hat and coat, I walked straight through to Mr. Waters’ -own office, sat down at the clerk’s table, and stripped off my gloves to -the afternoon’s work. (It’s alarming to see how “twice-on” white gloves -become impossible in London. I’m afraid quite a lot of my hard-earned ten -pounds a week will go on those items alone, now that I’m constrained to -lunch at these haunts of the well-dressed!) - -All through the stress of following the Governor’s top-speed dictation -with my scurrying shorthand, I was conscious of the bulge of that -newly-bought ring—heavy as a door-knob, it seemed now!—on my engagement -finger, and shooting its arrogant glances of orange and emerald and -rose-colour over the dull pages of my pad. - -I was glad that it had not had to be displayed at once in the -dressing-room; glad of the respite of my hour’s toil. But that seemed to -come to an end before I had even begun to set my teeth, mentally, to the -next ordeal. - -—“_and beg to remain, gentlemen, yours, etc._—Yes; that’ll do, Miss -Trant, thank you,” came the Governor’s dismissal. - -I put back my chair and stood up. Now for it! Now for the announcement -of this engagement! I supposed that I need not _begin_ by saying a -word to those three other girls. I should only have to walk over to my -typing-table, sit down and open my machine, and the flash of the electric -light on those marvellous stones above the keyboard would draw three pair -of eyes upon me at once. Should I have to answer that clamouring gaze, or -would the girls put it into questions of so many words? - -“Miss Trant?—Look, girls!—I say, tell us, tell us? It’s not a joke? It’s -an engagement ring all right? You’re not trying to have us on, now? Are -you going to tell us——?” - -Whichever way it happened, it was going to be perfectly awful. Never -mind. It had got to be. It was part of the price of that five hundred -pounds, of Jack’s salvation. - -“What’s the matter, Miss Trant?” asked the Governor, with a quick glance -up at me as I passed his chair. - -“Nothing, thank you. I am going to let the others know, now, about -this”—I moved that detested ring on my hand into another challenging -flash. “And I suppose you will require me to-morrow at lunch again?” - -“No—yes—that is——About telling the others of this engagement of ours,” -took up Mr. Waters unexpectedly. “Would you, by any chance, prefer that I -did that myself?” - -_Would_ I? I nearly gasped with relief! Why couldn’t he have seen before -what a difference this would make to the situation? There isn’t much -dignity in it, goodness knows. But this would save some appearance of it, -at all events! I said quietly, “If it is the same to you, I certainly -should prefer it.” - -“Then please wait here while I see them. I won’t keep you a moment,” said -Still Waters, and he walked quickly out of the room. - -It seemed an hour to me, but I suppose the minute-hand of the -round-topped clock on the broad marble mantelpiece had only moved on two -steps before the door opened again to admit my employer. - -“That’s all right,” he told me, with his succinct nod. “I have announced -the ‘engagement’ to the three other typists, and shall let Mr. Dundonald -and Mr. Alexander know before I leave. I won’t keep you, Miss Trant. Good -afternoon.” - -“Good afternoon,” I said. “Thank you.” - -For the first time in my life I really felt like thanking him. And yet -he’d only done the most ordinary thing that one would expect the most -ordinary man to take as a matter of course. Only the custom-honoured -practice of the Near Oriental is to refuse to regard its head as an -ordinary man. Of course, he _isn’t_. There are advantages in making a -presupposition of this kind, perfectly clear from the very start! - -Feeling comparatively at ease and my own mistress again, I entered the -typists’ room with my head as high as it had been when I marched out to -the lift at lunch-time after Miss Robinson’s voicing of what they all -thought of me. - -Miss Robinson, with her shrewd face startled into the likeness of someone -much younger and less astute, broke away from the other two—they had -been all three chattering and knotted up together in the corner by the -cupboard where the tea-things are kept—and came frankly towards me. - -“Well, Miss Trant! _Here’s_ some news we’ve just had sprung on us,” said -she, speaking as if she found great difficulty in sorting out her words. -“I must say—well, really! Gracious! Are you going to shake hands and let -us congratulate you, as I suppose is the right thing, or are you feeling -wild with me about this morning? We didn’t know, you know. We never -dreamed——! How was anyone to guess, after all——!” - -“Of course you couldn’t,” I said, shaking hands with one after the other. -“And of course I’m not feeling ‘wild!’” My revenge was to hand if I -wanted it. But somehow I didn’t feel it would be worth it, now. Though, -as a matter of fact, the reminder of what I had felt that morning had -brought some of it surging back over me again. And this feeling was not -improved by the wording of little Miss Holt’s felicitations. - -“‘Wild?’ I should think Miss Trant was ready to pat herself on the back -for the next week, eh? Who’d ’a thought of this, that day we were all -trying to buck her up at lunch when she was afraid she was going to get -the sack? Didn’t I say then, though, that Miss Trant would do all right -because she’d got a taking way with men? But—the Governor himself—that we -never did look upon as just a ‘man!’ Well, you never can tell!” - -“I shall never try to, after _this_ afternoon,” announced Miss Robinson. -“Not after his marching in at that door there, and saying, in quite a -human sort of voice—not his own voice at all—that is, you’ll excuse me, -Miss Trant! You know what I mean!—saying, ‘_I have some news to tell you -ladies. Miss Trant and I are engaged to be married!_’” - -“Married to the head of the firm—my hat!” breathed Miss Holt, devouring -me with her eyes, as if she thought that by staring hard enough she might -discover the secret of how one achieved this giddy height. “Too grand to -speak to any of us after this! Look at that ring of hers! Think of all -_that_ means!”— - -Yes! If she only could! - -—“No more turning out to get to business every morning, wet or dry, with -the mud still stiff on your skirt that you haven’t had time to brush! No -more lining up with the crowd to wait for that beastly old workman’s tram -at the ‘Elephant!’ No more strap-hanging! No more packed motor-buses with -flower-women, and goodness knows what, shoving their baskets into you and -trampling on your feet as they get in!” She took breath, and then, for -fear one of the others should interrupt before she finished this harangue -upon the Dignity of Labour, she hurried on—“No more having to keep on -at it if you _are_ ready to drop and your eyes popping out of your -head—no more A.B.C. girls not taking the slightest notice of your order -and _then_ giving you sauce because you’ve waited half an hour for your -lunch—no more slaving from har’-past nine to six for _her_ any more!... -I suppose you know you’re _most awfully lucky_?” - -“In some ways,” murmured Miss Smith softly. “But having stacks of money -and never having to work again isn’t _everything_!” - -And the dreamy look that came into her eyes irritated me worse than -the loudly-expressed envy of the other girl. Miss Holt’s type of mind, -that cares only for the things that she can see and handle and wear and -eat and drink, _is_ so much easier to tackle than an _un_-practical -person’s point of view. I’m glad I’m rather like Miss Holt, myself. These -sentimental people are too tiresome! - -I simply couldn’t help one snap at Miss Smith as I turned to her. - -“I suppose _nothing’s_ ‘everything’ except wasting _years_ waiting for -Love in a flat? I suppose you despise any hard-up girl who’s sick of the -struggle and who marries for comfort and a home?” - -“I don’t despise anybody, Miss Trant, as it happens!” protested Smithie, -facing me with the sudden defiance of a mild nature touched in its -tenderest spot. “_You_ didn’t ought to speak sarcastically to me, just -because _you_ can get married at once instead of waiting—years—till he -can afford——” - -“Well, and you needn’t despise me for that other reason, at all events,” -I said, a little mollified by the tears that were now welling up in the -dreamy eyes, “for, whatever else I may be going to do, Miss Smith, I am -not going to marry Mr. Waters for his money!” - -I didn’t add that I shouldn’t ever marry him at all, but that his money -was quite good enough to get engaged to him on. However, had I openly -announced this, I don’t think she could have looked more surprised. - -“Not for his money—marry him for _love_, then? _Him?_” screamed little -Miss Holt before she could stop herself. Then she clapped her hand over -her wide-open mouth, another involuntary gesture, caused partly, I -suppose, by the impulse to keep back anything further that might offend -me, and partly by the appearance at the door of Mr. Dundonald. - -It was to everybody’s amazement that this was not immediately followed by -the inevitable “_Talk_-ing, ladies!” and the scowl. - -But an extensive smile creased Mr. Dundonald’s shut fist of a face into -unfamiliar lines of benevolence; he beamed upon us all as he announced in -a voice as suavely unfamiliar as the smile, “Miss Trant! I am sorry to -interrupt your conversation, but Mr. Waters would be much obliged if you -would go back to his room again for a moment, as he wishes to say a few -words to you!” - -“Oh, certainly,” I said, wondering what in the world this additional -“order” might be. The girls didn’t “wonder.” I know they thought it -was for another good-bye—especially Smithie, one-idea’d simpleton! I -felt her demure little smile in the small of my back as I turned to the -door. Mr. Dundonald—oh, unprecedented occurrence!—held it open for me, -murmuring, as I passed out, “Miss Trant! May I be permitted to proffer -my very heartiest good wishes on the occasion of this—this delightful -announcement?” - -“Oh! Thank you so much,” I said pleasantly. (“Worm!” I thought.) - -So the Governor had told Mr. Dundonald while I was receiving the -congratulations of my colleagues.... - -I saw in his eye—grey, fishy, and always looking as if “the Main Chance” -were plainly visible just ahead of any person he addressed—that already -my personality had changed from that of the twenty-five-shillings-a-week -typist, clad in her “all-I’ve-got” serge costume and liable to dismissal -at his hands, to that of young Mrs. William Waters, who, gorgeous in -silk, satin and sables, would one of these days be calling at the office -to pick up the head of the firm and to motor him home with her! Mr. -Dundonald’s new manner was a forecast of his reception of me when that -day should dawn! - -If _he_ only knew! - -“Sorry to trouble you again,” said the Governor as I presented myself -before him once more. “I forgot, in the middle of all that other -business”—this, I suppose, might have applied to either the dictating of -his letters, or the choosing of his betrothal ring—“to tell you that I -intend to let my mother know, to-night, about this engagement of ours.” - -“Oh, yes.” - -“You will probably hear from her to-morrow, inviting you to stay at our -house—it’s near Sevenoaks. You had better send in your formal resignation -to the office at once, and make your arrangements to come on for a -fortnight’s visit or so, in a few days. Will that be convenient to you?” - -“Oh, perfectly,” I said obediently, hoping that I did not show any -outward symptoms of that sick feeling of panic that possessed me. To -stay at the Governor’s house? So soon? Horrors! With the Governor’s -mother? What _will_ she be like? Exactly like him, probably, only far -more forbidding; women can always be more alarming than even the most -terrifying of men. An elderly feminine edition of Still Waters! Ye gods! -And she will hate me, of course; look upon me as that designing minx of -a typist who had “got round” her son in business-hours and prevented him -from “doing well for himself” in some other direction. People with money -always want their children to marry people with more! It will be Lady -Vandeleur over again, only worse. How appalling! Perhaps she will make -herself as disagreeable to me as possible, in the hope of inducing me to -feel that I should never be able to stand such a mother-in-law, and that -I should simply have to break it off!—which, under the circumstances, I’m -powerless to do! - -“And—er—that will be all, this afternoon, thank you. You will hand your -notes of my letters to Mr. Alexander. If you have arrangements to make, -you can leave as early as you choose to-day.” - -“Thank you, Mr. Waters.” - -Feeling that I couldn’t have stood another minute of him and his -“arrangements,” I walked quickly out of the room and down the passage. - -Round a corner, I heard the voice of our office mimic, who had slipped -out on some pretext, in full flow of narrating to one of the telephone -girls the amazing news that I know was being buzzed all over the Near -Oriental offices. - -—“but, my dear, the little Trant gives out she’s madly in love with him! -She says”—here a most successful imitation of my own voice—“‘Whatever -else I may be doing, I am NOT marrying him for his money!’” - -“P’raps it’s for his kind heart and his charm of manner, I don’t think,” -suggested the telephone girl. “Or his good looks, eh?” - -“Nothing actually the matter with his looks, my girl. Anyhow, he does -always look as if he went in for no end of cold water, and week-end -tramps, and golf, and the windows wide open, and decent soap—cuticura, -I’ve smelt it,” said Miss Robinson. “And as if he could _heave_ -things—which nobody else does, in this establishment. And if you _can_ -get over the general effect of ‘the stern-and-solemn-Nelson’s column——’” - -“Well, I can’t. But she’s quite pretty if she’d only make a little more -_of_ herself; p’raps she will now,” said the telephone girl, who wears -long coral drop-earrings and pins brown-paper cuffs over her sleeves in -business-hours. “What on earth do you suppose he said when he proposed to -her?” - -“‘_Now, Miss Trant, when you have taken down that Buenos Ayres order, -there is something I have to consult you about personally. Now, Miss -Trant, are you prepared to consider_——’” - -It was so exactly our employer’s voice that I, standing there unnoticed, -burst out laughing. The girls, caught out, laughed too. - -“You didn’t know you were the talk of the place, did you, Miss Trant? May -as well make up your mind to it,” said Miss Robinson. “And do show Miss -Harris your ring!” - -“I could see it from here. I thought it was something being done to the -electric lights. My! but they are sparklers! I shouldn’t half swank, -wearing jewellery like this. Did you choose it to-day, Miss Trant? My -word! Some people do have all the luck. It’ll be a very short engagement, -I presume?” - -“I don’t think so,” said I, thinking of the nearly twelve complicated and -weary months that stretched before me. “Some time yet.” - -“No doubt any time’ll seem long _na-ow_,” said the telephone girl archly. -“Can’t you tell us _about_ when it’s likely to be?” - -Oh, dear! It seemed to me as if I passed through hours of this sort -of thing before I could break away and set out for Battersea and our -bachelor-girl flat. - -Wearily, and without any “spring” left in me, I climbed the four flights -of stone steps. I felt positively dragged down by the thought of that -awful fortnight with the Governor’s mother at their house near Sevenoaks. -It had clung to me all the way back. Only as I put my key into the door -did I remember something else. - -There would be Cicely to break the news of my engagement to, now! - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE LOVER WHO CAME TOO LATE - - -But here, in our flat, I found to my amazement that someone had been -before me with the news. - -Cicely’s marigold-coloured hair and flushed face reared themselves up -excitedly from the faded couch cushions as I came in. - -“I say! _Tots!_ What’s all this?—Look here, what _is_ the meaning of it?” -she cried breathlessly. “What’s this wild story about you being engaged -to be married? Do say it isn’t true;—it can’t be! is it?” - -“Who in the world,” I demanded, standing by our rickety old table in the -middle of the room and staring at her as she sat up leaning on her elbow, -“told you anything about it?” - -“Well, who d’you suppose? Who would?” - -I glanced quickly at the tray on the table, crowded with the _débris_ of -what had been tea for two, one saucer piled high with cigarette-ends that -told their own tale. Who had been? One of Cicely’s Slade girls? But how -would _they_ know? Whoever it was must have stayed _hours_! - -“It was your friend”—Cicely announced this even as the cork hurls itself -from an unwired bottle of champagne—“Mr. Sydney Vandeleur!” - -“Sydney—he’s been here?” - -“Well, of course!” - -“What on earth for?” - -“What _for_, Tots? Why, to see _you_! And, I say! How awfully charming -and clever and delightful he is! And so handsome! Such a real artist’s -head, I call it! _Exactly_ like a Vandyke of Charles the First! Oh, my -dear! _Don’t_ tell me you’ve gone and got engaged to somebody else, when -there’s such a really _wonderful_ person so desperately in love with you!” - -“Who says he’s in love with me?” - -“Why, he does, of course. Didn’t you _know_? You must have. _Didn’t_ you?” - -“N-no.” - -Slowly I dropped my gloves and umbrella and vanity-bag and paper on to -the table. Of course I have “known,” at the back of my mind, all the -time about Sydney. But however positive a girl may be that a man cares -for her, _until he’s told her so she’s never certain_. This may sound -Irish—to a man. Any _girl_ understands.... - -To hear the fact proclaimed by Cicely’s lips—which really, I do believe, -would blurt out anything that came into her red head!—gave me the same -shock of surprise that it would have done even if I’d never received -little attentions from Sydney, never heard his neatly-turned compliments, -never seen those handsome brown eyes of his fixed upon me in unmistakable -admiration, or noticed the blank mask that had suddenly fallen over -them yesterday, when I broke to the Vandeleurs the news of my so-called -engagement. Cicely went on with her tale, enjoying it thoroughly. - -“My dear Tots, you must have known. He’s wanted to marry you ever since -you were a slip of a schoolgirl with a little proud pearl of a face and -that lovely dark hair of yours in a great mane down to your waist. Even -then he always meant to propose to you.” - -“And he tells _you_ that? Not me?” - -Here I sat down suddenly in the elbow-chair with the one arm “that’s -always a-comin’ off, drat it!” as Mrs. Skinner says. - -It came off now. - -“_Drat_ it!” I quoted, through my teeth, and hurled the broken arm into -a corner with a violence that did some—not much—good to my feelings. “He -never told me, Cicely.” - -“Because he was too tactful, too nice. He’d too much fine feeling,” -she explained eagerly. “He couldn’t possibly ask you so soon after the -‘smash’ in your affairs, and after Colonel Trant’s death, and all. It -_would_ have looked too much as if he were taking advantage of that to -rush the position. He determined to wait until you—until he—well, to -wait,” said Cicely. “He saw I was sympathetic; he didn’t mind telling me -all this. But he was going to ask you when he and his mother came back -from abroad. All the time, he was simply longing to come and carry you -off bodily from that hateful typewriter where he kept thinking of you -chained, he said, like Andromeda (who _was_ she, exactly?) to her rock. -Only he just wouldn’t. Wasn’t it _sweet_ of him, Tots!” - -“To wait and tell all this to another girl?” - -“But it was you he was coming round to tell!” - -“He didn’t stop to see me.” - -“He _had_ to get back to Belgrave Square and dress for a theatre-party of -his mother’s.” - -“What he came for at all, after yesterday, I don’t see!” - -“It was _about_ yesterday he came to see you, Tots! You see, he says he -met you, and you seem to have made him understand that you were engaged -to be married.” - -“Well? Didn’t he believe me? Did he come round here and sit here filling -the place with that abominable reek of Egyptian cigarettes—and, yes! -finishing _all_ that nice peach jelly I got in specially for you—to find -out whether it was true?” - -“Is it true, then?” gasped Cicely. - -“_Yes!_ I told him so. I told Lady Vandeleur so. I am engaged.” - -“And not—to _him_!” Cicely seemed utterly unable to grasp how this -could be. “What? After all he’s said—and _with_ his photograph on your -dressing-table—not that it’s nearly good enough for him! And after what I -told him I hoped——” - -“What DID you tell him?” I groaned resignedly. - -Cicely twisted the long, slender figure, upon which her equally slender -salary as a mannequin depends, into a more comfortable curve against the -cushions. - -“Well! _Poor_ Mr. Vandeleur! When he said he’d seen you lunching at the -Carlton alone with a young man, I told him it must be a mistake. You -never _did_ lunch there, or with young men. It was just what I admired -you for, when it’s _so_ easy to get into the other way of being rather -nice to people just for the sake of their giving you a good time and -a change from being at work all day! And even though you’re not a bit -stuffy with me because I sometimes do it, you——” - -“Never mind me. What did he say?” - -“He said: ‘But how _could_ there be a mistake? She brought up this -self-satisfied-looking individual and introduced him to my mother as -her _fiancé_. She let us congratulate him!’ I said, ‘Well, but she -hasn’t _got_ a _fiancé_—or I should have known about it! I’ve never -heard a syllable. She didn’t even tell me she was going out to lunch. -She must have been taken out at a moment’s notice—by a friend of Jack -Trant’s, perhaps. Or,’ I said, ‘it may have been someone she absolutely -had to meet, on business!’” she continued vaguely—much she knows about -business!—“‘Getting a better post, or something of that sort. And -when she met you unexpectedly, she was flurried, and didn’t know how -to explain. Is your mother rather particular, or strait-laced?’ Mr. -Vandeleur said, ‘Very, I am afraid!’ So I said, ‘Well, that’s what must -have happened!—Tots, in her nervousness, and not wishing your mother to -be shocked, just blurted out ‘_fiancé_’——” - -“Thank you,” I muttered. “I didn’t know _I_ was a blurter-out!” - -“You mean _I_ am! I daresay! Well, I don’t care! I thought that _must_ -have been it—I didn’t see what else it could have been! And the poor man -was so thirsting to hear anything I could tell him about you, that I -should have been a brute not to!” declared my chum, plaintively defiant. -“So I just said everything I could—about that photograph, and all!” - -“What photograph?” I snapped. - -“Why, that one of Mr. Vandeleur. I recognized him from that, the moment -Mrs. Skinner let him in. And I told him that it was the one and only -portrait of a young man that you seemed to possess, and that you always -keep it in a silver frame beside your looking-glass. Now, Tots, you can’t -say you don’t!” - -No; I couldn’t. - -“And that cheered him up so, poor fellow! He said—Oh, _isn’t_ it a -tragedy?” interpolated Cicely with zest—“that I’d given him fresh hope to -go away with!” - -“Fresh fiddlesticks,” I muttered, still more savagely. - -“You mean there isn’t any?” - -“I mean,” I explained as patiently as I could, “that a girl can’t be -engaged to two men at once.” - -“Then _who’s_ this other, Tots, that you’ve never said a word about? He -can’t possibly be fit to hold a candle to—I mean, who _is_ it?” - -“It is the managing director and head of the firm where I’ve been -working,” I told her bluntly. “His name is Mr. William Waters.” - -“_What?_ Not the man you all call ‘_Still Waters_’? The one you all -detest, who’s so impossible to please? Engaged to him? Oh, now you’re -pretending! Tell me, Tots. Of course you are only joking, after all?” - -A nice idea of “joking” my chum has got! - -“_Does_ this look like a joke?” I demanded suddenly. The newly-bought -diamonds flashed under her widely-opened eyes. “Don’t you admire my -engagement ring, Cis?” - -Cicely Harradine’s soft bud of a face faded from pink to pale, and her -big eyes clouded dolefully. She said nothing for a moment but “Oh, Tots!” -(she’s quite as hopeless as Miss Smith). Then, in a tone of the timidest -reproach, she faltered, “Mr. Vandeleur _said_ he was ‘big and blonde -and City-fied and extremely prosperous-looking.’ I said I’d never seen -any friend of yours who was like that. No wonder! The head of the firm! -But—Tots!—I should—should hate to think of you, of all girls, marrying -anyone because of his—money?” - -“Then don’t think it. You may do me that justice!” I said sharply. She -was nearly as bad in her way as the typists at the Near Oriental had -been in theirs—and the same prevarication had to be used to “head off” -_her_ comments on a marriage for money. After which, the accusation in -my chum’s big eyes melted suddenly into tears. Impulsively she flung her -slim arms round my neck—and I had to let her. - -“Forgive me, Tots. Dear old girl, but how _was_ I to know? It’s all so -unexpected, and I never met him, and you never gave me a hint! I _didn’t_ -see how you could possibly prefer anyone to Mr. Vandeleur, who _is_ so -wonderful! But of course I know Love’s blind—I mean, you can’t _make_ -yourself not care for this Mr. Waters, just because another man wants -so badly to marry you! Oh, Tots, it’s all my fault, but I’m afraid he’s -going to write to you about that——” - -“Mr. Vandeleur is?” (This, too!) - -“Yes! It’s all because of what I said to him. I have been putting my foot -in it,” she admitted, as if this were quite a new idea to me too, “but -_do_ forgive me—Since you do really care for this Mr. Waters I’m only too -delighted, darling. Oh, I’m so glad for your happiness, you can’t think! -When did it happen? He’s _madly_ in love with you, of course?” - -Here I thought grimly of Miss Robinson’s version: “_My dears, the little -Trant makes out she’s madly in love with him!_” All this about two people -who, as far as I can make out, have only one thing in common—both being -absolutely falling-in-love-_proof_! - -Poor, well-meaning, warm-hearted Cicely was still effusing; eager to make -up for her first suspicion that I _wasn’t_ engaged for the only right -reason. - -“I ought to have seen! Of course! It was he who gave you this extra work -about a fortnight ago?” - -“Exactly!” (Extra work with a vengeance! More than I’ve bargained for!) - -—“And that we were so thankful for, just when I lost my own job and was -ill, and there were all those extra things to get.... It was your ‘rise’ -that got them all, I knew. Only I didn’t know ... this other. It _began_ -then, I suppose, Tots?” - -“Yes, it began then.” - -“How romantic! Well! And I did notice that you’ve been absent-minded and -not saying much these last few days, and I _ought_ to have known why it -was. _Especially_ yesterday. Did HE take you out to lunch again to-day? -Oh, doesn’t it make the whole world different for you?” - -“It makes the menu jolly different, anyhow,” I admitted. - -“Ah, yes; you may pretend to be as flippant as you like about it, but I -know that’s ‘all put on’ to hide what you’re really feeling!” declared -Cicely. - -Such a convenient conviction! I made up my mind, then and there, that -this was just the line I should adopt with my chum. And laughing merrily -for her benefit, I fled to my own little room. - - * * * * * - -Here, left to my own thoughts at last, I flung myself down on my creaky -little camp bedstead and raged as I reviewed this new aspect of the -situation. Put crudely, it is this: It’s not _until_ I tie myself up with -this wretched sham “engagement” to the Governor that I have the chance -of cutting everything to do with him and his odious office, and becoming -safely, happily and _genuinely_ engaged! - -Or, in the jargon of the Near Oriental, it’s just after I’ve sold out at -a loss that I get an advantageous offer! - -Why on earth couldn’t Sydney Vandeleur have said all that _before_? A -year ago—even a month ago—and, to _think_ what it would have saved! -I shouldn’t have minded getting that money for Jack—from his own -brother-in-law! Yes; if he’s cared for me all this time, why couldn’t he -have proposed to and married me before I’d so much as seen that hateful -Near Oriental, with that “Andromeda’s rock” of a typewriter, watched over -by what Miss Holt calls “that Gordian” of a Governor! Why couldn’t Sydney -have hurried up, for once in his life, to play Perseus? - -“Too much tact!” Good gracious! Why must men have this absurd code of -ethics about “the right thing” when there’s a _woman_ in the case? -Why does a man who’s hard-up, for instance, consider it so much more -“honourable” to “ride away” without a word to the girl whose heart he -knows is his, just because he “feels he oughtn’t to propose before he’s -in a position to marry?” - -He “feels he ought not to stand in the girl’s way of better offers.” -... But he _does_ that, more often than not, with her first sight of -him! Never mind. He’d _rather_ leave her fretting her heart out for life -over the belief that he was only flirting after all, or let her make -a miserable marriage with someone else—rather than be “dishonourable” -enough to own up that he cares and wants her to wait perhaps three or -four years for him. He’s saved his precious “code,” just as I suppose -Sydney wished to save his. - -Oh, men’s “fine feelings,” men’s delicacy and tact, men’s sense of -honour! What infinitely greater damage these do in the world than all -women’s lack of principle! - -That sounds sweeping, but _isn’t_ this enough to make a girl storm at the -scruples—or whatever they may call them—which have pretty well messed up -her own life for her? - -I ought to be safely and happily married, by now, to Sydney Vandeleur. -He’d make a charming husband, I know; not a wish of his wife’s that he -wouldn’t immediately try to gratify, from the pattern of the drawing-room -carpets to where she would wish to live most of the time—Pont Street—Park -Lane—or the perfectly gorgeous, old-fashioned castle with all modern -conveniences that he owns in Ireland—Ballycool, they call it. Oh, for -the deep sighing woods and the silver lakes over there—miles and miles -from anywhere else—scented solitude, with all the drawbacks of solitude -removed by motors _ad lib._—by big house-parties of amusing people as -often as one chose!—Yes, I suppose I do share Miss Holt’s type of mind, -but then I never pretend to be romantic, or to cherish illusions about -being able to fall in love.... I should be really, genuinely fond of -Sydney himself—I mean I _should_ have been. He’d be so devoted—how could -one help feeling pleased to have him about, approving of everything one -did and said and looked? He’s what I’d call companionable; not too lofty -and masculine to take an interest in the details that mean so much more -to a woman than what this country is coming to, by Gad, or what on earth -McKenna or Asquith or someone is driving at when he says—(here yards, -droned aloud, out of the _Times_)—or whether Kent is going to do any -better this year; which is all the conversation that any married women -_I’ve_ ever met seem to get out of _their_ husbands. Sydney would always -know what anyone had had on at a party, including his wife. He’d be able -to help her think out her frocks—and what heavenly frocks they would -be! Then he’s so undeniably good-looking himself. One wouldn’t be able -to help appreciating the fact that the other women would always notice -it with envy, and would put it down as such a score to the credit of -the one he’d married! His dark, “interesting” face with the Vandyke -beard and the melancholy brown eyes seems watching me now out of the big -silver frame in which he sent it to me. Yes; it certainly does hold the -place of honour on the narrow painted-pine chest-of-drawers that has -two handles missing, but is still spread with ivory-topped brushes, a -monogrammed hand-mirror and long crystal scent flagons—relics from the -wreck of the Trant fortunes!—the place of honour usually reserved in a -girl’s room for the portrait of HIM—whoever “he” may be! Why did I put it -there? Partly for the sake of old times, I suppose; I’ve tried to keep -everything of that sort which was in my room at home.... Partly to remind -myself, whenever I’ve felt extra-downhearted, that there was at least -one eminently presentable young man who was accustomed to say pretty -things of the face and hair that I saw reflected in the somewhat wavy -looking-glass near by.... Sentiment, vanity, or a mixture of both, but -_not_ the motive with which Cicely had credited me and which she’d seen -fit to impart to the original. - -That idiot of a Sydney! If I could hope he’d feel it, I’d smash the -glass of that frame and run red-hot hat-pins into his portrait. I have -been furiously angry to-day, in turns with the three typists, with Still -Waters, and with Cicely—but none of this counts, compared with my fury -against the lover who has come too late! - -It’s his fault. It’s all his fault—all that’s just happened—all that -will happen during the mad “arrangement” of this next year. And when -that year’s up, where will it find me? A little richer, perhaps, by -what’s left of my desperately-won salary, but back in the over-crowded -labour-market, the world of working-women who lose looks and youth -and spirits in the struggle for daily bread. Oh, it’s all very well -to be plucky, and to treat everything as a joke, and to live from one -Saturday matinée to another, making the most of life in London as a -bachelor-girl—while you’re twenty-one. - -What becomes of the “bachelor-girl” of forty-five? And fifty? - -That, I suppose, I shall have to wait and find out for myself, thanks to -Mr. Sydney Vandeleur! - -Why couldn’t he have left things as they were at the Carlton?— - -But I’ve had enough of this. It has “done me up” completely. - -I am going to bed. - - * * * * * - -This morning I feel, if anything, angrier with Sydney Vandeleur than I -did before. - -He’s done it now! He _has_ written. - -His note lies before me on our wobbly little breakfast-table with the -metal coffee-pot and the green Bruges crock full of lilac (bought out of -my “rise”!) screening me from Cicely’s anxious eyes as I read: - - “_My dearest Monica_, - - “_I have never called you so before. That was a mistake. - Anything is a mistake that keeps us two apart. Dear, I want to - come and see you at once, but cannot get out of some odious - ‘arrangements’ of the Mamma’s for this week-end._ - - “_Let me come on Monday afternoon, and, though I don’t deserve - it, be kind to me then._ - - “_Till then, and ever_, - - “_Your devoted S. V._” - -Now _I_ have written; and pretty quickly too. - - “_My dear Sydney_, - - “_It was kind of you to write to me to congratulate me again on - my engagement to Mr. Waters, which I suppose is the meaning of - your note. You suggest calling; is this to congratulate me for - the third time? If so, I can only hope that my happiness will - keep pace with your good wishes for it! But I am afraid that I - shall not be able to receive them in person on Monday, as it - is the very day that I hope to be going off to Sevenoaks, on a - visit to my fiancé’s mother._ - - “_Please give my very kindest regards to Lady Vandeleur, and - believe me_ - - “_Sincerely yours_, - - “_Monica Trant_.” - -There! - - - - -CHAPTER X - -“HIS” MOTHER’S INVITATION - - -The note of invitation from “my _fiancé’s_ mother” is purely formal -and absolutely non-committal; in fact, exactly the note I should have -imagined that a Mrs. Waters would write. - -I’ve got a perfectly clear mental image of this mother of an animated -tape-machine. Handsome, in a regular-profiled, stately, mid-Victorian -style, with steely grey eyes that “corkscrew” all the self-possession -out of you, and—oh, the manner! She won’t be openly disagreeable after -all, I’ve decided. Worse; she’ll be rigidly, frigidly polite; clothing in -irreproachable civilities the obvious wonder whether her son has taken -leave of his senses, to propose to one of his own employees. - -She writes that she looks forward (of course!) with pleasure -(_dis_-pleasure, she means) to making my acquaintance (_will_ she!) at -The Lawn (well, I suppose they can’t _call_ their house The Sarcophagus. -But that’s what it ought to be. A glorified edition of the Governor’s -private office. Marble halls and chilly statuary—brr!) on Monday next. I -expect she guesses that “this Miss Trant,” or “that young woman,” or “the -horrid little typist-person,” or whatever she calls me in her own mind, -will be rather overwhelmed by the prospect; and no doubt Mrs. Waters -means to see that I shall continue being overwhelmed—“kept in my place,” -indeed—during the whole of the fortnight that the Governor specified. But -she can’t realize the positive panic with which I anticipate the meeting. -And, if I can steel myself to help it, she _shall not_ realize it. - -“I should think you can hardly wait until you get there, Tots,” said -Cicely, watching me pack new clothes in the new dress-basket bought -specially for the dread occasion, for I’ve spent every minute of two days -in shopping. “Aren’t you _dying_ to see what everything is going to be -like?” - -“I shall have to survive until to-morrow, anyhow.” - -“‘His’ home! His father’s dead, you said. Is there only his mother?” - -“I suppose so. Quite enough too. _I_ think all engaged men ought to be -orphans and only children before they begin, for the sake of the girl. -‘Only’ his mother, indeed!” - -“Well, she’s _bound_ to be pleased with you, Tots! You’re so pretty and -ripping, especially now you’ve got all these lovely new things. What a -mercy that you had that little windfall of a legacy just in time to let -you buy all fresh!” - -(This is how I’ve been obliged to account for that.) - -“You could go and stay anywhere now, meet anybody! He’ll be so proud of -you. It must be such a comfort for an engaged man when he knows that his -people and his friends _can see what he means_ when he shows off his -_fiancée_ to them for the first time, instead of their wondering what on -earth he finds to admire!” - -“Do you think Mrs. Waters will ‘see what he means’ by his getting -himself engaged to his clerk?” I said, with a private giggle at my own -bitterness. “I wish _I_ did!” - -“Now, Tots, don’t fish for any more compliments. You know how people -must admire you. Why, as Mr. Vandel—I mean, it’s so obvious! Don’t look -so depressed, my dear. Of course I suppose going to meet ‘his’ people is -always a fearful ordeal, but it ought to be less so for you than for most -engaged girls!” - - * * * * * - -Perhaps—though Cicely doesn’t know why—_it ought_! - -Anyhow, these encouraging words of my chum’s were still echoing in -my ears as a late afternoon train bore me off from Victoria towards -Sevenoaks and that terrifying visit to my (official) mother-in-law -elect. For the first time since the days when it was a matter of -course for me to do so, I travelled first class. It wouldn’t do for me -to alight at Sevenoaks station under the eyes of some pompous Waters -domestic, all crumpled and dusty and warm from a compartment crowded -with market-baskets and moist babies. I am taking this man’s money to -pose as his _fiancée_, and it’s only fair to him that I should do him no -discredit in any way. - -So I travelled down in expensive seclusion, wearing for the first time -one of my new costumes, a real success in thick tobacco-brown silk, with -a duck of a little brown hat to match. Cicely chose that out of a big -boxful “on approval” from Madame Chérisette’s. - -Even without Cicely’s gratifying gush on the subject, I can’t -help knowing that the smoky-cream underlining and the trimming—a -cream-coloured feathery mount and a knot of dull-pink buds—are -delightfully becoming to a clear brunette complexion and glossy black -hair. - -Thanks to my being an easy-to-fit small “stock size,” I’ve got a really -charming little trousseau together at very short notice. As it’s probably -the only trousseau of any sort that I shall ever possess now (I wonder -what Sydney Vandeleur thought of my note?), I selected it with gusto, and -I mean to enjoy the wearing of every stitch of it, from the fur-lined -motor-wrap to those American-pattern nighties that the girl in the shop -said were “so sweetly bridal-looking, Moddam.” - -It’s been such ages since I was able to choose and arrange a kit with -garments for separate occasions and with a definite colour-scheme; it’s -so long I’ve been, not “dressed,” but “covered”—yes! covered in patches -with something in navy-blue that I’ve managed to afford at one time; -something in brown that I’ve “had to have” at another time; something -black that I’ve just “had by me.” - -But now I shall be able to look “together” once more in my favourite -harmonies of soft browns, creams and pinks. A dream of mine on my way to -the office has come true at last; it’s a dream of a thick, clover-pink -linen suit, with touches of heavy creamy lace in just the right places. -In just the right places, too, it fits or falls away from me; and I don’t -think even the feminine edition of Still Waters will be able to help -being _rather_ impressed by it! - -As for Sydney Vandeleur, I know _he_ would have said—— - - * * * * * - -I’ve been wondering whether after all I need have sent that curt note to -Sydney? Of course, I _was_ furious with him, first for coming too late, -and secondly for proposing at all after I was powerless to accept him—he -didn’t know that; but what a position he put me into! - -_Could_ I have put an end to it? (My thoughts raced on with the train.) - -_Could_ I have written that very evening to Mr. Waters, cancelling that -preposterous arrangement with him, returning that lump sum of salary, and -saying—— - -Impossible! A hundred pounds of that salary had had to go, irrevocably, -as soon as I got it. And already I’d broken into that remaining four -hundred in the bank! I couldn’t make up even that. - -How would it have been if when Sydney proposed to me, I had replied: - - “_I can’t see you. I can’t even tell you anything more, yet. - But wait a year, and then ask me again_”? - -Since he’s “waited” _so_ long——! - -But no. - -That wouldn’t have done either. It wouldn’t be keeping my bargain. It -would be “giving away” my compact with that other, that detestable man, -who trusts after all to my word—and after all, Sydney _has_ got himself -to thank for the fact that I haven’t been choosing a trousseau to please -_him_.... - - * * * * * - -Well! There’s nothing in _this_ outfit, I hope, that won’t pass the -censorship of the most critical glances in any big house—those of the -servants. Men-servants, I suspect, are almost harder to “impress” than -maid-servants. - -But it was no lordly groom or supercilious chauffeur who met me at -Sevenoaks Station as I stepped out of the train. - -The tall, broad-shouldered figure that strode towards me looked, in a -big, grey, loose motor-coat, so utterly different from the mind-picture -of the slimly-built, dark, Vandyke-bearded young man that had travelled -most of the way down with me, so different, too, from the other -apparition I know only too well in immaculate “City” get-up, that at -first I didn’t recognize him. - -Then a cap was lifted. I saw the fair hair, brushed sleek as satin, and -the keen, blonde face of my employer. - -Several people on the platform were glancing at him as if he were almost -as well known down here in the country as in Leadenhall Street. - -Then eagerly inquisitive glances were turned to me. I caught a whisper -of “Mr. William Waters’ young lady!” I wondered if the speaker—a -prosperous-looking sort of butcher—expected to overhear some tender -greeting? How “sold” he’d have been! - -“Ah, there you are, Miss Trant!”—briskly as ever. “Good afternoon. What -luggage have you? Porter, bring these things across to the car. I’m -motoring you up to the house myself,” added Mr. Waters to me, as we left -the station, “because there’s a little supplementary detail I wanted to -‘put you on to,’ so to speak, before you meet my people.” - -“Oh, yes?” I said inquiringly, and I mentally reached for my pencil and -pad. - -But as I sat beside him on the comfortably padded seat with a lovely rug -drawn up over my knees, and with a thick glass screen keeping my _chic_ -little new hat from getting blown about, I felt the pad-and-pencil side -of my life slipping away from me as swiftly and steadily as the green -hawthorn hedges that lined the road seemed slipping past this gliding car. - -I had had a brute of a time just lately—now came the reaction. I suppose -it was partly the entirely feminine sensation, thrilling every scrap of -my body, that it was once more decently dressed! Partly, too, it was the -influence of skimming over a country road again, breathing in untainted -breezes under a blue sky with rolling white cauliflower clouds; having a -whole smiling landscape to myself again!—for the moment I lost count of -_how_ this had happened. The thoughts of the last hour were left behind -with those of the last two years—with the mean streets and the City -smells and noises, and those Battersea rooms, and that utter lack of -space and privacy, and that crushing sense of being just one unit out of -millions that didn’t matter! - -Before I’d experienced these things, I’d lived for nineteen years, -another sort of life; and this seemed almost like coming home to it. -I felt as if I were the fish that, having been left stranded on the -proverbial gravel path, has somehow succeeded in flopping back to his -native element. - -I gave myself up to the luxury of the feeling—to the exhilarating rush -through the clear air. - -And I’d practically forgotten who was driving me, when his business-like -voice sounded once more in my ear. - -“Miss Trant! Your Christian name, as I saw by your note to my mother, is -Monica?” - -“Yes.” - -I supposed he was now going to ask me if I had any objection to his -addressing me thus as long as I was his mother’s guest. Why, of course, -he’d _have_ to! Just as I should have to bring myself to use his own -name of “William.” (“_Ahem!_ _Wil_-liam!” as Miss Robinson pronounced it -pompously.) How queer to have to be asked to accord one’s Christian name -under such terms! Really, he might have taken it as a matter of course -that he must, for the next fortnight or so, call me “Monica.” Therefore I -was rather taken aback by his next remark. - -“I shall have to ask you if you would mind very much, while you are -staying at The Lawn, being called ‘_Nancy_’?” - -“Nancy!” I echoed, opening my eyes. “Oh, yes—no—I mean—anything you -like; but why _Nancy_?” - -Mr. Waters turned to me for a moment as the car sped smoothly down a -level, empty stretch of the white highway. - -“I’d better explain to you ‘why Nancy,’” he said dryly. In those keen -grey eyes of his, where some time before I had suspected a gleam of -humour, I now saw a quite unmistakable twinkle of fun! - -There was even a twitch at the corner of those tightly-fitted lips. -But he went on still more dryly. “When I informed my mother that I was -engaged to be married to a lady in the office, she had a good many -questions to put.” - -(Well, I should think so! The Longer Catechism, in fact!) “Really?” I -said meekly. - -“And almost the first thing she asked me was what her Christian name was.” - -(M’m, “almost”—I wonder what the _very first_ thing was? What is it -generally?) - -“Of course, I ought to have foreseen that——” - -(And _hadn’t_ he? Good gracious! The mapped-out scheme with _another_ -flaw in it!) - -—“but curiously enough, I’d overlooked it, and wasn’t prepared for it. -Now, I couldn’t very well tell my mother the truth, namely, that I did -not know. I have never been able to make out whether your usual initials -were ‘M’ or ‘N.T.’ I had taken it for ‘N.’ So, on the spur of the -moment, I gave her the first girl’s name that began with N that I could -think of.” - -N or M! Yes! _Exactly_ like the catechism! - -For the first time in my life in Still Waters’ presence I laughed aloud. -Surely the country air and the rush through it in the car must have gone -to my head. Amazed at myself, but even then laughing a little still, I -pulled myself together to inquire, “And what did you say to Mrs. Waters -when she received my note signed by my real name?” - -“Oh!—I said—something or other about ‘Nancy’ being the usual abbreviation -for ‘Monica’ in some places!” - -“How _quick_ of you!” I retorted—while my Near Oriental self sat back and -gasped at my new boldness. He _must_ have wondered at it too; thought it -bravado, the recklessness of despair, I suppose. - -“_Something_ had to be said! And I am afraid, Miss Trant, that, for the -matter in hand, ‘_Nancy_’ it will have to be. A sort of _nom-de-guerre_, -you know—if you can call it ‘_guerre_.’” - -He was actually laughing himself now. This made his face look at least -ten years younger, changing him so that I felt him to be even more of a -stranger to me than the machine-like autocrat who rapped out his “_Now, -Miss Trant!_” and his “_Take this down_” at the Near Oriental. But in -a moment he was serious again. He seemed, for the first time, to feel -something of what _I’ve_ been feeling ever since we’ve been—so to speak, -“engaged.” - -“It’s asking a good deal, but I have to trust to you to meet all these -awkwardnesses as well as you can,” he said gravely. “And I’ll do all in -my power to avoid them, I assure you. A good deal of the strangeness can -be put down to the—er—natural shyness of people who are—so—er—recently -engaged.” - -“Oh, of course,” I murmured, struggling not to laugh any more. - -But I wondered what other wild fictions about “_Nancy_” he’d had to -improvise for his mother. Supposing she’d wanted to know what I was like -to _look_ at? Well, _he_ wouldn’t know! Dark or fair—short or tall? As -likely as not he’d tell her—as _something_ had to be said—that I was -six foot high and a radiant blonde. And what would she think of his not -possessing a single photograph of me to show her? Really, he was almost -benighted enough, since he’d given me another girl’s name, to pass off as -mine another girl’s portrait! - -Even as I was laughing to myself again, the car turned in at a -stone-pillared entrance, and its plumply-tyred wheels purred on a -perfectly-gravelled drive between tall laurel-hedges. - -Oh! we were nearly there, then. I didn’t want to laugh any more. Now for -it.... - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -MEETING “HIS” PEOPLE - - -We skirted what seemed like an ocean of green velvet turf. We swept round -another corner. - -“There’s the house,” announced Mr. Waters. - -“_That_——?” - -It was long and low and white and homely—yes! _homely_-looking—overgrown -with purple wistaria, and swept at one end by a fountain of gold from an -immense laburnum-tree. A deep, shady verandah was flung like a protecting -arm about the waist of the house. - -The late sunlight flashed on a scurry of something all goldeny-white, as -there rushed out of the shade of this verandah what looked like a mix-up -of several dogs and flying skirts.... - -“_Girls?_” I thought, as two slender, white-clad figures came towards me. -“Who are _these_?” - -“My sisters, Theodora and Blanche,” said the Governor quickly to me. -“_Down_, Cariad! Down, sir,” to the little dog—there was only one of him, -it appeared, when he stopped frisking for a moment about the man who was -helping me to alight. - -The taller of the two girls came forward first, murmured timidly, “So -glad you’ve come!” held out both hands with an awkward, diffident little -smile that was quite charming, and bent very shyly to kiss me. She -was about eighteen, with fair hair, and features very cleanly-cut and -something like her brother’s. - -“_I_ am Blanche,” she murmured. “This is Theo.” - -“Theo,” seemed to be about fifteen. My first impression of her showed me -a pair of long coltish legs and a round cowslip-bell of a head, covered -with short yellow curls. She said nothing, but she _looked_, looked at -me out of a pair of the largest and brightest brown eyes that I had ever -met; they seemed almost the size of the goggles in a diver’s helmet, and -I felt them following me devouringly as I was led into the hall. - -“Here is Nancy, Mother,” called Mr. Waters. - -Another figure came forward to meet me. This—his mother? A startling -contrast indeed to what I’d pictured her. She was dressed in the -soft, lacy, unshaped black that best suits an elderly lady; and her -soft, puffed-out hair was grey all over. But that was as far as the -“elderliness” of the Governor’s mother went. Her figure was as tall and -seemed nearly as slender as Blanche’s; she had the long-armed, free -movements that I’ve heard my father praise in Miss Ellen Terry; her -face was pink and irregular-featured and mobile, her expression shy and -smiling. She seemed like some girl who had fallen into a trance in the -“Eighties,” from which she had just woken up to find that her hair was no -longer brown, and that the world, which puzzled her a little, had gone on -without her. Her voice was soft and hesitating, and full of unexpected -half-tones. - -“Oh, have you come? Nancy! You are so welcome, my dear! I called you -‘Miss Trant’ in my note, because I thought it was the right thing when I -hadn’t ever seen you. But I needn’t go on being so stiff, need I? Billy -said he thought I needn’t.” - -The Governor had disappeared towards the car again. - -“Your boxes have gone upstairs, dear, and you might like to rest before -it’s time to get ready for dinner. _Blanche_ will take you to your room,” -added Mrs. Waters, holding back Theo, whose yellow head and whose long -legs seemed just about to precipitate themselves after me—for that child -to enjoy another good look, no doubt. “_No_, Cariad, you can’t go either! -_Come_, Missis’s little dog”—the long white body was frolicking about -just ahead of me. “He _knows_ he never enters the house!” - -And I knew the pet dogs who are supposed to cherish these rules. Cariad -flung himself gleefully in front of the diffident, fair-haired Blanche as -she escorted me upstairs. - -We were on the landing when the sound of a voice that I hadn’t heard -before, clear as a bell and distinct as a choir-boy’s solo, rang up to us -from below. - -“No _won_-der, Mother! Mother, I say, no _won_-der! _Is_-n’t she pretty? -Billy never _told_ us! He never——.” - -Here an abrupt full-stop. - -“Oh, I do hope you won’t mind Theo; she _is_ rather awful sometimes,” -murmured Blanche Waters, as apologetically scarlet as if she had done -something to offend me. “She will say things—and so _loud_! It’s _only_ -because she’s so pleased—and she’s only thirteen really—it’s awful being -so tall. People always expect you to be so much more sensible, somehow! -This is your room.” She opened a white door. “Outside, Cariad! (He -_knows_ he never comes upstairs.) Do let me unpack for you, Nancy.” - -“Oh! Thank you so much, but——” - -I felt I must, _must_ be left to myself for the present. At the risk of -seeming ungracious, I added hastily, “I can manage, really!” - -Even though I’m _not_ fated to be a sister-in-law, I should like this -nice girl to like me. So I smiled up at her, and she put out a long, -rather bony young finger, and just touched my coat-collar. I realized -that I needn’t have “fussed” so over my “trousseau.” - -“Ah! I daresay you’re tired, too.” - -“I am, rather.” (Strictly speaking, I am ready to drop, though not -entirely with fatigue.) - -“Then I’ll send up some hot water presently, Nancy. (_Come_, Cariad!)” - -And she left me to what I felt I must have or perish—the solitude of my -own room, leisure to gasp over the series of additional shocks I had just -received. - - * * * * * - -First and foremost, though it seems a funny detail to push itself in -front of all the other things, there’s “_Billy!_” - -To think that Still Waters should be “Billy” to anyone—even if it’s only -to his mother! - -After Miss Holt’s “Do you ever call him _Billy_, by any chance?” and my -solemn “Never!” to realize that the man who Miss Robinson vowed “could -never have been anything so human as a little boy” does actually possess -that characteristically little-boyish pet-name! And I suppose I shall be -expected to call him that while I’m here? My goodness! “William” I was -prepared for. “William,” with its touch of stiffness—and—stateliness, I -might manage. But——Still, if I must, I must. In for a penny, in for a -pound. (Only in this case it’s meant being in for five hundred pounds!) - -And then that he should have that unexpected, that utterly -uncharacteristic, that un-Waters-like sort of mother! Welcoming me like -that! All I can say is that he—the Governor—_must_ take after his father -exactly! - -And the house! Not in the least like a sarcophagus—or even the corner of -the British Museum with Near Oriental fittings, as _I’d_ pictured it! - -Looking round this bedroom they’ve put me into, I see it’s exactly the -sort that I’ve always loved, particularly since my lot has been cast in -that poky little egg-box of a Battersea flat, with one skimpy strip of -bedroom window giving on a view of grimy-grey back-yard, a kennel made -out of a packing-case, and lines of washing hanging out to dry. - -Here, at The Lawn, my quarters do seem so palatially big and airy! -There’s _miles_ of wardrobe space for my new things, I see. And -_what_ a lovely long mirror! That delicious scent of lavender and -pot-pourri comes from the big china bowl on the window-ledge. -There’s a wide bay of casement-windows looking out on to that -wonderful lawn, sprays of feathery mauve wistaria tap against the -panes outside. Inside, rose-peonies and giant tulips riot over the -cream-and-red-and-pink-patterned chintzes of hangings and upholstery. -The wallpaper is sprinkled with bouquets of rosebuds caught up with -ribbons; and the bed-spread is of glowing rose-colour. No trace anywhere -of those “Art-muds” and sad sage-greens that even well-off people get -into their rooms so often now. Why can’t they realize that greens, to be -successful, must be kept out of doors? Green as an indoor background, -_no!_ I’d have chosen just these gay, dainty patterns and colours for my -bedroom, if—— - -But _what’s_ the use of thinking over the house I might have had? I’m not -going to. I ought to be breathlessly thankful that this one where I have -to spend a fortnight is turning out to be so much more congenial than I’d -hoped, and that “his” people are quite unlike “him!” - -How suddenly “right” my dear old silver-and-crystal toilette things look -against the setting of the Sheraton dressing-table with the plate-glass -top! To think that one dismal wet day I nearly packed them all up and -sent them off by Mrs. Skinner to be “put away,” and the price thereof -turned into new boots! “Boots a poor typist must have,” I argued. -“Silver-topped bottles and luxuries of that sort she doesn’t need any -more.” How frightfully glad I am, now, that I hadn’t the heart to do -it after all, that I sent my shoes to be re-soled instead—and that all -my own monogrammed brushes are mirrored in the oval glass beside that -lustre jar of rich, mahogany-coloured wall-flowers that, next to my own -dark head and its moving reflections, seem to give the deepest touch -of colour in the room. I suppose the girls put those there—Yes! That’s -another shock. The _sisters_! That _he_ should have sisters like—— - -A tap at the door. - -“Come in!” - -Enter, explosively, the excited little white dog, followed by a large -and shiny copper can, and the eyes—they seem to dominate everything else -about that child!—of Theodora. - -“Brought you some hot water”—in a meek and muffled voice. “Dinner is—(Put -those _down_, Cariad! He _knows_ people’s slippers aren’t for him to -eat!) Dinner is at eight. _I’m_ not supposed to come down.” - -Here the huge brown eyes turned ruefully for a moment from me to the -gleaming sheath of the new frock that I’d just thrown over the brass rail -of the bed. I guessed the thought behind them. They longed for another -satisfying stare at it—_on_ me. - -Why shouldn’t I have this child fond of me? - -“Shall I say good-night now, then, Theo?” I suggested. “Or—if you tell me -which your room is, shall I come in after I’m dressed?” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Theo, bell-mouthed. “_Gem!_” Then, carefully muffling the -voice again, “That’s the school-room door opposite—between the corridor -window and the picture of ‘Delia in Arcady.’ Thanks _awf’ly_, Nancy. -(_Come_ along, Cariad!)” - -Not every engaged girl has such a walk-over with “his” people! But I -think Theo would approve of me as a sister-in-law, if she were going to -have the chance! I shouldn’t mind _her_!... On second thoughts, I don’t -know whether I am so pleased after all that these people are so kind and -welcoming and different from what I had expected. - -Wouldn’t it be almost easier for me in some ways if his mother and -his sisters _were_ the “collection of frosty-faces” (as Miss Robinson -expresses it) whom I’d anticipated meeting? I was prepared; I could have -coped with _them_. Why has he got sisters like these—just the kind of -girls I could imagine sisters of _mine_? - -Why _must_ his mother be so sweet to me, without a gleam of the -“designing-little-minx-of-a-typist” look in her eyes, without—I verily -believe—a thought of it in her heart? Ready to take to her arms the -stranger within her gates whom she looks upon as her son’s lady-love—oh, -it’s too embarrassing! - -For the first time since this sham engagement was arranged between my -employer and myself, I feel what I did not feel when I confronted my -fellow-typists, the Vandeleurs or Cicely with the news that I was Mr. -Waters’ _fiancée_; what I did not feel when I first slipped these lying -diamonds on to my finger; what I didn’t feel when I cabled that money to -Jack, or even when I wrote to Sydney. - -I feel—there is no other word to express it—downright _mean_! - -How am I going to stand a whole fortnight of it? How _am_ I to keep up -this incessant pose and pretence under the gentle, unsuspecting eyes of -Mrs. Waters? - -I believe I could have calmly invented fib after fib for the benefit of -Lady Vandeleur—— - -Now, now! Thoughts beginning with “Vandeleur” have got to be sternly -suppressed unless I mean to give myself a fit of the blues and make some -terrible _faux pas_ presently, at dinner, in the bosom of the Governor’s -family. - -So come, Monica Trant, my child—“Nancy,” I mean, of course, _Nancy_! -(How I hope I shall remember to answer to that name when I hear it, -instead of forgetting who they mean and imagining it’s the little white -dog!) You pull yourself together, Nancy, and dive into the pretty new -evening-frock—it will be gorgeous to have proper lights and a real glass -to dress by once again!—then go and show it off to that avid-eyed child -in the school-room. And then downstairs with you, to earn some more of -your five hundred pounds! - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE FIRST DINNER - - -Well! the first evening is over. - -It hasn’t been nearly as bad as it might, though it certainly has -produced several more quite unexpected developments. - -We dined; for the first time for well over a year I sat down at a -luxuriously-appointed round dinner-table with all its conventional -daintiness of perfect napery, silver and glass—instead of the -picnic-supper affair, with every single plate and fork an “oddment,” cast -by the hands of Mrs. Skinner upon the rickety table at Marconi Mansions. -Instead of gossiping with Cicely Harradine clad in the faded green -Japanese kimono that she finds “such a rest to slop into” after all the -fashionable dressing-up at Chérisette’s—for Cicely is rather the type of -girl whom work demoralizes instead of bracing—I was of a party of two -other women and a man in evening-dress. - -That dinner-jacket does make the Governor look so much younger—it’s -positively laughable! For another thing, it seems to take him right out -of his isolated Near Oriental niche, and to put him in the same rank of -human beings as men who used to dine at our house when my father was -alive. Positively, I have begun to look upon my once-dreaded employer as -quite an ordinary—though certainly _not_ a likable—sort of young man! -Never again need _he_ expect to keep up, with me, the attitude of a -metallic species of Business-deity who disappears after business-hours to -some vague, chilly and unknown Olympus, of which no glimpse would ever be -vouchsafed to any of us, his grovelling subordinates. Oh, no! - -Not now that I’ve seen his people, the pretty things out of which his -mother has made such a nest of a home for him; not after making the -acquaintance of Blanche and of that gift of God, Theodora, and of Cariad. -That little outdoor dog spent the whole of dinner-time cosily curled -up under the table on his “Missis’s” black satin skirt, and not all -the flappings of the Governor’s table-napkin or his curtest “Here! Out -of that, Cariad! Outside, sir!” had the slightest effect in dislodging -him. I would have given at least five of my as yet unearned five hundred -pounds for Miss Robinson to have been granted the sight of Still Waters -cheerfully defied by that small Sealyham! I can see her “potting” the -scene, with Miss Holt’s white feather neck-ruffle commandeered to -represent the little dog who “_knows_ that skirts aren’t there for him -to sit upon!” And _I’m_ not “there to be sat upon” any more, either! -I’m beginning to wonder how the Governor managed to “take me in” for -so long! Why, he is a regular _fraud_! And a fraud found out is never -terrifying—even if it’s exasperating. - -If anyone is going to be alarmed now, it’s not his official _fiancée_, -but he himself; for he was—yes, positively!—nervous and embarrassed at -dinner. If that had been the first time I’d met him I should have thought -that the big and blonde and silent young man opposite was _deadly shy -of me_! Of _me_; after all that he had handed out to me in the way of -orders and commands and arrangements during the past fortnight. It is -a good thing if, as he says, a good deal of the “strangeness” will be -put down to the “natural awkwardness of people so recently engaged”—but -it’s a still better thing that I contrived to be rather less “awkward” -and speechless than _he_ was! To myself I seemed to be sitting a little -apart, watching another Mon—Nancy, I mean—smiling and chatting gaily with -his mother and the younger girls. - -What dears they are! and how one sees their feminine touch in everything -about the room, from the arrangement of the many and becoming lights, to -the graceful massing of sulphur-coloured pansies and gypsophila in the -centre of the round table! - -At dinner it was chiefly, I think, of flowers that we talked—such a -nice, safe subject. It seems that the Governor is actually interested in -gardening. _How_ amazed the staff would be if it were hinted that Still -Waters took the vaguest gleam of interest in anything outside making -money for the firm! - -After dinner, when he remained behind in the dining-room to smoke, -his mother slipped one white hand into Blanche’s arm, the other into -mine; and the gesture, I know, was meant to imply that she had “another -daughter now.” - -We stepped together across the black-and-white-tiled hall into the -drawing-room, with its ordered chaos of pretty, old-fashioned furniture -and dainty new things, and the unmistakable atmosphere of a homey room -that is lived in. - -Mrs. Waters drew me down beside her on the wide, shallow sofa, and I -saw her eyes dwelling on every line of my face, as if she were trying -to learn fresh knowledge of her son from the girl who presumably was -permitted to see him as his own mother never sees a man. - -That brought a lump into my throat. I bent my head over my work—a bit of -Richelieu embroidery with which I had taken care to provide myself. I had -remembered some axioms of Miss Robinson at the office: - -“_Never you be without a hit of fancy-work, girls, when you wish to -impress. Men seem to think a girl must be so sweet and womanly who can -sit for hours wagging a crochet-hook and a bit of thread at them. As -for the future mother-in-law, she always imagines a girl is more likely -to turn out domesticated if she cannot keep her hands still for ten -minutes. Besides, a bit of drawn-thread work, or whatever it is, gives -you something to look at when you don’t exactly know what to say next._” - -The last reason was mine. I certainly did not know what to say when the -Governor’s mother remarked softly: - -“You know, Nancy, you are just what I hoped you would be.” - -“Am I?” - -I felt an unutterable little _cad_. - -Yes, Mr. William Waters! And who forced me into the position of feeling -like this? - -“So pretty and gentle and quiet, and yet you ‘see’ things with those -brown eyes of yours,” pronounced Mrs. Waters. “At first I feared it was -impossible that any girl who had only met my boy just in business-hours, -and wearing that office-mask he has to put on, could grow to care for -him as we do; but I see you could understand. You guessed that all -that brusqueness and peremptory manner were just the armour for his -sensitiveness; you would see that he has to put on that manner to hide -the awful truth that at the bottom of his heart he is naturally as shy -and nervous as Blanche and I are. _I_ believe,” she laughed softly, “that -that’s why he _never_ allows us to call at the office while we’re in -town! The staff _might_ suspect, seeing _us_, that he _has_ another sort -of manner than the terrible one he speaks through the telephone with! I -dare say that even you were taken in by it at first, weren’t you? Until -he began to reveal his real self to you, I expect you looked upon him -merely as a business-machine, didn’t you, Nancy?” - -“I suppose I did,” I murmured, feeling more uncomfortable at every word -uttered by this dear, innocent lady, who had created such an idealized -version of her son’s character. - -“And when did you begin to find out the real Billy?” - -_Here_ was a nice question! Thank goodness I was spared the answering of -it! - -At that moment the drawing-room door opened to admit the tallest of the -admirable parlour-maids, with the tray bearing a silver coffee-machine -and the dainty Dresden service. - -Blanche rose from the cushion where she had been sitting at my feet, -and went to the table to officiate. In her simple white dinner-gown she -looked like a tall lily bending down. - -“Mother, plenty of hot milk and a little sugar? Nancy, how do you like -your coffee?” - -“I don’t take it, thank you very much.” - -“Oh, then here’s Billy’s—black, with plenty of sugar. Will he be coming -in for it?” - -Her mother gave a little smile. - -“I think perhaps Nancy won’t mind taking in Billy’s coffee to him. Will -you, dear? He’s in his ‘den’; the door just opposite, across the hall.” - -Even without her gently mischievous glance I should have realized what -she meant. The unsuspecting, sympathetic creature thought she was being -kind and tactful, making an opportunity for me to have a little time -alone with my _fiancé_. - -She imagined that we were longing for a lovers’ _tête-à-tête_, with all -the fond, foolish talk that one could guess at—beaming smiles at each -other, like Smithie’s—Ordinary love-making! Yes, of course, people will -have to be allowed to think that there’s that between us, too. I hadn’t -wasted many thoughts on this aspect of the case. But this “rubbed it in.” - -I felt a wave of scorching scarlet rush up my face to the roots of my -hair. However, that didn’t matter: no doubt Mrs. Waters put it down to -the “natural shyness” of a girl in love. She never guessed the _furious_ -mixture of feelings that sent that blush into my cheeks. - -I kept my head up and my voice quite steady as I replied: “Oh, certainly!” - -And I rose, taking up the green-garlanded cup with the small gilt -apostle-spoon in the saucer, and left the drawing-room to face my first -official _tête-à-tête_ with the Governor. - -Ever since he’s been the unconscious cause of my having had to give up -the chance of a serene and happy future with the man who really cares for -me, I’ve looked upon my employer with a mixture of resentment and dread. -As I say, the dread’s melted rapidly. But the resentment’s growing! - -“_I’ll_ make him pay, somehow,” thought I revengefully, “for all this!” -By “all this” I meant not only for the loss of Sydney, and the castle at -Ballycool, and comfort and position, but for making me look and feel so -acutely foolish before Mrs. Waters. - -“I’ll see if I can’t make him rather uncomfortable over it himself,” I -determined. - -I crossed the hall, forcing myself to feel as if I were back in the -office, where we typists took it in turn to carry Mr. Dundonald’s cup of -afternoon tea into the inner sanctum, where he glowered over his figures. - -(How cross he was if one of us shook the cup so that some of the tea -slopped over and soaked the lump of sugar and the biscuit laid in the -saucer.) - -Gingerly I carried the dainty cup of black coffee across to the door of -the “den.” - -There, deliberately, I tapped twice. - -The sound of my knock on the door reminded me of another occasion—on -which I’d presented myself alone before the Governor, that afternoon at -the Near Oriental; that first interview in his office. - -This _tête-à-tête_—the first in his own home—was going to be very -different! - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE FIRST TÊTE-À-TÊTE - - -A rather surprised voice called “Come in!” - -In I went—to find the Governor smoking a cigarette and sitting on the -wide red-leather-padded club-fender of a room that was in complete -contrast to the feminine domain I had left. Almost empty, but for -its tall bookshelves, a grandfather’s clock, a couple of solid, -“man-ny-looking” arm-chairs and a grand piano. - -I dropped my voice into its meekest Near Oriental tone as I announced: - -“Your coffee, Mr. Waters!” - -It was exactly the tone in which I’d so often said, “Your tea, Mr. -Dundonald!” and yet I knew that the man before me would guess that this -deference was, under the circumstances, only a subtle form of defiance. - -I handed him the cup. Then I stood there, outwardly as mild as milk, -before him. One swift glance into the mirror over the mantelpiece beyond -his broad shoulder—his shoulders are the best thing about him—had shown -me an attractive picture enough—a big, blonde man faced by a _petite_, -graceful girl, with her night-black hair swathed in a silky garland round -her head, and her white shoulders and neck emerging from an admirably-cut -dinner-gown of creamy charmeuse and chiffon patterned by rose-pink -beadwork, whose colour echoed the soft flush in her cheeks. - -Just before dinner, Theo, in the school-room, with all her eyes and half -the voice-power at her command, had told me the dress was _divine_, and -that I looked a little _angel_ in it! - -“Angel?” H’m. That wasn’t how I _felt_, exactly. Still I know I looked -my best; as pretty as ever I’d looked in the dear old days before I had -anything else to do. - -Looking her best always keys a girl up to doing her best. - -(Or her worst, as the case may be.) - -Besides, another glance at the Governor had shown me that I’d been right -in my suspicion at dinner. He _was_ embarrassed. He was—probably for the -first time in his life—_shy_! - -This put the finishing touch to my feeling myself to be—also for the -first time—mistress of this situation. - -Therefore, I stood there, still waiting, looking as if it were I who were -paralysed with shyness, deliberately waiting for _him_ to speak. - -“Thank you,” he had murmured as he took the cup from me. There was -another pause, which was—as I fully intended—the first of many. Then -he added, in a rather uncertain sort of voice, “I suppose it was my -mother’s—my mother who sent you in here?” - -“Yes! Oh, yes,” I said hastily, as if breathlessly flurried and meek -beyond all words. “She seemed to think—I didn’t know what else to do—am -I in your way?” (Here I glanced up at him with scared, appealing eyes as -much as to say, “Is it my fault if I am?”) - -Pause. - -“I am afraid,” said the Governor, rather as if the words were forced from -him, “that I shall have to ask you to put with up this—er—incongruity for -the next half-hour or so. Won’t you sit down, Miss Trant?” And he wheeled -forward one of those capacious arm-chairs, placing it at a mercifully -wide distance from the fender-stool—where Mrs. Waters perhaps imagined -we were at that moment sitting—Oh shade of everything that’s wildly -impossible!—sitting together like ordinary young engaged people, hand in -hand—or however they _do_ sit. My goodness! - -I sat down, dropping my eyes demurely, and folding my hands in my lap. - -Another pause. - -“I—er——” said the Governor, then stopped and tried to look as if he -hadn’t begun a sentence. - -“Yes? Is there anything that I can—that you think I ought to be able to -do for you while I am here, Mr. Waters?” - -“Perhaps it might be wiser if you stopped calling me by that name”—dryly. -He seemed to have pulled himself together with a jerk, for he was looking -and speaking more like himself at this. However, it had no effect on _me_. - -“Oh, of _course_,” I said obediently, “I shall _always_ remember to call -you B——by your Christian name (_that_ is an abbreviation, too, isn’t it?) -when we are with the others.” - -“And then, if you use my other name when we are alone, you may forget, -and let it slip out when the others are here,” he objected, looking down -on me from his perch on the fender-stool, “and—and it’s more than likely -that my sisters might notice. Theodora notices everything.” - -“Yes”—gently—“so I gather.” - -“And always says out what she thinks,” her brother informed me. “That’s -why—if you don’t mind—I am going to continue calling you ‘Nancy’ even -when we are alone.” - -“Oh, certainly,” I said softly. “And I suppose I must practise trying not -to feel afraid of you.” - -He looked sharply at me, but I know there was no expression in my face, -and my eyes seemed fixed upon the hands in my lap, upon the ring I was -turning, idly, round my engagement-finger. - -“Afraid of me?” he took up. “You?” - -“Oh, Mr. Waters—I _beg_ your pardon, I didn’t mean to use that name -again. I was going to say, you know that we are all terrified to death of -you—at the office.” - -I know he guessed that I meant “_but this is not the office, and I’ve -lost all the wholesome awe that I still had of you only yesterday, and -I’m no more terrified of you than Cariad is, now!_” Without looking -directly at him, I saw his keen, blonde face flush a little under its -tan—this City-fied young man is oddly sunburned—and his firmly-fitted -lips moved as if he were going to say something but thought better of it. -After a pause he opened them again and asked: - -“Do you smoke—er—Nancy?” - -“No, thanks very much,” I said primly. - -Silence fell. - -The Governor cleared his throat. - -I knew he literally couldn’t think what to say next, and I exulted -inwardly. I felt as if I really were getting a little of my own -back now—not only for the awkwardness and unpleasantness due to the -“engagement,” but for everything I’ve loathed while I’ve been at the Near -Oriental—the dreary journey there morning after morning, the monotony, -the irksomeness, the daily looming terror of “the sack,” the hated -hoverings round me of Mr. Dundonald and his “_talk_-ing!” - -_Oh_, how my employer was longing for me to “talk” at _that_ moment! to -say something—anything! - -But I wouldn’t. I think I could have let that lagging silence last for -quite another five minutes as far as I was concerned, only I was afraid -I might break into wild laughter unless I spoke. So I gave it up, and -suggested gravely and helpfully: - -“I _have_ got some fancy-work with me, but I left it in the drawing-room. -Shall I go back and fetch it? Or—wouldn’t that quite _do_?” - -“Afraid not,” said the Governor grimly. - -“It seems so stupid to sit here doing nothing; for you, too,” I added -sympathetically. “If you have brought any letters down here from the -office, you might, perhaps, care to dictate them to me——” - -“Thank you, no,” said Mr. Waters firmly. “I seldom do any business out of -business-hours.” - -I turned my ring again ostentatiously. I hope he knew I was pointing out -to him how _my_ “business” had to go on all day long—the woman’s work, in -fact, being never done! - -My next mild suggestion was, “Do you play picquet?” - -“Don’t know one card from another.” - -I sighed, as if with mingled regret and boredom. - -It was a very insincere sigh! for, to begin with, I loathe any form of -card-playing myself; _I_ don’t believe the story that cards were invented -to please a mad king. I believe he was _driven_ mad by the card-games -of the period! Secondly, I wasn’t one bit bored. I was revelling in the -spectacle of this wretched young man—imagine being able to employ such a -phrase to the Grand Panjandrum himself!—this _wretched_ young man looking -so acutely uncomfortable and at such a loss. - -Gleefully I allowed yet another long and awkward pause to take place. - -Then, I put my hand—the left one—up to my mouth as if to stifle a yawn. -Then I glanced at the ship in full sail that rocked to and fro on the -face of the grandfather’s clock, and murmured resignedly: “Only twenty -minutes past nine?” - -“I am afraid that clock is always kept ten minutes fast,” said my host. - -I sighed again, more deeply. - -Then I allowed my eyes to wander, as if vainly seeking the way of -escape!—round the comfortable, masculine-looking room. Actually, my -glance was caught by an odd-looking arrangement of wires across the -ceiling. - -“Oh, what are those for?” I asked. “Telegraphy?” - -“No; I had those put there to improve the acoustics of this room. It was -otherwise so bad to play and sing in.” - -“Oh!” I said, and wondering why Blanche didn’t use the drawing-room to -sing in, I glanced at the somber shape of the piano at the other end of -the den. - -“I wonder if you would allow me to practise in here sometimes—of course, -only in the mornings?” I requested meekly. “When I go back to London, I -shall want to see about a situation as music-teacher or something of that -kind. I must have some definite work to do—besides yours, I mean!—and I -ought to furbish up my playing.” - -“Ah, you play, do you?” said Mr. Waters, in a tone of the deepest relief. -“Good!” - -He got up, switched on some more lights, and opened the piano. - -“I wonder if you have a rarer accomplishment still. Can you accompany?” - -“I should be able to,” said I, with a little bitter smile to myself. - -For I’ve certainly spent hours enough at the piano with Sydney Vandeleur, -practising or transposing his lyrics. He has a gift for pretty, tender -melody-writing; he “sets” all his favourite verses.... - -“Will you try over a song with me, then?” - -(What! It was _he_ who sang?) - -“Certainly!” - -This was not my subdued, Leadenhall Street office “Certainly.” It was the -way in which I might have spoken to Sydney, or to Major Montresor, or the -Somervilles, or any of the men who came to my father’s house in the old -days, and for whom I played in the evening. - -“Wait a minute. This gets in the way; clicks on the keys,” said I, -glancing at those weighty diamonds that blazed on my finger. And I drew -off his ring, pushing it with a careless little flick out of my way on -the glassy black top of the piano. He had put up before me Schubert’s -“_Still wie die Nacht_.” - -Appropriate enough, for Still Waters! “Still as the night, deep as the -sea——” - -I took up the first chords. - -Then came surprise again. - -I had expected him to possess a big, bull-dog bass, full of sound and -fury, and without a touch of feeling in it. To my amazement, his voice -turned out to be a particularly sweet, true tenor. Shut your eyes, and -you could imagine that it was the most sympathetic and delightful of men -who was singing, instead of _the Governor_! - -Can there be many more surprises about this man? However, I flatter -myself that I’ve given him several. The crushed-looking, deferential -typist in the ready-made delaine blouse, and with the carbon-stained -fingers, that shook with nervousness when he rattled off his -far-too-quick dictation to them, was a distinct contrast to this dainty, -well-dressed young woman, who lays her own plans for him to see that she -is laughing at him in her sleeve. - -And it’s his turn to use deference to me. - -“Thank you, so much—er—Nancy.” This last word brought out with a jerk of -resolution. “It’s a treat to be accompanied by someone who can do it so -unusually well; it’s like waltzing with a partner whose step just suits -one’s own.” - -Good gracious! Where and when has this man learned to dance? - -But he _can_ sing. I quite enjoyed playing for it. I think we went -through quite half a dozen songs—“Widdicombe Fair” was one of them—before -I remembered that this wasn’t the form I meant _my_ enjoyment to take. - -So, when he put up yet another—“Drake’s Drum” this time—and said, “Shall -we try this?” I relapsed into my wickedly mild manner once more, and -replied hesitatingly: “Don’t you think that would be enough—for Mrs. -Waters? I mean, that she would consider I had stayed the right length of -time? May—mayn’t I get down, now?” - -“Oh! Sorry if I have tired you,” said the Governor quietly. - -He walked across the room to open the door for me. - -There, with his hand on the door-knob, my employer paused and looked down -at me almost as if he were looking at me for the first time. - -It was a curious sort of stare, half-amused, half-frowning. I should -think it must have lasted while one could count five. Was there a sort of -_threat_ in it? Yes! I suppose it meant that he wasn’t going to stand any -more of my masquerading impertinences, that somehow he meant to overawe -me, to keep the upper hand over me still. But he won’t. Of course it’s -rather flurrying to be looked at like that, so hard and unexpectedly.... -But I wasn’t _really_ flurried——only a little glad when he opened the -door, said “Good night!” and shut it after me. - -I was turning towards the haven of the drawing-room when, half-way across -the hall, I heard the door of the “den” open again, and the Governor’s -step behind me. - -“I think you forgot this, didn’t you?” he said, holding out to me the -ring I had left lying on the top of the piano. - -“Oh, _thank_ you,” I said apologetically. He went back into the den. I -slipped my “engagement” ring on to my finger again. - -As a matter of fact I _hadn’t_ “forgotten” it. - -And he needn’t imagine that he is ever going to have _me_ “quelled” -again. I intend taking it out of _him_ all the time I am here! - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -THE FIRST QUARREL - - -So far I have had things all my own way. - -During the three days that I have now been staying at The Lawn, I -have managed to “keep up” without difficulty two utterly distinct and -different _manners_. - -“Manner A.”—assumed for the benefit of the Governor’s family—the rather -shy but charming and devoted young _fiancée_. - -“Manner B.”—well, to be frank, a perfect little _cat_! - -But to begin with the first manner. - -I should be ashamed to act it as well as I do, if it weren’t that I must -keep the whip-hand over the Governor, and that this is the only way, for -his mother and sisters are really too sweet with me. - -Never, during all the palmy days of the Trant family, have I had so many -pretty and generous things said about me as I’ve heard in these three -days from my employer’s unsuspecting mother. - -She told me yesterday, “When Billy was ten I’d begun to wonder whether, -somewhere, some other mother was watching a pink-lined cot that held -something which was to become very precious, later on, to my little son. -And—twenty-one, are you, dear?—it must have been so, then. How glad I -am it was you! Ten years is such a nice difference in age, too; I was -twenty-one——” - -And her soft grey eyes looked at me as if they saw, through me, into the -past. - -Her young daughter Blanche, on the other hand, gazes at me as wistfully -as though, through me, she could look into the future. I feel as if I -were supposed to be standing beside a wall which only I am tall enough -(for once!) to see over. - -“_Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?_” That, of course, isn’t what -she says. - -“Nancy, I suppose you knew almost at once what you felt about Billy?” - -“Oh, yes!” (Readily.) - -“You knew he was absolutely the one and only? How lovely!” A pause. “I -suppose the way to find out is to imagine him among seventeen other young -men, all frightfully good-looking and nice and good sorts, and the right -kind of voice, and all wanting to marry you at once, and all that? Then, -if you still feel you could choose _him_ out of all those——” - -“But, Blanche, I should have _had_ to,” I explained, truthfully enough, -as I thought of the five hundred pounds. “Couldn’t help myself!” - -“I see,” sighed Blanche. “_Mustn’t_ it be glorious for you both?” - -And thirteen-year-old Theo, pouring upon her “new sister” the wealth of -superfluous adoration which will some day be wasted, I suppose, upon some -quite ordinary young man, proclaims at frequent intervals, “Isn’t it -_ripping_ having her here?” and lives entirely in the present. Theo, by -the way, is the only one of them before whom I feel I have to be careful -not to over-do Manner A. - -Manner B. is reserved for those hours which, for the sake of appearances, -his official _fiancée_ is obliged to spend alone with Mr. Waters; going -for dull walks—that is, for me they’re kept from being too deadly dull -by the certainty that I am making them so for him!—and sitting with him -in the den, where I will _not_ play accompaniments to his songs except -as a last resource after I’ve exhausted every possibility of the stilted -remark, the awkward pause, the resigned glance, and the languor that -stops short only at the visible yawn. Since that first _tête-à-tête_ I -have brought the contrasting of Manners A. and B. to a fine art. I’ve -been revelling in the idea that for a whole fortnight this is what my -employer will be forced to put up with. After all, it’s what the whole -lives of some _married_ men amount to! And, according to the terms of the -Governor’s own agreement, there’s nothing in all this of which he can -openly complain! - - * * * * * - -He _has_ complained! - -Really, I need not have been surprised when it occurred, though I was -scarcely expecting it. - -It began this (Saturday) morning, at breakfast. Now, any outsider peeping -into the sunny dining-room might have considered that the group round the -breakfast-table made an ideal picture of English family life. - -There was the gentle, grey-gowned mother pouring out coffee. The big, -blonde son of the house, dressed for the City, sitting opposite to his -_fiancée_—rather silent, but presumably only out of devotion. - -The _fiancée_ herself, a small brunette in dull-pink linen, looking, I -think I may say, the picture of girlish sweetness, and being made much of -by the two younger, taller, fair-haired sisters. - -For no outsider could have suspected that the small, dark girl and the -big, blonde man were secretly at daggers drawn. Nor have the family a -notion that I’m anything less than “the ideal wife for Billy.” - -I had come down last, to be greeted by the clarion voice of Theo, now no -longer muffled in my presence. - -“Nancy! _Here’s_ news for you! Juno what? Our celebrated Uncle Albert -Waters is coming down to inspect Billy’s sweetheart!” - -“Oh!” I said smiling. I didn’t see then why I shouldn’t smile. I hadn’t -yet heard anything about this other Mr. Waters. - -“It’s to be hoped that he will admire her as much as we all do,” -proclaimed Theodora; “because, if he doesn’t, won’t it be a ghastly -week-end, Mother?” - -“Nonsense, dear! Don’t try and alarm poor Nancy about the new relation -she has to meet.” - -“But—fancy! Meeting Uncle Albert _for the first time_! Golly!” - -“Theo-dora!” - -“I know. I did promise to chuck saying ‘Golly,’ but really it’s the -only word that seems at all _like_ Uncle Albert,” declared the child. -“Uncle Albert’s a terror! Talk about me-ee! Yes, talk about _me_ saying -everything that comes into my head! Why, it’s from him that I inherit -that! Only, I’m not in it with him!” - -“It would be a good thing if you were, Theo,” reproachfully from Mrs. -Waters. “I am sure your uncle has a heart of gold.” - -“Always means there’s something else the matter with a person”—thus the -irrepressible Theo. “People with ‘hearts of gold’ are either fearfully -rude like old Miss Crabbe, and never say ‘Thank you,’ or they don’t -care a rap what they do say, like Uncle Albert. If he doesn’t happen to -approve of Billy’s _fiancée_, he’ll think nothing of telling Billy to -break off——” - -“Break off yourself, young woman. You talk a good deal too much,” put in -her brother, as he rose, big and well-groomed, from the breakfast-table. -“And keep Cariad, will you? He knows he never follows anyone but his -mistress, but I’ve had to send the station-master’s boy back with him -three times this week. Good-bye, all.” - -“Good-bye,” said I sweetly. “Give my love to the Near Oriental, -especially to the typists’ room, will you? How stuffy it will be getting -there now! How thankful I am for anything that keeps _me_ out of it on -a morning like this! Still, I suppose one ought not to abuse the place -where we first met.” - -This with a glance at him, expressly for Blanche’s benefit, from under -my eyelashes. For I am acquiring a taste for positively “baiting” my -employer. I’m not going to be the one made to feel all the awkwardness of -the situation. Not I! - -Let _him_ redden with embarrassment before the guileless remarks or -questions that I aim at him before his mother and sisters. Serve him -right! As for my employer’s feelings towards me, I have seen them -ripening from obliviousness of my presence, through indifference and -dislike, into positive _hatred_! - -I knew he’d felt the flick of my last remark. I also knew how he would -have liked to retaliate. Any time since that first evening in the den I -have seen in his eye the yearning to take me by the shoulders and shake -me. - -But he said serenely: “It is a glorious morning, certainly. Too fine not -to walk down to Sevenoaks, so I’m starting a little earlier.” - -Good! I thought. I always welcomed the moment that saw the last, for the -whole happy, idle day, of the only inhabitant of The Lawn with whom I’m -not on excellent terms. Once _he’s_ out of the house, I can enjoy myself -and forget (almost) why I’m in it. - -So it was an annoying shock to me when he stopped short on his way to the -door and added: - -“Nancy, do you care to come part of the way towards the station with me?” - -He had me there. I saw there was no escape. For the first time this week -he was able to check me in having things all my own way; and, mortified -and irritated as I felt, I could only smile up at him in Manner A, and -reply, all eager delight: - -“Oh, I’d love it! Give me two minutes to put on my hat.” - -In five minutes—for I knew he’d loads of time for his train, and it was -still a further turning of the tables to keep the Governor waiting—I -joined him outside the front door. - -Presently we were walking briskly together down the drive between the -green cliffs of laurel; the air was sweet with the scent of sun-warmed -lilac, the sky was cloudless, the morning all sunshine—everything, in -fact, was as unlike my own mood as might be. - -For I’d guessed that I was “in for” something. And although I didn’t yet -know what this might be—although it seemed a whole pre-existence since -the day when the prospect of a few words from the Head of the firm made -his trembling typist feel that the end of all things was at hand!—I still -felt, amongst other emotions, a little _frightened_. Again I saw in my -mind that odd, half-amused, half-threatening stare which the Governor had -bent upon me that first evening when I said good-night at the door of his -den. Supposing I wasn’t able to keep the reins in my own hands after all? -A new nervousness mingled in me with an utterly new form of resentment. - -I hadn’t long to wait for my few words from the Governor. - -He began—rather to my surprise—without his traditional “Now, Miss Trant,” -but grimly and stiffly as I don’t suppose Mrs. Waters knows he can speak. - -“Now! There is something I wanted to say to you. I am sorry to trouble -you, but I am afraid that I have to ask you to be a little more careful -in your manner to me.” - -Which of the two manners was he going to fix upon? The one I reserved for -him alone, or the pretty one that I used to him before his people? - -“My manner? Oh!” I turned a dismayed face, the face of a typist caught -out in some careless mistake, up to his as we walked along. “I am afraid -I don’t quite know what you mean.” - -“You do,” said his face. - -But he only said concisely: “I mean the tone you sometimes feel called -upon to adopt towards me, as just now, at breakfast. Of course when we -are alone you must please yourself entirely. But that will hardly do -before others.” - -Ah, it was for Manner A, then, that he’d settled to take me to task. So -none of it had been lost upon him, then; none of the unearthly sweetness -hiding home-thrusts that only he was able to recognize as such! None -of the elaborate ways in which I’ve been pretending to think of little -things to please him; quoting (in public) bits of his songs that I call -my favourites, picking a sulphur-coloured pansy—that he daren’t _not_ -wear!—for his button-hole, then making him take it out to let me change -it for a leaf of scented geranium, because there were table decorations -of those at the Savoy “the day we lunched there before you chose my ring; -do you remember?” I hope he’ll never cease to remember _and to regret_ -“that day!” - -For the whole nature of the grudge I have against him has changed in -these few days. The thoughts have gone into the background of all that -office drudgery and Near Oriental unpleasantness. I’ve forgotten that -I used to hate him as part of a life of being ordered about on a few -shillings a week. But when, in accepting this invitation to a house of -luxury and leisure, I had the feeling of “coming home” to my old sort -of life, I hadn’t realized how many of the feelings belonging to that -by-gone life were going to wake up again inside me, indignantly ashamed. -I was my father’s daughter. I was well accustomed to the ease and space -and comforts of such a house as The Lawn—the Waters don’t suspect that, -but I _was_ born to them. I wasn’t born, however, to taking up the -position in such a house which he has forced upon me. Dully simmering in -my mind, for some time now, has been the thought of this slight which he -has put upon me, this insult. - -This was the thought that softened my voice into the timid and suppressed -“office” key, which I felt I couldn’t keep up very much longer. - -“Have I been saying and doing the wrong things before your people then? I -am sorry!” - -I hoped my voice was not going to run away with me, but I heard myself -beginning to lose control over that serviceable meekness as I went on. - -“It is rather difficult for me, you know. Still, I did think I _seemed_ -everything that your _fiancée_ ought to be! I have been trying——” - -“You have,” admitted Mr. Waters grimly. “Very.” - -“Do you mean I _haven’t_ been a success, then?” I heard myself demanding -quickly. “Oh! Because, if I don’t give satisfaction——” - -I stopped. It wasn’t my place to finish the sentence with “I had better -give notice!” - -“H’m,” said my employer curtly. “I see.” - -Did he “see,” I wondered? Did he realize that, though I was bound hand -and foot by that absurd muddle of an agreement, he might break it when -he chose, and that I was longing, desperately, for him to do so then and -there? - -“It’s very hard,” I explained as evenly as I could, hoping that this -explanation would give him his cue, “hard to manage to hit the right -note always, and to have to decide every minute upon the way I should -naturally behave if I really _were_ engaged; Of course _I’m_ under -contract, but——” - -Here, very suddenly and unexpectedly, Still Waters broke out into a -tone I’d never heard from him before. He positively “let himself go” as -he lashed out with his walking-stick at an inoffensive dock-leaf in the -hedge-row we were passing, and exclaimed: - -“By Jove! I’d pity any man who was ‘really engaged’ to _you_!” - -Ah! So I had got him to speak his mind at last, his own mind that he -would have given anything not to have revealed to any employee! More than -that, I’d driven him into being inexcusably rude to a woman. His face, -where the tan had deepened to a sullen red, his lips, compressed into -what seemed like a thin, pen-drawn line, showed me that _he_ had realized -this. _I_ don’t mean him to forget what he said. I said nothing. The most -awkward of all the many awkward pauses so far, elapsed between us as we -walked along, and before he spoke again. When he did, I saw that it cost -him more than he liked me to notice. - -“Yes. You see—I ought not to have said that. I beg your pardon.” - -“Oh! Please don’t! I didn’t mind it at all,” said I, better able to speak -very sweetly now that I felt I had regained some of my ascendancy. But -all the fun of “scoring” off him had gone, though I must not let him see -that. “Of course you’ve every right to say exactly what you think, just -as Theo does.” - -For his face, still flushed, ruffled, and without a trace of the -“office-mask,” wore a fleeting but quite laughable likeness to his -youngest sister’s. I have heard it said of some girl, “She isn’t pretty -exactly, but she has pretty looks,” and positively, if I didn’t dislike -him so intensely, I should say that the Governor, though never handsome, -has “handsome looks” himself. - -I went on, still mildly: “Only, you know, Theo and Blanche and your -mother don’t happen to think—what you’ve just said. They seem to consider -that—well! that the man I was engaged to isn’t—wouldn’t be at all to be -_pitied_!” - -“I know. You needn’t tell me that. You have contrived to make all three -of them ridic—extremely fond of you!” This resentfully, realizing it -as part of my insolence to him. “My mother and the girls don’t see -through it, when you are—are covertly reminding me, in a hundred small -ways, of what I don’t need to be reminded of. _That_ would be all -right, therefore—only——Other people who came to the house might not be -so unsuspecting _They_ might chance to notice that there was something -odd—unusual—unnatural in your attitude to me.” - -“But—but you said any strangeness would be put down to the awkwardness of -a girl so recently engaged?” - -“No one would give _you_ much credit for being ‘awkward!’” Still more -resentfully. “And something might come out. That is why I am obliged to -ask you to be a little more guarded.” - -“‘More guarded,’” I repeated meekly, like a child who is learning by -heart. “Yes. I must. I must try harder to make it seem less ‘unnatural’ -that we two should be engaged.” - -Again the look, instantly banished, that meant he pined to shake me. - -“Thank you,” he said. - -“And by the ‘other people,’ I suppose you mean this other—outspoken Mr. -Waters who is coming over to ‘inspect’ me? Do you think—are you afraid -that _he_ will be sorry for the man who is supposed to be engaged to me?” - -Under his breath Mr. William Waters muttered what _sounded_, at least, -like the one word, “IMP!” - -I heard him. - -Perhaps it was only the first syllable of the word “Impertinence!” - -At all events, I heard that distinctly. And though it meant I _had_ -scored another point and made His Imperturbability forget himself yet -again, I couldn’t enjoy the triumph of it, nor even laugh to myself. -There had been too much of all this.... I was suddenly tired. Tears, of -fatigue, I suppose, rushed unexpectedly into my eyes, and I was obliged -to turn my head and glare over the hedge at a may-tree in full bloom -that became a dancing blur of pink. - -_He_ was pretending that he hadn’t begun to speak at all. He began again, -stiffly: - -“My uncle and another man are coming over to-night. This uncle of mine is -eccentric in some ways, but extremely shrewd; and no—er—two-edged sort of -remark would be lost on him.” - -“I see,” I said, blinking angrily at the next may-tree, but still -controlling my voice. “I had better not make _any_ sort of remark at all -then, before him. I could be too shy to open my lips. In fact, just as I -am—used to be, at the office. Would that be better?” - -“Distinctly better than—er—recent methods,” said the Governor dryly. -“This other man is merely a business acquaintance with whom I hope to -have dealings. So——” - -“You want him to be favourably impressed,” I concluded intelligently, -“with your _fiancée_ and all your other belongings.” - -“If you choose to put it so. But——” - -A pause. - -“Above all,” said the Governor, “I don’t, on this particular occasion, -don’t want to be made to look a _fool_!” - -It came out quite boyishly and slangily, and for a moment I could almost -have liked Still Waters for that. Then—yes! I thought, savagely, he -mustn’t be allowed to look a fool even for once, but I may go on looking -a fool and worse, for the next year! And then I saw that he was inwardly -rating himself for having, as he considered, played into the enemy’s -hands—having allowed me to see exactly when and where I could get the -better of him next. - -He didn’t trust me. - -“I will do my best,” I said, softly and bitterly. Let him suppose, if he -chose, that I meant doing my best to let him look a fool before his uncle -and his pompous fine business acquaintance, indeed. What would he amount -to, I wondered, this acquaintance of the Governor’s for whom I, Monica -Trant, was to be on my best behaviour? Probably someone Father wouldn’t -have had in the house! - -We reached the turning to the station and I stopped. - -“Was there anything else that you wished to speak to me about?” - -“No, thank you,” said my employer at his curtest. “That was all. -Good-morning!” - -He lifted his hat; his face beneath it was set with temper. Good! Let him -vent it on Mr. Dundonald at the office! - -“Good-morning,” I said, and turned away. I was glad that there had been -no one in the lane to see that parting; to anyone who had watched, -knowing who that tall, blonde, savage-looking man was who had said -good-morning so frigidly to that small girl with her head held in a very -straight line with her back, it would have looked so ludicrously like the -last thing in the world that it really was—a lover’s quarrel! - -How furiously he had marched off! I turned round, after walking on a few -yards, to catch another glimpse of that stampede. - -Then I was sorry. - -For at that very moment he had elected to turn round and see me! - -It just shows that people are quite right to teach children _never_ to -turn round on the road. - -I wish I hadn’t! - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -“THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS” - - -“Nancy! I say, Nancy! Here’s Billy and this new man of his turned up -_hours_ before we expected them, and mother’s out calling somewhere, -and Blanche is in the middle of washing her hair, and just look at the -awful rip I’ve made in my frock; _I_ can’t come!” announced Theo in a -voice subdued almost to a stage whisper when I met her on the stairs this -afternoon. “So _you_ be a saint and go in and talk pretty to the visitor -till tea, will you?” - -“All right,” I laughed; and passed on to the drawing-room. - -It was cool and dim in there after the sunshine of the garden, where I -had been lazing over a book and forgetting this morning’s stress, and for -a moment my eyes could scarcely make out the two figures that stood with -their backs to the white-curtained French windows. - -Then, beside the Governor’s tall bulk, I saw a small, dapper, masculine -silhouette with a rather too abrupt “pinch-in” at the waist of its coat, -and a perky, quick turn of the head; the general effect of Mr. Cyril -Maude in some military part that I had once seen. Was it this that seemed -so familiar, I wondered? - -A monocle fell with a click against a waistcoat-button; then, as I came -forward, a voice, also vaguely familiar, cried in amazement: - -“Monica Trant! Little Monica! Well, _I_ am blessed!” - -Who in the world was this that knew my name? I looked harder at him. -Surely it—Was it?—yes! it _was_ one of father’s old friends, Major -Montresor. So _this_ was my employer’s “business acquaintance.” I -felt myself trying not to stare. The Governor, I know, was staring -undisguisedly at the pair of us. - -“Why, bless my soul, Monica! Who’d have expected to see _you_ coming in -like this?” - -“Or you, Major Montresor?” I retorted, obliged to smile at him as I held -out my hand to his always tenacious clasp. - -To be frank, I can’t say I was at all pleased that the Governor’s visitor -had turned out to be someone who’d seen me so often in the old days. -I don’t want those days to be mixed up with these. Already a ghost or -so out of those days had seemed inclined to come and haunt the lovely -garden and the big, comfortable rooms at The Lawn! And now I seemed to -see a regular Richard-the-Third-like procession of those ghosts rising -up behind the little Major’s trimly-waisted figure—people with whom -I’d associated last time he’d seen me—standing in judgment, echoing -his “Who’d have expected to see _you_?”—adding their phantom stares to -those of the two men whose eyes were actually upon me. It was tiresome; -might mean all sorts of adaptations; even the assumption of a “Manner C” -for the benefit of Major Montresor! As for him, he’s a rather amusing, -tactless, talkative, would-be-man-of-the-world sort of person, who’d been -quite ready to get up what Kipling calls the “You’re-only-a-little-girl -type of flirtation” with me when I was seventeen or so. I hadn’t met him -since, nor had I wanted to; though I had been distinctly interested, five -years ago, to find that someone who possessed medals and a moustache -cared to talk to me while I was still in the school-room. He’d got to -look ever so much older since then, balder, stiffer of movement in his -slim boots and his stays—I beg his pardon, I expect he called it his -belt—and, apparently, more flirtatious than ever! - -Now, any _woman_ over thirty-five has to be fairly attractive before -she’s allowed to flirt on without fear of ridicule. But a _man_ at fifty, -or fifty-five, seems to claim the right to monopolize the prettiest and -youngest girl he meets. It doesn’t matter if he hasn’t a hair on his -head or a tooth of his own in it. As long as he’s single and wears -trousers, he’s an eligible bachelor—or so he thinks. A mercy he doesn’t -hear the ideas of the favoured girl on this subject! - -So, quite unsuspectingly, Major Montresor beamed upon me, and declared -at least three times that this was a most _delightful_ surprise, upon -his word!—seeming almost to forget his host, who stood a little aside, -looking utterly disconcerted, as far as I could see without turning my -eyes, to discover that this “business acquaintance” knew his official -_fiancée_ better than her employer ever could! - -Christian names, too! - -“Monica—Bless my soul, what’s this?” - -“This” was an interruption that precipitated itself through the unlatched -French window; a small white dog that bore in his mouth a large bone, -noisome-smelling and of the earth, earthy, which he dumped upon the -Major’s japanned boot. - -“_Cariad!_” growled the Governor, more angrily than I’d ever heard him -speak except to me, “what do you _mean_? Here, sir.” He grabbed him by -the collar, kicking the bone violently over the shallow sill in front -of him. “Sorry, I shall have to get the little brute locked up.” And he -dragged the cheerfully resigned Cariad out and along the gravel to the -back of the house. - -“Decent sort of young fellow, Waters; very clever business-man; useful to -know; quite a nice chap, too,” commented the little Major, lowering his -voice as he turned to me. “But, my dear child”—he always used the word -“child” to excuse his gesture while he patted my shoulder, or smoothed my -lace collar, or played with my silver chain—“my child, how _did_ you come -to be here?” - -“I am staying with Mrs. Waters”—demurely. - -“Well, well! So you knew them! Your poor father didn’t, did he? You were -at school with the girls of the house, perhaps?” - -“No. I met Mr. Waters”—still more demurely—“in business.” - -“Business? Upon my word! Glad you’ve got such a business-adviser. Glad -you’re in the position to need one, Monica. I heard rumours of your -poor father having left you not very well off. Odd how these untrue -bits of gossip get about!”—with an experienced eye upon the expensive -new afternoon frock of my preferred pink, with its creamy ruffle, black -velvet bow, and small paste buckle. “You look the picture of prosperity -and health and good looks, if you’ll allow an old friend to say so?” - -Well, one simply _has_ to “allow” things to people who call themselves -“old.” But for that, how many “old friends” would have received the -order of “Paws off!” or “No patting, please,” or a more politely -expressed equivalent from the girls who can’t be rude to their father’s -contemporaries? - -I was only just about to draw my hand away from another long and tender -squeeze of Major Montresor’s, when his host came back to us. Through the -French window, as the Governor pushed it open, a ray of sunlight caught -and blazed on the magnificent diamonds of the ring which had been bought -at Gemmer’s for me to wear. - -Instantly Major Montresor pounced on that other hand. - -“Hal-lo! What’s this? It isn’t——?” - -“Yes,” said I, sedately. - -“Little Monica engaged?” - -“Yes.” - -“Come, not really, what? No! You don’t say so, really?” - -“I am afraid I must, Major Montresor.” - -“By—Jove! And I never heard! Here’s a blow!” He sighed tempestuously. -“Well! Youth will be served! Fortunate youth!” he prattled on without a -break. “I’m sure he’s to be congratulated, the dog. Always hanging round -you in the old days, I remember. Yes! Cultured sort of young Johnny with -a beard—what was his name, now? Ah, I have it—Vandeleur, of course, young -Sydney Vandeleur!” - -Pleasant for me, wasn’t it? To have this voice from the Past blurting -out—less tactful even than Cicely!—the name of the lover I had lost. In -a flash I saw my employer’s slight movement—saw by the passing look on -his face that his “business-man’s memory,” which never forgets a name, -had instantly associated that of “Vandeleur” with those people at the -Carlton to whom I’d first introduced my “_fiancé_.” What must he imagine? -Still, that wasn’t the point. The point was that he should explain to -this gossiping little Major, as quickly as possible, how things really—I -mean officially, stood! To my horror he didn’t speak. There was an -agonizing pause. I shot a glance at the Governor.... Heavens! He, of all -people, seemed utterly at a loss—fidgeting like a schoolboy; he who could -“break the news” to his staff at the office without turning a hair, was -leaving it all, here, apparently to _me_! - -Well! - -Hurriedly I was beginning: - -“But, Major Montresor——” when the drawing-room door opened to the -entrance of Mrs. Waters, in her soft grey satin wrap and black picture -hat; Cariad, liberated and tail-wagging, in her wake. - -Greetings were exchanged—what talk followed I scarcely heard, until the -gentle voice of the Governor’s mother exclaimed: - -“Oh! Then you had met my son’s _fiancée_?” - -“_Fiancée?_” echoed Major Montresor. His monocle dropped again, so did -his jaw. I never saw a man so utterly, so comically taken aback. He -wheeled abruptly, to stare from me to the Governor, then back to his -hostess again. “Your son’s? Am I to understand that it is _he_ who is -engaged to Miss Trant?” - -Here at last the Governor did find his tongue. - -“I have that honour,” he said, clearing his throat, taking a step -forward, and looking down at the little Major just as some tawny Great -Dane might have looked at Cariad—but no! No big dog can ever look as -utterly silly—there’s no other word for it—as a man who doesn’t know what -to say next. And he who had, it appeared, particularly wished to avoid -being made to look a fool on this occasion—Well! He must admit that it -was none of _my_ doing that he stood there looking like that! - -“Well, well, well! I suppose I shall have to grin and bear it and -congratulate you, Waters,” rattled off Major Montresor. “I certainly _do_ -congratulate you!” - -“Doesn’t feel _sorry_ for you,” I added mentally, hoping the unspoken -comment showed in the one glance I allowed myself to steal at my employer -as I crossed over to sit on the low chintz couch beside his mother, while -the visitor talked on. - -“Still, you might have prepared me for this, my dear fellow. You might -have given your heart-broken rival some warning. Let me down a bit -gently, eh? about how you were robbing me of the one girl I’d hoped might -solace my declining years. Met Miss Trant, Mrs. Waters? Bless my life, -rather! Used to billet myself for months at Colonel Trant’s house in -the old days—ripping old place it was, too; gorgeous beech avenue; lawn -something like your own here, but sweeping away down to the river—oh, -ripping! What’s become of the place now, Miss Monica; let, I suppose?” - -“Sold,” I said, shortly. - -Without looking up from the patch of carpet on which Missis’s little -dog slumbered with his muzzle resting against my shoe, I could feel the -change that came into my employer’s grey glance—the half-disconcerted -“M’m. News to _me_, all this!” expression that just flicked across his -face. His mother’s hand made a little movement towards mine—and for some -reason I felt that she was a little sorry.... I was furious! Why on earth -couldn’t this little he-gossip—though why they should understand by the -word “gossip” an old woman, I never _shall_ know—why couldn’t he allow -these people to go on thinking that the typist her employer had chosen -to honour had never been before inside any sort of house but one of a -row of seventy or eighty, all with the same sort of pot-plants hiding -what lay beyond the Nottingham lace curtained windows, with the same -neat front door, and the same metaphorical wolf crouched grimly in front -of it! Desperately I wished that something might suddenly deprive Major -Montresor of the power of speech, only I suppose nothing ever could do -_that_! - -Evidently he wasn’t going to spare me anything. I was to stand full in -the limelight of other days. - -“Hope the new tenants will keep it up as they should, then, that’s -all”—genially. “They took on the fishing with it, I suppose? ‘Everything -went together.’ What? I see. Hope they’ll take as much pride as your poor -father did in those magnificent hot-houses of his. Ah, I’ve never tasted -peaches like those, anywhere else! Remember how you used to race me down -to get the finest peach before breakfast, Monica? Yes, hang it all, I -think I shall have to ask your leave to go on calling her that, Waters. -Loved her from childhood’s hour, y’see. Her childhood’s, not mine, of -course!” - -“Oh,” murmured the Governor. - -Miss Robinson would have been kept in high spirits for the next week by -that “Oh.” - -It didn’t amuse _me_ much as I sat there, carrying out to the letter -my promise to say nothing and look shy. I was feeling at least as -embarrassed as I looked by the time tea was brought in and the girls made -their appearance; Blanche with her fair hair unmanageably soft from its -washing; Theo, as usual, all eyes for the visitor. I hoped they might -distract his attention from me—they’re quite young enough!—but no! All -the time he was sipping his tea and munching slice after slice of cake, -the little Major continued to pour out comment after embarrassing comment -upon my affairs, addressing himself chiefly now to the Governor. - -_He_ sat looking still more hopelessly uncomfortable and bigger -than ever in contrast to the frail china tea-cup and the slice of -wafer-like bread-and-butter in his clutch. Why do people allow men in at -drawing-room teas? Why couldn’t those two have been having theirs in the -billiard-room—the garage—_anywhere_—where I could have been saved from -Major Montresor’s relentless flow of conversation? - -“And to think I should have known you all these months without suspecting -that your gain was to be my loss—no, no, I don’t mean the business part -of it, my boy. I mean this engagement of yours, ha, ha! And then—funny -thing! to be congratulating the wrong man.” - -“Oh, _were_ you?” burst suddenly, irrepressibly, from Theo, unable to -check the following “Who?” - -“Theo-_dora_, dear!” - -“Ah, never mind, never mind!” took up the little Major, turning quickly -to the child and smiling from her to me. “I don’t tell tales out of -school, young lady. But brown eyes”—with another monocled glance at those -wide search-lights under the yellow curls—“brown eyes always stand for -fickleness! There must have been a dozen at least of us that you treated -disgracefully, Monica, eh? One comfort is I’m not the _only_ sufferer!” - -He was not! - -My heart sank lower and lower at the thought that this garrulous little -blunderer was to stay for dinner. And the other expected guest, the -outspoken uncle, was to be here for the whole week-end! What would -_he_ be like? Not worse than Major Montresor—that was the single ray -of comfort. Nothing _could_ be worse! Still, the two together—what a -prospect! - -Even as I was shuddering over it, the sound of some confused commotion -was borne in to us from the hall; and then a loud, bluff, breezy voice -positively shouted: - -“Name? My good woman, you’re pretty new to this house, or you’d know -my name. Same as your master’s. No! Don’t announce me. I’ll announce -myself.” (As if this were necessary!) “Where are they all? Tea? Good! -Young lady there too? Excellent!” - -The door, this time, burst open, and in _avalanched_ (it’s the only word) -Uncle Albert Waters. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -THE ORDEAL BY INSPECTION - - -In looks, Uncle Albert Waters was just like the John Bull of the -cartoons, minus the hat. In voice, he was Theo through a megaphone. In -manner, a genial form of hurricane. - -“Now then, now then! How’s everybody?” he blared. “Mary! Blanche! Theo!” -(An explosive kiss to each.) “Ha! Billy, my boy!” (A violent blow on the -shoulder.) “Major Montresor, glad to see you again—how are you? Still -defying the enemy? Splendid!” (A pump-handle shake of the hand.) “Now, -Billy!” turning again to my employer. “You needn’t introduce _me_ to your -sweetheart. She knows who I am, and what I’ve come for. What I want is to -have a good look at _her_. Young lady,” to me, “will you be kind enough -to oblige an old man whose eyesight’s not quite what it was, by turning -full to the light?” - -I did. What else could I do? - -I sat, facing the low flood of late afternoon sunshine, and feeling -without seeing that all the others turned a little away from me, while -Uncle Albert fixed his prominent, honest grey eyes upon my face and -stared at it without reserve for—well! it seemed several of the longest -minutes I’d ever known. Then judgment was pronounced. - -“Well done, Billy!” Here there would have been another of those heavy -blows upon the Governor’s broad shoulder, but he had edged away. “You’ve -chosen well, boy. A bonnie girl, and a well-bred one, and one to do you -credit. Now, Mary, I’m ready for that tea. And, you, my dear”—meaning -me—“pass me the bread and butter. What’s your name, now?” - -“My full name is Monica,” I said for the benefit of Major Montresor who -had fixed the monocle with something like mild indignation upon the last -comer. “They call me Nancy, here.” - -“Nancy. A pretty name for a pretty girl, appropriate, too. ‘_All my fancy -dwells upon Nancy_’—eh, William? You used to sing that song once upon a -time, dare say you haven’t forgotten it, now?” - -And so on, and so forth. I really don’t know how much more of it there -was before the dreadful old man had finished his ample tea and was -carried off to his room by the Governor in much the same humour, I -thought, as he had dragged Cariad and his bone to the back of the house. - -A pity Uncle Albert Waters couldn’t be locked up in the tool-house! - -I felt like murder when I reached my pretty room at last. What a day it -had been! It had seemed forty-eight hours long at least. Beginning with -that horrible walk to the station with the Governor—Then there had been -the unwelcome appearance of Major Montresor and his clumsy blunderings, -first about Sydney and secondly about the old times at home—and now this -terrible old Uncle turning up to inspect and blare out his embarrassing -verdict upon my looks and suitability; oh, it’s the last straw! - -It’s the worst that’s happened yet! There _can_ be nothing to beat the -Governor’s Uncle at tea, even though the evening isn’t yet over. I feel -as if it were long past bed-time, and there’s only half an hour or so -before dressing for dinner! Even half an hour alone—— - -But I haven’t been allowed a minute of it alone. - -The girls fluttered into my room almost as soon as I came up; brimful of -sympathy, but not sympathetic enough to keep themselves from laughter. - -“Poor dear Nancy! Wasn’t it awful?” - -“Didn’t I tell you Uncle Albert was a terror? But you don’t think he -really _talks_ like me, Nancy, do you? Billy _will_ say he _does_!” - -“Theo! He can _easily_ hear you from his room, and the window’s open. Oh, -I do hope that when I’m engaged my young man won’t have _quite_ such loud -relations!” - -“Better than having deceitful whispery voices and saying horrid things -in them about you behind your back,” retorted Theo. “And anyhow, Uncle -Albert did _like_ her!” - -“Yes,” said Blanche, deprecatingly, “but isn’t it nearly as terrible as -if he disapproved?” - -“It’s _worse_,” I decided to myself as I dressed for dinner, in my white, -to please Theo, who apparently has some mysterious child’s reason for -wanting me to wear that particular frock to-night. “Even if one were -madly in love, a relation like that would be quite enough to make one -wonder if it were worth it! Yes! Even if one were _really_ engaged to be -married to a man—the man Mr. Waters would ‘pity,’ one would break it off -rather than put up with such an uncle-in-law. Well! Thank goodness I’m -spared _that_ at all events! I hope Uncle Albert won’t pay many of his -visits of inspection during the next year. One or two ought to be enough -for him, and I’ve taken the plunge now,” thought I, “and got it over. He -can’t go on being much more awful at dinner!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THEO SITS UP - - -Yes! It was all of a piece with the fiascoes of the day that my little -watch gained ten minutes, hurrying me through my dressing and down, -before I’d any need for such haste, into the drawing-room. - -Here, big and black-and-white against the giant pink roses of the chintz -couch, I found (as I needn’t have hoped not to find, on this day of -_contretemps_!) my employer alone. - -He sprang to his feet, of course, and wheeled forward a chair for -me (looking as if he wished he could have pushed it and me through -the French windows and out of the house for ever!—Goodness knows I -reciprocated that wish!) and I sat down. - -Then ensued what I’m beginning to call to myself “one of our pauses.” - -But I felt that this evening my nerves wouldn’t stand silence—that -nothing could float me over these quicksands of awkwardness but an -unceasing ripple of small-talk. If _he_ wouldn’t, I must say something; -anything! The first thing that came into my head! - -“H—how close it is! Do you think there will be thunder to-night?” - -There was suppressed thunder enough on his face as he answered politely: -“It is getting rather stifling. Perhaps you would like the window open?” -and he rose and walked across to it. - -Then, from under the chintz valance of the couch where he’d been sitting, -there emerged at small and cringing form with an enormous white satin bow -tied to his collar. - -“Poor Cariad!” I went on, patting the unusually subdued little dog, “you -_have_ got a smart new tie! Don’t you like it?” - -A one-sided conversation didn’t meet the case, so the “dumb animal” (as -they call it) gave me the cue for my next remark to the almost equally -dumb human being. - -“I’ve always wanted to know where he got his rather curious name,” I -said. “What _does_ it mean?” - -“It’s Welsh,” explained my employer abruptly, still standing by the open -window. “It means ‘Sweetheart’”—if you must know, his tone concluded. - -“Oh.... Is he a Welsh terrier?” - -“We got him from Wales. From a little place in Anglesey where my people -sometimes go for the summer holidays,” my employer vouchsafed, with an -effort. “Porth Cariad the name of it is—‘Port Sweetheart.’” - -“Fancy calling a _place_ that!” I took up, with the one idea of keeping -this conversation from coming to a dead stop. “But some people call -_anything_ that!” (I was wondering inwardly what this last remark could -possibly mean even as I went on.) “Is it by the sea?” - -“Er—I think so.” - -“Oh, yes; ports generally are, of course.... Is it—is it a _pretty_ place -at all?” - -“Quite. It hasn’t been spoilt yet. Charming little bay. The usual sort of -thing.” (Pause.) - -“Yes—? _Do_ tell me about it!” - -“Oh! I don’t know—There are about two cottages. No end of gorse—heather.” - -“How lovely!” Then, scenting another pause, I hurried on—“Isn’t there -anything _else_ there?” - -“Well—There’s a sort of woman.” - -“A woman? Really? How interesting! What sort of a woman?” - -“Oh, a _wooden_ one,” returned the Governor, who was too obviously -thinking about something else. A wooden woman! What _could_ he mean -by it? But before I could begin my next question the door opened; the -Governor turned quickly, then, seeing who came in, he exclaimed in -accents of concentrated disgust: - -“Theo! Isn’t it time you were in bed?” - -“No! Because I’m not going! I’m going to sit up for dinner, just for this -once!” announced the child, triumphantly advancing upon us in a Prize-Day -“effect” of let-down white skirts and long, cream-silk-stockinged legs. -“I asked Mother, and that nice old man” (Poor Major Montresor!) “begged -her to let me, and I may! So there! Nancy, _don’t_ you like the way I’ve -done my hair for it?” - -She had tied a fillet of white satin—a bit of the same ribbon which was -disconcerting Cariad—about her short curls. - -“What’s that for? To keep your brains from bursting through?” demanded -her brother crossly. But Theodora only tossed that yellow posy of a head -of hers, retorting that Major Montresor thought she was sixteen, and was -going to sit next her, and that there would be a _surprise_ at dinner! - - * * * * * - -The surprise—or the series of surprises—didn’t dawn upon me in its full -hideousness all at once. - -In the dim-shaded dining-room, where the tall maids flitted noiselessly -to and from the hatch at one end, the round table about which the -seven of us sat down seemed, with its many candles in the curving arms -of Sheffield candlesticks, its gleaming white porcelain, and its -winking, patterned array of silver and cut glass, like some great oasis -of softly-radiant light. Upon it, as table-centre, there was set the -silver-bordered pool of an oval mirror, reflecting a large silver goblet, -round which I could read part of the inscription: - - 1896 - FIFTY YARDS SWIM—— - SECS. 6—— - W. WAT—— - -that upheld a pyramid of creamy, perfumed blossom, softened with sprays -of feathery white. Budding spikes of the same blossom were massed about -the pedestals of four little winged Loves, offering baskets that held -tiny bouquets of the white sprays, mingled with chocolates wrapped up -in silver-foil. Gradually but surely I realized the effect of all this -decoration; it was indescribably, unmistakably, blatantly—_bridal_! - -And then I realized who was responsible for it. That gift of Heaven, -Theodora, was beaming upon her handiwork. - -It must have been her innocent hands, too, that had tied up each -table-napkin with a white bow and a spray of buds; had cut silver-paper -out of a chocolate-box into the miniature horseshoes that lay strewn -negligently but broadcast all over the tablecloth; and had encircled the -place where I sat with a wreath of crystallized rose-leaves in the shape -of a heart. - -With one frantic sweep of my hand I brushed these last into the -table-napkin on my lap. I must pretend I’d noticed nothing, and then -(though I knew that thunder-cloud was deepening every moment on the -Governor’s brow) perhaps the others really _wouldn’t_ notice! - -Vain hope! - -It was dashed even before the two usually so sedate maids, who seemed, -this evening, to emanate some subtle atmosphere of sympathy and giggle, -had finished handing round the soup. - -“Dear me! Who arranged the flowers like this?” murmured Mrs. Waters, with -a mildly bewildered glance at this white-and-silver display. “I thought -Blanche was going to have just the little crystal tubs with the pink -Maman Cochets and some maidenhair fern?” - -“Yes, Mumsie, I was. But Theo _would_ put white heather and syringa!” - -“Because—Oh, can’t you see _why?_” broke in the cornet voice of the -youngest of the family, who sat between me and the Major. - -And before anyone could answer or check her, this appalling child went on -to give chapter and verse for each of her enormities. - -“It’s because, you see, syringa’s so awfully like orange-blossoms!—They -call it ‘mock orange!’ And I meant it for Billy and Nancy!” - -She paused for breath (so did everybody else), then she hurried on. - -“Yes! I did the table, because I wanted it to be appropriate! So I took -away those everyday bon-bon dishes and fetched out these little china -Cupids to hold the choc’lates instead! _Aren’t_ they ducky?” - -No one responded, but every eye was upon Theo, who took it all for -approval and beamed again, enlarging upon her arrangements. - -“And that’s why I got Nancy to put on her white satin”— - -(_Ah!_) - -—“with those lace lilies round her front, so’s she could look more like a -_bride_!” - -(What I did look like at that moment I don’t know. But the Governor -couldn’t have looked more like the executioner in a cloak-and-dagger film -drama.) - -“And _do_ you see the confetti, of those teeny silver horseshoes, and the -pink rose-leaves strewn over—Oh, Nancy!”—reproachfully—“_Look_ what’s -happened to the Heart! And that was supposed to be Billy’s!” - -Here I saw the mouth of Uncle Albert, who was sitting facing me at Mrs. -Waters’ right hand, open in readiness for that approving bellow of his. -“Never mind, I’ll make another. I _wanted_ to do it all like this the -first evening she came down,” explained Theo further. “Only, of course, -we weren’t quite sure then whether she’d like it—” - -(_Like_ it!) - -—“but it _was_ all my idea!” - -_Then_ came the bellow of laughter, and—“A jolly good idea too, Kiddie!” -from the other of my employer’s “loud relations,” his odious uncle. “Very -pretty, Theo!” - -“Yes, I thought it would be rather sweet! Doesn’t _Billy_?” said the -child, with a half-defiant look towards the Head of the House, who -looked—there is no denying it—as if he were longing to kick someone. -He _did_ kick—a smothered yelp from under the table told me what. He -had vented some of his feelings upon the little dog whose name meant -“Sweetheart” in Welsh—who came from that port—one of those by the sea! -where there are two cottages and a wooden woman—whatever that meant! The -taller of the parlour-maids, handing lobster _soufflé_ to her master, -wasn’t wooden enough, nor quick enough in repressing her smile. - -A glare of reproof was her portion as he refused the dish, and a -peremptory, “Move that—er—thing. It’s in the way!” with a jerk towards -the silver pot that held the spraying conservatory plant. - -“_Oh_, what a shame!” protested Theo loudly, as this emblem was borne -away. “And I’d specially _put_ it so that it _shouldn’t_ be in his way -when he wanted to look at Nancy!” - -“‘_Comes there much more of it?_’” I quoted to myself, but I caught -Major Montresor’s eye; he was looking puzzled, almost sorry for me! And -that nerved me up to laughing (I flatter myself, quite naturally!) as I -murmured to Theo that she was a sentimental little goose! - -“Sentimental? A good thing if she is!” took up Theo’s irrepressible -uncle. “I like it. In these highly-educated days it’s a good sign! Yes, -I like to see the young folks still taking an interest in watching a -real Romance, instead of stuffing up their heads with nothing but mixed -hockey and hunger-strikes and rubbish of that sort! That never brought a -girl a sweetheart yet, _did_ it, Mary? _Does_ it, Nancy? And that’s all a -girl’s there for, when you get down to bedrock. I may be a bit behind the -times——” - -As he was the only person talking at the table, he was considerably -“behind” with his dinner. Unheeding, he discoursed on all through the -_entrée_ and the saddle of mutton. - -“Yes! I may be hackneyed and old-fashioned, but that’s what I feel. What -do you say, Major?” - -What chance had the Major of saying anything? The whole conversation had -been pretty equally divided between the two _enfants terribles_—the girl -of thirteen and the man of sixty. - -“Plenty of Romance in our young days! All over for us now! Still, we -enjoy seeing the rising generation keep it up! Good luck to ’em. White -heather for luck, eh? Yes, yes! Must have one of those little sprigs in -my button-hole—memento of a very happy occasion!—Bless my soul, everybody -finished except me? I talk too much, ha-ha!—must get on.” - -He went on eating very quickly, talking between mouthfuls. - -“‘Mock-orange,’ eh? Capital! Hope it won’t be long before we all see -_real_ orange-blossom, a wreath of it, round the pretty head of a certain -young lady in white! Yes! dash it all, Mary, I must drink that in -champagne.” - -He took champagne. - -So did I. I felt I was going to need it! - -Mrs. Waters let it foam and sizzle into her glass; Blanche, though -murmuring that the horrid stuff always reminded her of seltzer-water -that the knives had been washed in, sipped at it for the sake of -the “occasion.” Major Montresor took it—reverting afterwards to his -invariable whisky and soda. - -The only “grown-up” who didn’t take it was my employer. Still Waters -refused his usual peg and drank plain water. - -Every now and then he seemed to be making spasmodic efforts to remember -that he had guests under his roof; but they weren’t successful! This -added to my discomfort! I saw his mother glance at him, but only once, -and with a half-humorous little smile! Didn’t she _mind_ the fact of -the host remaining well over the verge of unmitigated sulks? Apparently -not! Possibly she’s seen him in his tantrums before now—even though she -didn’t know the reason of these! I was feeling almost thankful that one -of the guests was such a host in himself; thankful, up to a point, for -Theo’s gusto! For the child who was “sitting-up” grew more excited as -each course was handed round. With her rose-flushed cheeks, her tossed -curls from which the white fillet had slipped crookedly down over one -eyebrow, her roving brown gaze, and her giggling spirits that raced -higher and higher with the bubbles in the glasses (of the others), she -was the model of an infant Bacchante. “Sitting-up!” It was her wretched -brother whom she was causing to sit up, and his still more wretched -official _fiancée_! The only thing to do was for both of us to rise to -the situation. Only he wouldn’t—or couldn’t. So, once more _I_ had to. - -There is after all a certain relief in feeling you’ve reached the climax -of all things, and that Fate _cannot_ have anything worse in store! - -And this I _did_ feel when Uncle Albert, having tossed off his toast, -expressed a wish to know what sort of place the young folks fancied for -their honeymoon. - -“Oh, the Riviera!” was what I rushed into the breach with here. “It -would be so glorious to see palms and flowering oleanders, and casinos, -and scent all growing wild!—I mean the Parma violets for it—against a -brilliant blue sea—such a treat to see a really bright blue bay and -golden sunshine in the middle of winter——” - -“Winter?” put in Uncle Albert quite indignantly. “But my dear, we’re well -on into June now; you aren’t going to keep this poor Billy of yours”—with -a wave of the hand towards the head of the table—“waiting for his wedding -till November or December, _surely_?” - -“Oh—er—why not?—we thought so.” - -“We thought—that is, Miss—er—_she_ said,” blurted out the Governor -desperately, “that a year’s engagement was——” - -“Far too long, my boy!” interrupted his uncle peremptorily, “far too -long! Don’t you give in to her about that! Why wait, Billy? What the -dickens is there to wait _for_? (What’s this—ice? No, thanks.) Why, when -I was a fine young fellow of your age, if I’d got a bonnie girl like that -to look kindly at me, and enough money to keep her in style, I’d not have -rested until I’d clapped a plain gold ring on the top of those diamonds -on her finger. Nothing like settling down happily as soon as you’ve got -the chance. Like that picture—what is it—oh, you know! Finest picture -that ever was painted, I consider—in the Royal Academy years ago—prints -of it in every shop-window—what’s the name of the thing?” - -“‘_My friend Mr. White_’?” suggested the Major. - -“No, no; _what_ the dickens is it? A really beautiful thing, now, if I -could only remember——” - -“‘_Hope_,’ by G. F. Watts?” put in the Governor’s mother softly. - -“No!” - -“‘_Harmony_’?” suggested Blanche. - -“‘_Simple Aveu_’—no—‘_The Soul’s Awakening_,’ Uncle Albert?” fortissimo -from Theo. - -“No—none o’ those. You all know it, though. I shall think of the name in -a minute. Anyhow, I shall give these two young people the best print to -be got of it, to hang up in their hall.” - -And his prominent grey eyes seemed to be staring over my head at some -imaginary plan of this entrance! - -“Only, they must hurry up, mind! No more of this nonsense about their -waiting a twelve-month and courting all the love away! Happy’s the -wooing that’s not long a-doing: isn’t that right, Major?” - -“Quite, quite!” Major Montresor got his word in edge-ways at last. “To my -sorrow” (old humbug!) “be it spoken! You see, Waters, the longer you play -your fish, the more likely he—that is, _she_—is to get away! You’ve got -to put on all the strain your tackle will bear at _once_!” - -“Hear that, Bill?” (The Governor was looking as if _he_ would not be able -to stand much more strain of this kind.) “Put it all on at once—excellent -advice! And where are you going to have the wedding, Mary? Here, I -daresay?” - -“_I_ had hoped so,” said Mrs. Waters, with her pretty smile at me. - -“Oh, yes; _here_, Uncle Albert!” cried Blanche, who, I know, would regard -this wedding as a dress-rehearsal of her own. And then she and Theo began -to enlarge, in a kind of two-part pæon, on this function that will never -be. - -“A big tent on the lawn——” - -“Red carpet across the gravel——” - -“A _huge_ wedding-cake just in that very place”—with a bacchanalian -gesture towards the mirrored table-centre. “All the lovely presents put -out in the den——” - -“Too small, Blanche! I know Uncle Albert will want to give them _all_ his -furniture.” - -“In mother’s bedroom, then! We could easily get it to look like not that -at all!” - -“Yes, and Billy and Nancy standing up in the drawing-room together for -all the people to look at and shake hands with, and kiss——” - -(Here a sound as of the word “Pup-chick!” from the other parlourmaid, who -was disposing the finger-glasses.) - -“Yes, and showers of confetti dropping out of everybody’s hat for weeks -afterwards——” - -“And the band playing like anything all the time—_all_ the -wedding-marches and glides and rag time and all the waltzes that make you -feel you _must_ dance——” - -“And a white satin slipper tied on to the back of the motor when they go -away——” - -“Yes! One of mine, so’s you can see it! Oh, won’t it be a gorgeous day!” -trumpeted Theo, bounding up and down as if wire springs only held her -to her chair. “Oh, _why_ isn’t it going to be next week? Still, even -this evening is _almost_ as good as a sort of wedding-breakfast! Don’t -you think so, everybody? With Nancy looking so sweet in that dress, and -the way I’ve done the table, and the champagne, and everything? Only, -in one way”—crescendo—“it’s _better_! Because, if it were the _real_ -wedding, the bride and bridegroom would be leaving us to-night! And as it -is, they’re staying on,” concluded Theodora, with a peal of rapturous -laughter, “and there’ll be _no_ horrid good-byes to say, and _no_ crying!” - -“_Won’t_ there!” came from the straight lips of her brother, in a grimmer -and more deadly tone than even I had ever heard. “_You’ll_ be crying, -miss, before the evening’s over.” - -And, to anticipate a little, she _was_. - -In half an hour or so, the easily-wounded heart of thirteen was being -sobbed out on her pillow. For when, after the gratifications of a “quite -grown-up bow” from Major Montresor and a prophecy from Uncle Albert that -it wouldn’t be many years now before Theo had a wedding-breakfast-table -of her own to decorate, the child had turned a glowing face up to her -brother’s, she had received only the curtest of “good nights” dropped -over his shoulder. - - * * * * * - -To me the thought of that farewell glimpse of him was nothing less than a -reprieve. - -“Thank goodness that, as he’s got two men-guests to attend to, it’ll be -the last of him that I shall be obliged to put up with this evening!” -thought I, as I rose to follow Mrs. Waters. “He’ll have to disappear -into the den or the billiard-room with _them_. _I_ shall have an evening -off. Yes! a regular ‘evening off,’ like the maids! Only, I suppose, a -housemaid uses those evenings to _see_ her young man. With me, it’s -just the other way round. ‘No followers allowed’ indeed! ‘Nothing BUT -following’ has been my trouble. So hurray for a nice peaceful evening in -the drawing-room with his mother and Blanche. After that _ghastly_ meal, -how I shall enjoy the rest!” - -Even as I was congratulating myself upon it, my hopes were again dashed -to the ground—this time, of course, by the hand of Uncle Albert. - -“No, no, Billy. The Major and I are too old not to let you have your bit -of time to yourselves now, aren’t we, Montresor?” - -“_Rather!_” with hollow geniality from the Major. - -Apparently it’s one thing for a man to mention his “declining years” and -add about fifteen of them to his age. It’s quite another to find himself -claimed as a contemporary by a man who’s ten years older than he is! - -“We two old fogies can look after ourselves, my boy. We’re not going -to keep you in here, away from your girl. Not a word!—that’s quite all -right—quite understood! Been young ourselves once, though you may not -believe it—off with you!” - -And, to my unspeakable fury, he closed the dining-room door upon what -he’s pleased to call “these young people.” The door of the drawing-room -had already been shut upon Mrs. Waters and Blanche! - -Was there to be _no_ respite, then, after the awful meal I had just sat -through? A nice evening it had been—this dinner which I suppose had been -meant to be so jolly for all of us, as well as for the two guests! Well! -at the end of it all here was Major Montresor piqued; Theo in tears; the -parlour-maids glared at, and Cariad kicked! Even Uncle Albert hadn’t been -able to remember the name of the horrible picture, whatever it was, that -he meant to give “us.” - -And now here was I, left stranded once more face to face with my fuming -employer; only, this time, with the memory of that child’s light-hearted -mockery of stage-management between us! - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE FIRST KISS - - -“Well! I suppose there is nothing for it but to go in here,” I said, -marching, with my head well up, to the door of the den. - -The Governor was only just in time to open it for me. Without a look at -him I walked in, making straight for the piano-stool. - -I sat down. I planted my foot firmly upon the loud pedal. My fingers -clutched at the first chords of a spirited war-song as if it were a -life-buoy. - -“Do sing!” I heard myself fling almost imperiously at my employer. - -He sang—not well. - -“And please keep on singing,” I said, into the last chords of the song. -“_Loud_ ones, please.” - -Without any further conversation, we went doggedly through “_Drake’s -Drum_” and “_The Two Grenadiers_.” - -I simply wasn’t going to let Uncle Albert Waters, left in the dining-room -with Major Montresor, imagine that his nephew and I had gone into the -den to—to make anything but—music for one single instant that evening. -Let them hear for themselves that we were busy at the piano the whole -time! - -They could hear well enough through the wall of the dining-room—— - -No! Apparently they couldn’t hear well enough. For no sooner had we -come to the end of those bars of the “_Marseillaise_” that conclude the -Grenadier song, than the door of the den was thrown open and in walked -those two other men. - -Uncle Albert, of course in advance, pranced up to the piano, thumped his -fist into the open palm of the other hand, leaned over the piano towards -us, then, in a solemn, confidential, impressive tone of voice, he brought -out—one word. It was the word: - -“_Wedded!_” - -“What?” rapped out the Governor, sharply wheeling round. And I couldn’t -help gasping, wondering if this old gentleman had suddenly come under -some hallucination about our being more, even, than merely “engaged.” - -“Yes. ‘Wedded,’” repeated Uncle Albert, raising his voice again to its -normal blare. “You know!—The fellow and the girl! That first-rate picture -by Millais or Holman Hunt or one of ’em. Anyhow, you know it. She’s got -her head resting right back against the young chap’s shoulder, like this”— - -(Unsuccessful imitation of the pose of Leighton’s model by Uncle Albert -against the piano.) - -—“And he’s lifting her hand to his mouth—_you_ know. That’s the one. -That’s the name I was puzzling over half through dinner, and it only just -dawned upon me just as I finished my cigar. I had to come in and tell -you. And, if we’re not _de trop_,” added that appalling old man, settling -down like a big collapsible toy in one of the huge arm-chairs, “we’d like -to hear just one tune in here. ‘If he’s only _singing_,’ as I said to the -Major, ‘he might just as well have company by as not, and I’m fond of a -good song after dinner!’ So now, Billy, what have you got there? D’you -know that A 1 thing—ah, what is it? What a man I am for forgetting names! -Something bandy—not Bandy-legs——” - -“Ha!” Major Montresor, from the other big chair, came to the rescue. -“‘_The Bando-lero_’!” - -“That’s it! Know it, William? ‘I _am_ the Bando-lero!’” vociferated Uncle -Albert, “‘the—something—Bando-lero——’” - -“I know it,” said my employer, with restraint, “but I haven’t got it in -the house!” - -It was my turn to suppress a smile as I remembered how, in my -nursery-days, I’d defined “_a bandolero_” as “_a person with a very loud -voice_,” just as naturally as I used to think that “_a Radical_” meant -“_a dreadfully wicked man_.” It was the very song that I could imagine -Uncle Albert enjoying singing himself. A pity his nephew didn’t happen to -have it in the house! - -“You have this, though,” I suggested helpfully, as I turned to the rack -and took out “_The Storm-Fiend_,” with a look at the Governor meaning, -“Don’t dare to say you loathe this thing!” (It was because he did, by the -way, that the song had been ordered for him in a burst of unsisterliness -by Theo.) - -“Yes! _You_ can look soft nothings at the girl, my boy!” was Uncle -Albert’s interpretation of that glance of the Governor’s as I spoke, “but -she’s got to keep those pretty dark eyes of hers for the music!” - -(—And I wonder the sheet of music didn’t shrivel up under the gaze of the -eyes thus praised!) - -We then proceeded to dash through “_The Storm-Fiend_.” I wondered whether -the Governor found in the loud singing of it as much of a safety-valve as -I found in the playing of the artillery-like accompaniment! - -“Bravo! Very good! Stirring song, that!” Uncle Albert’s bellow swelled -the echoes of the last chord. “Capital song—very well sung. I like that -tune—‘_I chuckle and laugh, ho, ho! I chuckle and laugh, ho, ho!_’” he -persisted (to some tune quite of his own). “‘_The Storm-Fiend is the -Lord—of—Woe!_’ Very good! Still, not very appropriate for to-night, -Billy? Not much Woe about this evening, my dear, eh?” (to me). “Supposing -we have a bit of sentiment now. What was that other song, now? I was -talking about it only at tea-time here—something tally-ho-ish that we -could all join in the chorus of.” - -But here I felt I simply must nip in the bud a request for the one about— - -“_All my Fancy dwells upon Nancy._” - -“Nancy” had had _enough_! - -So I rose, saying gently, “If you will excuse me, I am rather tired”— - -This was no fib! - -—“and I think I will go to bed early. Good night, Mr. Waters,” politely -to that awful Uncle Albert. “Good-bye, Major Montresor; so nice to -have seen you again like this.... Good-night,” with a little nod to my -official _fiancé_. - -“‘_Be the day weary, be the day long_....’” I thought. But we hadn’t -_even yet_ come to the end of it. - -For Uncle Albert Waters had bounded up again from the deep chair like a -large india-rubber ball, with yet another protest to his nephew. - -“What’s that? what’s that? Ah, but that’ll never do. Never!” reverberated -through the den. “You’re never going to let the girl go off like that, -Billy?—Just a word and a nod?” - -Good heavens—what could he mean? - -“Why! She’d never think anything of you again, lad! Never mind two -old has-beens like us. We don’t count, do we, Major? Don’t you -take any notice of us. You kiss your sweetheart good night, like a -sensible youngster!” And before I could escape, before either of us -had fully realized what this terrible, bellowing, stout, red-faced, -eyes-on-stalked, cigar-scented, coarse, _horrid_ old man would take it -into his head to say or do next, he had literally pushed us into each -other’s arms. - -I don’t know whether it was for a minute or for half a second that I was -given over to feeling the true horror of this position; to wondering what -on earth my make-believe _fiancé_ meant me to do about it—what _he_ meant -to do. - -Then he—the Governor—decided the matter for me. - -With the suddenest of movements he ducked swiftly forward and bent, -without further look or word, to kiss me. I was too petrified to draw -back even the fraction of an inch from the touch of his lips; it brushed -by, scarcely stirring on my cheek, to fall almost roughly on the ripple -of dark hair above my ear. - -Then he bolted to the door and held it open for my headlong exit from the -den. - -To the sound of an explosive “_That’s_ more like it!” from Uncle Waters. -“You surely never——” (Slam! from the door) I tore across the hall. I -didn’t pause for any more good nights in the drawing-room. I rushed -upstairs to my bedroom. - -Here I flung myself down into one of the rosy-chintz chairs by the open -window and gasped while I tried to collect my whirling wits. - - * * * * * - -What _had_ happened? What was he—that young man—doing to _allow_ -anything to happen? His “official” _fiancée_? Was this what he meant by -“official”—it wasn’t what _I_ meant, and I would let him know that. I was -furious with him—His uncle’s fault?—Yes! But he ought to have managed so -that _That_ wasn’t thrust upon me like this. - -I _was_ angry! - -Then I couldn’t help laughing a little at the mad incongruity of it. - -Kissed, by Still Waters! - -What could he think I thought of it? What was _he_ thinking about it all -now, downstairs there with those other two horrible men? What was his -Uncle Albert thinking? Chuckling and laughing, ho, ho! I expected.... - -That ghastly moment! - -That ghastly, _ghastly_ moment!... - -Thank goodness that the Governor did at least end it as soon as was -humanly possible. And, after all, that quick gesture of his hardly counts -as a kiss. I’ve seen the love-scenes in private theatricals carried out -just like that by bashful amateurs. A stage-kiss; a sham one; in fact, no -kiss at all. - -Well, that, anyhow, was decent of Still Waters.... - -But _was_ it? Was he thinking of _my_ feelings? I don’t believe he was. - -I believe—at least, a month ago I might have believed—with the rest -of the girls at the office, that that would be his only conception of -kissing a girl. I can’t believe that now—not of a brother of Theo’s and -Blanche’s—not of a son of Mrs. Waters’s! His father, Blanche said, was so -devoted to her ... their boy would have inherited some sort of idea of -the real thing! Besides, a young man who’s already surprised me by being -able to sing like that, and to be keen on dancing, and to win swimming -competitions, and to look, sometimes, quite _human_! Oh, no! - -It was _meant_ for being decent. - -He’d scarcely touched me—except just on the hair. - -Then I felt furious again. - -My hair—my pet vanity—the prettiest thing about me! Once Sydney -Vandeleur begged me for a piece of it to keep—that piece with the -ripple—as if I’d cut it! If I had, it wouldn’t have got kissed.... - -Hateful, clumsy, blundering, or _something_ young man! He _needn’t_ -have kissed me at all! He _could_ have got out of it—in spite of his -detestable old uncle. - -Couldn’t he have seemed to think that I was too shy to let him in public, -and allowed me to slip away? Or couldn’t he have followed me into the -hall and shut the door and _pretended_? - -Or couldn’t he have hatched up some joke on the spur of the moment and -announced cheerfully— - -“Oh, we don’t say our good nights in here, Uncle; outside in the veranda -is where we say good night”—or something like that? - -Easily. - -Then what did he mean by it? - -Was it that this excruciating evening, with its countless trials, had -worn his patience absolutely through, and that he felt he must vent his -fury on something besides Cariad? Was that kiss a kind of “let-fly” at -_me_? - -How frightfully unfair! As if I’d done anything but rush into breaches -and make the best of things for him! Good gracious! I shall tell him -exactly what I think of it all to-morrow! - - * * * * * - -But the evening held one last trial for me before I was able to slip into -that springy snowdrift of a bed and lie tossing, indignantly awake, for -quite an hour after I’d heard the motor puff off, taking Major Montresor -to catch his last train up to town. - -This trial was heralded by a tap at my door. - -Enter Blanche in her _débutante’s_ dinner-gown. - -“How early you’re going to bed, Nancy! We thought you were still with -Billy, but Uncle Albert’s taken him on at billiards—he says he’s playing -worse than anyone he’s ever seen. Is anything the matter, dear?” - -“Oh, no—nothing; why?” - -“You look so flushed—I thought you might have a headache.” - -A headache—ah! valuable antique feminine excuse for everything! -“Yes—perhaps I have, a little.” - -“Poor darling! Everybody _did_ seem to be talking at once at dinner, and -Uncle Albert _is_ such a fog-horn, enough to go through anybody’s head. -Let me brush your hair for you, will you?” - -I had to let her. - -“It’ll be better with all these pins and clips out,” said Blanche, -unfastening and shaking loose. “Goodness, what lots you’ve got! It’s like -yards and yards of black skein-silk. And _how_ lovely and soft.” - -And here, in the looking-glass, I saw the girl’s face, blonde and -clear-featured as her brother’s, pressed for a moment to the ripple of -dark hair above my ear. - -It must have looked something like that just now to those two other men -in the den.... - -Then I saw my own face turn scarlet. - -Blanche Waters saw that too. - -“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, with a little “understanding” smile. “Mustn’t -I?” - -She might just as well have _said_, “Mustn’t anybody except Billy kiss -you just there?” - -—Which did, as my brother Jack would say, put the lid on it! - -Well! to-morrow I am going to put my foot down, very firmly, on anything -more of _this_ sort! - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -THE FIRST HANDSHAKE - - -This morning I was just finishing dressing when I heard a blackbird’s -whistle, two or three times repeated, just outside my window. - -It interrupted my meditations on a rather interesting subject. - -Namely: What was my employer going to say to me to-day about that episode -last night? - -How—in what spirit, in what words, would he make his apology? - -Of course I know that for the offence of having kissed a girl who is -nothing to him there _is_ no apology a man can make. The mere suggestion -of apologizing for that is adding insult to injury. The only possible -excuse is to say: “_I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I couldn’t help -myself_”—allowing an unspoken—“_and I’d do it again if I had the chance_” -to be interpreted by the tone in which it was spoken. - -However, _that_ was quite out of the question here, seeing that there -had been no kiss of that sort in the affair. The offence, however, was -just as inexcusable; more so. To have kissed me on the hair—why, even as -I took up my brushes before the glass this morning I saw the reflection -of another angry wave of scarlet in my face brought there by the memory -which can’t be just brushed away. - -It might not have been so infuriating if it hadn’t been the first time.... - -For I’d never before allowed any man to attempt such a thing. I’ve always -known that one ought to stick to what Lady Mary Wortley-Montague says in -that little poem: - - “He _comes too near_ who _comes to be denied_!” - -I remembered that last night, as I lay awake; remembered quoting it to -Cicely Harradine. She had laughed and turned rather pink—this was after -some dance we’d both been to at the Slade—and had said, “Yes, Tots dear; -that is so sweet—and so awfully true, of course; only—it _was_ in the -eighteenth century, dear, wasn’t it? and isn’t it _rather_ what you call -‘a Counsel of Perfection?’” - -It oughtn’t to be so—it needn’t have been so for me, but now—that’s all -been spoilt—and by _him_! - -What can he say about it? - -“Nothing else for it—my uncle’s doing.”—Yes, but I’ve got all my answers -for _that_ excuse. - -“I was goaded into it by having had such an awful evening; felt I must -do something outrageous.” Yes, but not _that_! I had had an awful evening -too! And _I_ hadn’t wanted to kiss anybody! - -“Hadn’t time to think of anything else.” - -Nonsense! A business man with his wits sharpened by daily interviews with -other sharp-witted people for whose benefit he has to think out, even -while he’s speaking, excuses, schemes, promises, goodness knows what! Oh, -he’d have to say something more convincing than that to me! - -Again I heard the whistle—a monotonous note for a blackbird’s! Then came -a sharp tap at my opened, latticed, wistaria-garlanded casement. A pebble -had been flung up against it. - -This gave me quite a little jump; it brought back old days at home; when -Sydney, staying in the house, had wanted to bring me out for a stroll -before breakfast. - -“Must be Theo,” I said aloud to myself. But something told me it wasn’t. -I looked out. Yes. There on the gravel beneath, in a blue serge suit that -seemed to make his sleek head shine quite golden in the morning sunshine, -stood my employer, looking up. - -Waiting for me to come out? Throwing stones up to catch my attention? Who -taught him that? - -“Good morning,” he said quietly. “Will you come down when you are ready?” - -I nodded as ungraciously as I could, and drew back at once. I was quite -ready, but I stopped dead-still by the wardrobe glass for a long moment, -letting him wait. Then I turned to the door. - -Then I came back again. - -I took the shadiest hat I’ve got out of its drawer and pulled it -down firmly over my hair, stabbing it on with my swastika hatpin, my -hand-wrought silver one that Sydney designed for me, my two mounted -regimental buttons of father’s, and my little pearl-headed one. I daresay -my head did look all bristling with spikes, like the Statue of Liberty’s. -But if I’d had more pins I’d have stuck them _all_ in! And even if I do, -like Blanche and Theo, usually go about hatless in the gardens, I was -going to use all the “cover” I could to meet the Governor’s apology, -whatever it might be. For _now_ he was going to have his work cut out for -him! And whatever he began to say about last night’s brusque, snatched -kiss, I wasn’t going to help him out by one syllable. I could wait. -Let him explain; floundering about for words, probably, as he hasn’t -floundered yet! Feeling most satisfactorily composed myself, I came down -the stairs. One of the maids, in china-blue print, moved aside a dust-pan -for me to pass. - -Then I saw something that ruffled me again. - -In that dust-pan there was a handful of pink, crystallized rose-leaves -and a couple of tiny silver horseshoes—Theodora’s “confetti!” It must -have dropped out of the draping of my skirt as I rushed upstairs—was -there no getting away from last night?—and I know that there was -something more than well-trained civility in that girl’s smiling “Good -morning, Miss Nancy!” - -Why can’t they say “Miss Trant”? Do they consider it isn’t worth while -for so short a time, as they think?—_Hateful_ household! - -I had only just unruffled myself again as I faced the Governor in the -sunshine outside. - -“Come in here, won’t you?” he said, holding open the little white gate -under the rambler arch of the rose-garden. - -It was just then a bouquet of warm, scented colour, shading down from the -deepest damask of the bed of Jeune Amours, through the rosy, straggling -Baroness von Ulks and the faintly-flushed Cuisses des Nymphes to the -dead-white Frau Karl Druschkis—such a rose-garden, such an earthly -paradise for a before-breakfast stroll—_alone_! - -Side by side we paced slowly down to the end of the box-bordered path -between the pink Maman Cochets (another echo of last night!) before -another word was said. - -Then he began. “I wanted to have this opportunity of saying something to -you.” - -His tone was conciliatory, quiet. The expression of his face was—well, -not in the least his mask of office-hours, nor the scowling barricade -he put up at last night’s dinner-table; but guarded and absolutely -non-committal. - -So was mine, I hope. - -I waited for him to go on. - -“I may tell you,” he went on, “that I’ve been regretting—” - -Last night, I supposed? A curious way of _putting_ it! - -—“regretting for some time that it was you I asked to take on this—this -situation for me.” - -“Oh!” - -We turned and walked back again. - -“I mean,” he added quietly, “that I regret having dragged a girl of your -kind, more sensitive and spirited than I had imagined—” - -What _had_ he imagined, then? - -—“into this affair.” - -“Oh.” - -“I—I suppose I ought to have known better than to ask—_you_.” - -“Oh,” I said, for the third time, and I meant to stop there. But somehow -I couldn’t help going on rather acidly, “And which of your other -employees do you wish you had asked instead? Miss Robinson?” - -(Who would have been provided with material for impersonations of the -family Waters for the rest of her life.) - -—“Or Miss Holt?” - -(_She_, I know, would have screamed aloud when he inflicted that -extraordinary kiss upon her!) - -“Miss Smith, of course, has her affections otherwise engaged——” - -“Ah? And so that would have been a barrier, would it? Even to this kind -of an affair?” retorted the Governor, very quickly and looking hard at me. - -I knew what he meant. He was thinking of the Major’s clumsy bringing-up, -yesterday, of the name of Sydney Vandeleur. - -So I lifted my eyes, which had been idly studying the grey pattern of -shadow flung by a trellised rose-arch upon my creamy skirt, and I looked -the Governor firmly in the face as I said quietly: - -“I imagine so.” - -Then _he_ said, “Oh.” - -And then there was another pause. - -Surely Mr. Waters could not break it by anything else, now, than by -coming to the point—saying whatever it was he meant to say about his -behaviour at the door of the den? But nothing of the kind. - -“You quite understand, then, that I am sorry—for bringing you into all -this?” he began again. “Right. Now, I suppose I ought to offer to release -you from the arrangement.” - -“Yes?” I looked up again quickly, hopefully. - -“Only, you see, I can’t,” my employer concluded, slowly. “I can’t do -that. The—er—my—the reason which forced me into it is—still there.” - -“Oh.” - -Another turn. This time towards the pergola. - -“Another thing,” he went on—and this time I really did think I knew what -was coming next. “About last night.” - -I didn’t say, “Oh”—I simply waited for whatever apology he thought fit to -make. - -“Last night, in the drawing-room before dinner. I’m afraid I was rather -rude.” - -“_Before_ dinner?” I echoed, forgetting what could have happened then. - -“Yes; when you were asking me about that place in Wales, Porth Cariad,” -he said. “I told you, rather off-handedly, I’m afraid, that there was ‘a -wooden woman’ there.” - -“Oh, yes!” - -“Well, there is. It’s the figure-head of a ship, some vessel that was -wrecked in the bay, years ago,” explained the Governor quite simply. -“They’ve put it up beyond the two cottages there, on the cliff. I ought -to have explained that at the time.” - -Well! And wasn’t there anything else he had to explain? With all -these “Oh’s” and pauses, he was a long, long time in coming to that -unjustifiable kiss—and yet something convinced me that his mind was full -of it even while he mentioned these other things first. - -“Besides that,” he went on deliberately, “there’s something I was -thinking over last night, for quite a time before I went to sleep.” - -Ah! At last! - -“I wanted to suggest——” he was saying, when, from behind the leafy screen -of the pergola there came a booming cry of: - -“Aha! Here they are! here they are! Might have known what they were at! -Love among the roses, eh?” - -And in another moment there hove into view the rotund, white-waistcoated -form and the rosy John Bull face, smiling under the light grey, dented -felt hat, of Uncle Albert Waters. - -Beaming and rubbing his hands, he advanced upon us. - -“Now, young people, young people! Breakfast’s ready! Didn’t hear the -gong, eh? No, of course not. Something better to listen to, as I said. -_I_ heard you, Billy! I heard you whistling under her window half an hour -ago! Something worth while being an early bird for now, what? But come -along.” - -He slipped one arm into his nephew’s, the other into mine, and wheeled us -round towards the house. - -“I told your mother I’d come out myself and fetch you in!” - -Perfectly unconscious that if wishes could have killed he must have -fallen down shrivelled to a cinder on the garden path, he rolled on -happily between us towards the French windows of the dining-room, -prattling robustiously all the way. - -“Nothing comes up to that nine-o’clock-in-the-morning smell of bacon -and coffee, does it? Smells far better than it tastes, they say! Which -reminds me that I once heard a young lady, Nancy, my dear—only she was -a cynical young person, not nearly so pretty—I heard her say that the -best part of frizzling bacon was like Love—all in the anticipation! Never -tasted as good as it promised to, so to speak! Of course you don’t agree -with her?” - -“No, oh, _no_!” I cried hastily, partly because I felt I must disagree -with somebody, partly because I realized that the inevitable effect of -this detestable old man upon his nephew was to strike him dumb when he -ought to have spoken! - -“Ah, quite right, quite right!” responded Uncle Albert, with an -affectionate pressure of my arm in his. “_That’s_ the attitude! I don’t -believe in this modern plan of analysing everything down to nothing, do -you?” - -“_Hate_ it,” I said viciously—meaning that I hated having my arm squeezed -by horrible relations-in-law never-to-be. - -“I see you do! Good! My dear, I’m delighted to find that Billy’s -sweetheart sees eye to eye with Billy’s uncle on so many points. That’s -why I’m taking you out this morning—Oh, yes! you too, my boy! Not going -to separate the turtle-doves!—going to take you both out if you can beg -mother off from church. I’m going to motor you over—not a hundred miles -away, and show you something—Aha! Something that I fancy you will approve -of as much as I do!” - -“Heavens! What will this new horror turn out to be?” thought I; catching -the same question in the Governor’s eye as we entered the dining-room, -where the family, including Cariad, was already at breakfast, and sat -down to the coffee and bacon of old Mr. Waters’ disgusting metaphor. We -weren’t long spared the answer to that question. - -“Now, Mary! I’ve just been telling our two young people here,” began -Uncle Albert almost at once, “that they’re going over in the car with me -this fine morning to look at something I particularly want them to see. -Now, I’ll give you three guesses what it is—No, I won’t—” - -(Interrupting Theo, who had leapt up in her chair with a shriek of -“Wedding presents! That picture!”) - -“—I want the pleasure of telling you myself. Picture? No, child. -Something to put the picture in—to _be_ the picture in, ho, ho! It’s a -house to let!” - -“A _house_!” murmured Blanche, clasping her hands, and obviously seeing -herself helping to arrange the flowers in it. - -“A charming house, only fifteen miles from here. Just the place for Billy -and his Nancy to settle down in when they get married,” enlarged the -elderly _enfant terrible_. “In fact, once they’ve seen it, they’ll want -to motor on and order that special licence at once, I shouldn’t wonder!” - -Mercy! I turned my eyes to Mrs. Waters, as if imploring her help to -change the conversation; she only nodded and smiled and murmured: “Pretty -blouse—I always like you in lacy white things, Nancy!” - -There was no checking Uncle Albert; on he went: - -“I was looking at the place only last week, and it’s still going! There’s -a rose-garden, my dear, almost as prettily arranged as the one here -that you were billing and cooing in just now. And a splendid vegetable -garden for the more practical side of life. South aspect!—Very excellent -fish-curry, Mary—Nice, airy bedrooms! _And_”—his voice took on an -impressive rallentando—“Now, what do you think? A little—a little white -wicket-gate at the top of the stairs! That’s the crowning touch, eh?” - -Yes. It was. - -“That was what took _my_ fancy, you know! I immediately said to myself——” - -At all costs, I felt, must Uncle Albert be kept from repeating what he -had said to himself. - -“Yes—But, Mr. Waters,” I interrupted wildly, “I’m so afraid that that -house wouldn’t—couldn’t do for _us_!” - -“What, my dear! Why not? If you only see it, you’ll say as I did——” - -“I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely,” I burst in; “but the fact of the matter -is that we—we have arranged to live in London”—“and in separate houses -for ever,” I might have added. I went on improvising rapidly. “You see, -we shall have a town house for most of the year, and for the summer we’re -looking round for a sort of—of farmhouse, with two cottages by the sea, -you know! In—in Anglesey, I think. I am so fond of—of that part of the -country, so—Those were our plans, aren’t they?” I concluded, with one -reckless “Say so, _do_!” glance at the Governor. - -“Yes—rather! That’s what _we’d_ thought of!” he returned, with a glance -back at me which betrayed something very like pure gratitude. - -As well it might! - -For again, just before I spoke, my employer had been at such an utter -loss that—for the first time since I’d seen him, I felt positively -_sorry_ for him. - -And I answered his glance with the tiniest nod of encouragement. - -They were the first friendly signals that had ever passed between us. - - * * * * * - -“Look here. I must speak to you.” - -This was my employer, hurriedly to me after breakfast, in the veranda. -Now, as that deep, shady veranda is built all the way round the house, -as every one of the windows gives on to it, and as all the windows are -always wide open, I couldn’t help giving a look round it as much as to -say, “Here?” - -“Not here,” he muttered, still more hurriedly. “This seems to be the -deuce of a house to talk in—never saw such a place. And there’s no time -now. My uncle was going to take us along in the car——” - -“_Must_ we go?” I asked, softly and ruefully, with my back to one of the -pillars. - -“No. I’ve knocked that on the head—I’m going to take him off by myself to -play golf. I said you’d really rather go to church with my mother and the -girls.” - -“Oh, thanks so much,” I said fervently. “I certainly would!” - -“So I thought. Well, then, we shall be lunching at the Club House—or, -anyhow, getting lunch somewhere out—not coming back here.” - -I nearly said, “Thanks, so much!” once more. - -I also nearly smiled to think that anyone else, catching sight of the two -of us talking so quickly, so quietly, and so close together under the -soft mauve fringe of wistaria-blossom that drooped from the glazed roof, -might easily have imagined that our conspiracy was how to spend most of -this glorious Sunday _together_, instead of _apart_! - -“We might not even be back for tea,” said the Governor. - -“And when is——” I paused and turned my eyes towards the house, “_going_?” - -“Six o’clock train back to town this evening,” said the Governor, looking -steadily at me. - -A “Thank goodness!” remained unuttered on the tip of my tongue, as I -felt obliged to say, “I hope he didn’t think it odd of me not to want to -see”—I brought it out with a jerk—“that house.” - -“Oh, no! He seemed rather bucked, really, to hear that—well, that we -were so far on in our plans. Anglesey, you know, and so on,” said the -Governor, in an expressionless voice as I turned quickly away. - -For I’d caught the heralding whiff of a cigar round the corner! Also, I -wanted to be safely in my own room, getting ready for church, just at the -time that those two men would be setting out for the links. - -My employer took one step after me. - -“This evening, then?—I mean, for what I was going to say to you.” - -Ah. That interrupted apology weighed on his mind. - -“Very well,” I said. “Good-bye.” - -And I drew a breath of relief to think of the whole blessed Day of Rest -before me. - - * * * * * - -Even Church, however, wasn’t without its slight reminder of the situation. - -I was feeling rested, soothed, lulled—and, I am afraid, not strictly -attentive—when my attention was caught, first by Theo’s moist palm being -thrust into mine, much as Cariad thrusts his nose, and then by a phrase -in the voice of the officiating curate: - -“_I publish the banns of marriage between_——” - -Banns, of course! Of course they must needs publish banns on this -particular Sunday and in this particular church! thought I, rather -pettishly. Well, I supposed it wasn’t really the Governor’s fault! and -that there _are_ banns read every week! The next words I heard were: - -“_Also of Leonard Harris, bachelor_—” - -Ah! I knew his name; it was the young man from the Waters’ butcher, who, -as I had already been told, was to marry the prettiest of the maids at -The Lawn, the one who was sweeping the stairs this morning. - -—“_and Ethel Mary Bell, spinster, both of this parish._” - -Both absurdly happy, probably, in a “Smithie” kind of way. I wondered if -“he” were red and greasy, like so many butchers? Whether he’d leave “her” -at home while he went and sat all the evening in the “Spotted Dog”? - -My young man—I suppose to some people the Governor _would_ be my “young -man”—isn’t that sort. Not that it need make the slightest difference to -_me_ if he were! I needn’t worry about the sort of husband he’ll make—to -someone else. - -“_Also between_——” - -What a lot of engaged couples! Six, at least, were “called” to-day. -And I wondered about each of those six engaged girls.... Which of them -had bloomed out into what books call “_this strange new happiness that -had come to her_” on HIS account, and which of them just wanted to be -“engaged” for its own sake? - -For supposing an engagement were stripped of all its glamour of -importance? Yes, my dears! Take away the delight of discussing, with -other girls, the possibilities of finest nainsook and torchon. Take away -the chance of growing positively left-handed from showing off “his” -ring. Take away the joy of being, instead of an unattended wallflower at -dances and parties, always more or less of a guarded treasure. Take away -that feeling of being at one and the same time much younger, much older -and much better-looking. Take away the comforting conviction that _now_ -you needn’t fret about what’s to become of you when you grow _passée_ -and “long in the tooth,” as Major Montresor unkindly calls various -ex-favourites of his own. Take all those “extras” away—and what remains -of your pride and joy in HIM alone? There’s a sum for the “really” -engaged girl. I can’t help feeling I can guess how it would work out -in—say, four cases out of six! - -Perhaps I’m wrong.... Perhaps the whole six of them would still go on -feeling that _their_ unparalleled engagement had caused the sun to rise -upon a new heaven and a brand-new earth. But it’s odds, long odds, -against any one of the six having an “affair” in the least like—_mine_. - -And the curate went on reading out names. - -“_Also_——” - -“_Between William Waters, bachelor, of this parish_,” breathed his -younger sister in a gusty whisper, “_and Nancy Monica Trant, spinster_—of -the parish of what, Nancy?” - -“S-sh! Theo!” I whispered, still wondering about those banns.... Would -it come to that? Would my employer feel himself obliged, before our -twelve-months’ contract was up, to let those banns be actually published? - -“_If any of you know any just cause or impediment why these persons -should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony_,” concluded the curate’s -voice, “_ye are to declare it_.” - -What in the world _was_ Mr. Waters going to “declare” about it to his -family when we reached that point? What just cause or impediment (except -the real ones) would he choose to “announce” as the bar to our getting -married? Or would he, just as he did this morning at breakfast, leave -all explanations to _me_, and reward me with a grateful look when I’d -achieved them? - -Well!... - -Plenty of time before _that_ happens.... - - * * * * * - -To-night, though, there’d be that other explanation: his to me about -that—really, under the circumstances it might be called that _outrage_! -Even yet I hadn’t made up my mind how I was to accept what he should say. -The only thing left standing of all the many answers I’d considered and -rejected was, “Well, it must never happen again, that’s all!” - -Even that doesn’t sound right, somehow. - -Perhaps something really clinching will occur to me later. - - * * * * * - -It was almost at the end of this Day of Rest that the Governor, extra -sunburnt and out-of-door-looking from the links, returned to find the -women-folk of his household—to which I suppose I must count myself as -belonging officially—sitting over that diminuendo of half-cups that marks -the end of tea. - -“Has your uncle gone, dear?” - -“Yes; met some old crony of his and joined him for the journey home. If -you tell me where his bag is I’ll get it sent down to the station to meet -the six, Mother?” - -“I’ll see to it now.” - -She went out of the drawing-room—I _know_ with the usual gentle intention -of leaving the young people a minute to themselves after having been -apart all day; but before Theodora and Blanche could follow her, the -Governor, saying that he simply must change and get this dust off, -disappeared himself. - -He disappeared until supper-time. - -For late Sunday supper they don’t dress at The Lawn. So I was still -wearing my cream cloth costume with the white French blouse that Mrs. -Waters likes when the hour came which is given over to my official -_fiancé_ and myself. I’m quite hardened to this now. - -I supposed he would suggest the den. (I hate that den.) But he didn’t. - -“Shall we go for a walk?” he said instead, “round the lawn?” - -“Yes.” - -“Shall I fetch you a wrap to put over that frock?” - -“Oh, no. It’s perfectly warm, thanks.” - -“Oh.... Very well.” - -And so, at the dusk of the day, just as in the morning sunshine of it, I -found myself pacing a garden path by his side, and wishing to goodness -he’d get this over, out of the way. - -He ought to be made to _grovel_, of course; that was as it should be. - -But the longer he delayed mentioning that grotesque incident, the more it -_loomed_! - -It seemed to hang over my head like the shade of the trees that bordered -the further edge of the lawn, which we had now reached. The great spread -of turf was gleaming greyly in the dew. A bat, attracted by the whiteness -of my gown, flickered out of the shade and wheeled above us. - -“Well,” began the Governor, “my uncle left all sorts of messages for you.” - -He would, of course. Carefully refraining from asking what they were, I -said mildly, “Thank you.” - -“He’s back in London by now.” - -“Yes.” - -“I suppose if he’d stayed on much longer,” observed my employer, in a -detached tone, “_you wouldn’t_!” - -I said defensively, “I really _had_ been thinking I might find myself -obliged to go back to town at once!” - -“After arranging to stay here for at least a fortnight,” he concluded -quietly; “after having given notice at the office—” - -“The office” was good! Just as if “the office” meant anything but -himself, Mr. William Waters! - -—“and having no people of your own to consider—what should you have said -to mine?” - -“I should have had to tell them that it was to—to attend a funeral!” -I retorted, with a memory of Mrs. Skinner. “Or”—here I checked the -suggestion of getting my hair singed and cut. I thought I’d better not -begin by mentioning my hair! And I added recklessly—“or that I’d got to -go to the dentist’s and have every one of my teeth out!” - -“Rather than stay here in these circumstances. I see. Yes. I——Do you -know, I have felt uncommonly like that myself,” admitted my employer. -“That’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about. I thought it over -last night, as I told you, and I’ve been thinking about it again to-day.” - -I wondered what sort of a game of golf he’d played. - -“It can’t go on like this!” he said, suddenly stopping in our stroll and -facing me in the deepening dusk under the copper-beech. “I can’t stand -it. It’s got a—a bit too thick!” he concluded, quite schoolboyishly. - -Then he began again, incoherently, indignantly, as if each word he said -were a shell that held showers of bullets of other words. - -“Theo’s tomfoolery! Those dashed flowers! My uncle and his—his remarks!” - -“I know!” I said fervently. He turned on me again, and added -unexpectedly, “And _you_!” - -“M-me?” - -“Yes!” explosively. “You’re the worst of all—and you do know it! Because -I’ve let you in like, this—” - -“They’ll hear you from the house—you really are like Theo sometimes.” - -—“Because I’ve let you in,” sinking his voice and speaking once more -calmly and deliberately, “for lots of unpleasantnesses which nobody could -have—well, which _I_ never anticipated—you do all in your power to pay me -back!” - -“All that—at dinner last night,” I said virtuously, “was nothing to do -with me. You can’t say it was.” - -“No, I admit it was Theo.... But it was all part and parcel of the same -impossible situation. Impossible! It can’t go on like this.” - -“So you said before! But this morning you said you were unable to release -me?” - -“So I am. Which means that there’s only one other thing to be done about -it,” said my employer. - -I waited, wondering what on earth this might be. - -Utterly unexpected was his next remark: - -“Don’t you think you could manage to be—_friends_ with me?” - -“_Friends?_” I repeated incredulously. - -Then something of his meaning began to dawn upon me, and it was with a -return of Manner B that I added: “I suppose you mean ‘official’ friends?” - -“No, I don’t,” he said rather tartly. (That manner never has been lost -on him.) “I mean, why can’t we be really friends and call ‘_Pax_’—for at -least the time that you’re here? Don’t you see how much better it would -make it if we could face these awkwardnesses together, instead of my -knowing every time that you are only waiting for the chance to rub it in -and to get at me?” - -This was all so foreign to his Near Oriental vocabulary that I nearly -laughed. But not quite. For it was being borne in upon me still more -clearly that I didn’t care for this suggestion of his at all. He was -actually asking for my help and co-operation, not in a sham rôle, but a -_real_ one? Well, I thought, what _cheek_! - -“If you mean,” I said, “that you want me to promise not to ‘rag’—not -to—to banter you again about all this; not to go on saying things that -mean one thing for you and another to whoever else hears them, and all -that——” - -I was going to say that this I might promise; although I felt he was -asking for a good deal—for his official _fiancée’s_ one safety-valve, in -fact! - -“No, no! That’s not what I mean,” he put in. “When I say ‘friends,’ I -mean it. Genuine friends. On the terms we might be on if we weren’t en—if -we hadn’t this ‘engagement’ between us.” - -“How _can_ we be that?” said I emphatically. - -“Why can’t we?” he persisted. - -“Why? Because I—I don’t see how I could be expected to answer such a -question!” - -He didn’t _say_, “You agreed to the other!” But I knew some men might. So -I went on trying to explain to this specially obtuse one. - -“Don’t you see how much easier it is to pretend to be engaged or even—in -love with a person, than to turn round and _like_ them because you’re -asked to?” - -“Is it?” - -“But of _course_ it is!” said I. “One _can_ act being—engaged and all -that. One can’t force oneself into friendship, real liking.” (Stupid, he -was; it was just like his not seeing the difference between accepting -furs—and a frock!) “One simply can’t make oneself _like_. That is asking -too much. And I never bargained for it. It wasn’t——” - -—“In the arrangement,” I nearly said. - -I might just as well have said it! For: - -“Damn—dash that infernal arrangement!” muttered my employer heatedly, -crunching, in the absence of Cariad, the well-kept gravel beneath his -heel. “Can’t you forget that, leave that alone for the time being? It -would be so much easier——” - -“Yes! For you perhaps!” I retorted. “But not easy for me; and it’s -impossible for me to feel like being ‘friends’ to order!” - -He said nothing for a minute. Then he began again quietly. “You mean you -dislike me?” - -“I don’t even know you well enough for really liking or disliking,” I -argued coldly. “And besides, what have we—you and I—in common, that we -should expect to get on well together?” - -I knew what a hopeless question _that_ is to answer about almost any two -persons! - -He said rather helplessly, “Well, but hang it all! What have you in -common with——” - -Here I _felt_, suspended between us in the dusk like a Mahomet’s coffin, -the name of Sydney Vandeleur! - -But the Governor changed his mind about uttering it. - -He _said_: - -“For instance, what can you have in common with a man like Montresor? -You’re twenty-one. He’s what?—Fifty? Sixty? Yet you can talk—you can——You -seem to get on all right with him.” - -“Naturally!” I said. - -The Governor said nothing. - -He put up a hand and leaned against a bough of the copper-beech under -which we were standing. - -Well! It seemed going to be a long discussion. - -I sat down on the garden bench a step or so away, and turned my head to -look at the glimmering white trumpets of a tobacco-plant that grew behind -the bench. The only form in which tobacco smells anything but poisonous! -And there were such beds of it at home ... in the evening it scented all -the grounds.... - -“Major Montresor, as he told you, knew me in my home, knew all my -people,” I went on slowly. “He knew all the places I went to before I had -to drop out of everything that I cared for and had to slave for my own -living in that detestable City of yours.” - -“You speak as if _I_ owned the City—as if I were responsible for your -having had to work there—for the whole thing! Is that fair? Must you go -on making me stand for all that? Supposing it hadn’t been there at all -that you first met me, Nancy?” - -For the first time the name slipped out from my official _fiancé_ quite -naturally. - -“Don’t you think,” he went on, “that we might have managed to get on -moderately well then?” - -“How can I tell?” said I. I _wanted_ to keep him on that strictly -business footing. This other I didn’t want. I knew it would take -something from me, and give me nothing—nothing to stand up for myself -with—in its place. - -“Try to imagine,” he persisted, “that I’d known you in your home, like -that chap—what’s-his-name—” - -The name—Vandeleur—flickered between us once more like that bat in the -air! - -—“like Montresor. Imagine that you’d never been at the Near -Oriental—never heard of the place. I’m sure I often wish _I_ hadn’t,” the -Governor’s voice came ruefully out of the dusk. “Then, instead of this -eternal sparring—” - -“My only refuge,” I thought, “and he’s trying to turn me out of it!” - -—“there might surely have been something distinctly resembling friendship -between us?” he said. - -I said obstinately, “Might there? I don’t know.” - -He moved. There wasn’t enough light to see his face. Only his collar made -a white blur against the branch, and the broad slope of his shoulders -showed dark against the sky that had deepened from lilac to purple. - -“But I know,” he said quietly, “that you could—that you _could_ be——” - -He paused. - -“Well?” I said, rather uncomfortably. “I could be what?” - -“Rather a little brick to me if you chose,” said the Governor. - -I am sure it slipped out without his meaning it to. _He_ would have been -ready to go on arguing quite logically about “how much more sensible” et -cetera.... How there was “absolutely no valid reason why it shouldn’t” -and so forth ... for another hour! - -_He_ can’t know how the key of a logical argument will fumble forever at -the locked safe-door of a woman’s mind that could just fly open to the -cipher spelt “Appreciation.” - -—“Rather a little brick.” - -So he did think me capable of that? - -I was glad of the dark under the copper-beech. For I didn’t want my -employer to see that his words had any sort of effect on me. Four words -ought not, certainly, to be enough to threaten to bring one’s flag down -with a run ... or even to flush one’s cheeks with that sudden warmth—of -surprise. I didn’t mean to hesitate—— - -But there was a moment’s silence before I could think what to say. I was -glad he was standing right away from me.... - -Just at that, he came and sat down beside me on the garden-seat. - -“Well?” he said expectantly. - -“M-m—very well,” I heard myself say with a little sigh. - -“You mean that you will?”—quickly. “That it’s peace between us?” - -“Yes—” reluctantly, from me. - -“And that, instead of remaining”—I heard him laugh a little—“a mere -_fiancée_, you’ll be friends now—real chums?” - -“If you like,” I sighed again. “That _is_ promotion, isn’t it?” I said, -not meaning to be altogether too polite to him. - -“Nancy, I know I’m rotten in lots of ways,” he admitted frankly. “I -daresay you think I’ve got a beast of a temper, don’t you?” - -“Well,” I said slowly, “you did kick Cariad, didn’t you?” - -“Little brute needs it! He’s disgustingly spoilt. Everyone is who belongs -to my mother.” ... - -“And you did make Theo cry!” - -“Did her good!” - -“It didn’t in the least! She was just as bad again to-day!” - -“Was she, by Jove? Then I shall have to——” - -“No, no, she wasn’t. I mean, _you_ are!” - -“Ah, but I’m—_we’re_ going to turn over a new leaf!” he said, laughing. -“That’s settled, isn’t it? Good! This is going to be no end better, all -round.” - -All very well for _him_ to say so! I thought, as I got up and turned -towards the dim, blue-white front of the house with the dark girdle of -the veranda circling it, and the windows, now lighted up, set into it -like a chain of long, rosy jewels. - -He rose too. - -“Well!” he said, straightening himself a head and shoulders above me. “Do -we shake hands on that, Nancy?” - -“I suppose so,” said I. - -What else was there to say or do? - -_I_ don’t consider it’s going to be “better all round.” For me it will -be ever so much more awkward—as well as something—yes!—something like a -_climb-down_. - -Still—— - -As he held out his hand I put my own into a particularly warm and hearty -grip. - -It was the very first time we’d shaken hands at all. - -Last night a kiss on the hair! - -To-night, a handshake!... - -And, in spite of all I’d expected, he’d never once mentioned that kiss. - -I suppose he won’t now. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -FRIENDS - - -Often, when I’ve imagined something was going to be so easy and -delightful, it’s turned out to involve every kind of difficulty and -unpleasantness. Like earning my own living in the City. And then other -things, which I’ve foreseen as such odious and constant worries, have -proved to be not nearly so bad after all; in fact, quite amusing—that’s -like agreeing to be “friends—real chums” with my employer Mr. Waters. - -He’s really quite—I don’t know how to put it—_different_. - -I know he’s trying to be “decent” to me, and yet not trying hard enough -to make me feel it’s my duty to “play up” and to be unnaturally sweet in -return. - -Instead, I am beginning to feel that I shall soon be able to like him -genuinely, just as I like Blanche and Theo, though perhaps not quite as -well as I like his mother, who seems more of a darling every day. - -This morning after I came back from driving to the station with the -Governor, she called me, and I went into the little tiny room off the -drawing-room, which is furnished only with one deep chair and her -writing-table, but of which each wall is simply covered with framed -photographs of her children at every stage. - -She was sitting at the writing-table, with a pile of letters to answer. - -“Sit in the big chair, Nancy. I won’t keep you more than a minute,” she -said, turning to me, “but I wanted to speak to you. It’s about our summer -plans, dear.” - -“Oh, yes,” I began. The fortnight which I’d arranged to spend at The -Lawn—and which seems about three months now!—is up to-morrow. I was just -going to remind her of this, when she said, “We all—not only Billy!—are -so anxious that you shall stay on, Nancy. You will, won’t you, if you -haven’t made other arrangements?” - -“Oh! I’ve made none,” I said, hesitating both in my official and -unofficial capacities. I didn’t _mind_ staying on, now. Still—ought I to -do it? - -“We have only a week or so,” said Mrs. Waters, “before we go away to the -sea. That is, the girls and I are off on Saturday week to Anglesey.” - -“To Porth Cariad?” I said. “Isn’t that the place—he told me about?” - -“Yes; Billy’s so fond of it! It’s just a tiny place with a station and a -post-office and a handful of cottages. We take the two cottages nearest -the sea, and let just the woman and her daughter ‘do’ for us. He likes -that so much better than going to a ‘resort’ with hotels and esplanades -and things.” - -“Of course!” - -Mrs. Waters gave me a pleased, girlish smile. - -“Then, if you do too, you’ll come, won’t you? He didn’t seem sure -whether”—she laughed a little—“whether it mightn’t bore you rather; but -he made me promise to ask you. Will you come?” - -“I should like it very much,” I said sincerely, for, since this revised -version of my relations with Mr. Waters, there’s an end of any more -complications for the present. It has been worth while sinking the -small satisfactions of being “cattish” and making two-edged remarks to -my employer. I seem, now, to have all the advantages of being engaged -to a quite friendly and easy-to-get-on-with young man, without the -horrible disadvantage of feeling it’s a permanency. Yes; I do like -having the freedom of a man’s conversation and society without _arrière -pensée_. And it seems to me that the only way to enjoy them is by being -officially—that is, _nominally_, engaged to the man! In any other sort of -acquaintanceship there looms the possibility of the “Real” engagement. -All the time that the girl and the man are having what might be a jolly -and unembarrassed conversation about really interesting things—not Love -and nonsense—that possibility is being conjugated between them by some -horrid form of Conscience or Self-consciousness. Something like this: - -“_I might fall in love._” - -“_Thou mightest fall in love._” - -“_She might think I was falling in love._” - -“_He might imagine I wanted him to fall in love._” - -“_We might both fall in love._” - -“_You might tease us about being in love._” - -“_They might say we were actually engaged!_” - -All this we—Mr. Waters and I—are spared. The feeling of it, which is -there like a brick wall between almost every unattached young man and -young woman, I know; I’ve felt it there between Sydney and myself, long, -long before I knew he admired me. - -And this same wall—well, it’s not so much that it’s never been built, or -even that it’s been pulled down, as that it’s not _between_ Mr. Waters -and me, just because we’re sitting on the top of it and talking all the -more comfortably for having climbed it together! - -Consequently, I really was pleased to accept Mrs. Waters’ invitation. And -when she said further, “Billy won’t be able to join us for a fortnight, -I’m afraid. Will you go back, dear, to this friend of yours you live -with in London, and come on later? Or—of course you know we should love -it!—could you come with Blanche and Theo and me?” I said, “Do let me come -with you and the girls.” - -“That’s right,” said the Governor’s mother. “Then I shall write to Mrs. -Roberts at the cottages, and tell her to have the extra bedroom in _my_ -cottage ready for you.” - -“And I will write to Cicely Harradine—that’s the girl I live with,” said -I. “And I ought to go up one day this week to the flat, and see her and -collect a few things.” - -“Go up on Saturday, dear,” suggested the Governor’s mother. “Then Billy -could motor you up; he would like that so much.” - -She has so many plans of this kind for me, fostered by this delusion that -her son is always on the look-out for a chance to be alone with me. - -Of course it’s not quite the same kind of delusion now that it was a week -ago. - -The Governor’s “Good!” when he heard that I was going to spend the summer -holidays with them at that curiously-named place in Anglesey was quite as -sincere in its way, I do believe, as Theo’s “_Joy!_ Oh, it will be twice -as lovely as usual with Nancy there to show everything to!” He wasn’t -the least bored, either, when Mrs. Waters put forward the plan of his -motoring me up to town. - -“Rather! A good idea,” he said briskly. “What about starting earlier -after lunch, and doing a matinée this afternoon? You’ve never been to the -theatre with me yet, Nancy, and—we talked about that one day.” - -“So we did,” said I demurely, remembering that grisly occasion at the -Carlton. - -“Well, would you care about it?” - -“I should! Why! I haven’t been to the theatre for ages. I haven’t seen -anything; not even _Milestones_!” - -“Care for that?” - -“Anything, so long as it’s a play!” - -“Then I’ll ’phone up now for seats.” - -And as he spoke through the telephone that is fixed up in the den, I had -almost a start at what seemed to me the strangeness of my employer’s -voice. Yet that curt, metallic “_Hullo!_” used to be familiar enough to -me—the only tone of his voice, indeed, that I’d ever heard! - - * * * * * - -Passing the long waiting queue at the gallery entrance to the Royalty -this afternoon, I glanced idly towards all those people who had stood for -over an hour, probably, to get a shilling seat; the playgoers to whom I -myself belonged a couple of months ago. Yet I never felt I’d belonged to -them.... I suppose no woman, from a factory-hand to a viscountess, feels -that she really “belongs” to any but the life of luxury. I don’t believe -men feel that as strongly—and yet it’s they who are supposed to be the -more finished and civilized sex. I must ask Mr. Waters, now that I know -him well enough, what he thinks about this? - -I was just wondering, when, out of that mosaic of black and coloured -pattern formed by the crowd, there turned with one movement three dabs -of colour, three cheap, effective little hats; and three girlish faces, -alight with amusement and recognition, were lifted towards us. - -They nodded and smiled; and I, leaning forward out of the car, was just -in time to wave my hand to them. - -“Friends of yours?” said my employer, glancing back as he raised his hat! - -“Why, yes! Didn’t you know them?” - -“No! Why should I?” - -“Because you see them every day,” I laughed. “They were Miss Robinson, -Miss Holt and Miss Smith from your office.” - -“No? By Jove,” said Mr. Waters, rather blankly. Which surprised me -rather, as I remembered his care that “the other typists should know for -a fact” with whom I was going out, that first time of all. - -I was conscious, though I couldn’t see where they sat in the gallery, -that their three pairs of eyes must be glued to us in our front-row -stalls. Nothing could have been more conventional than our appearance—we -were absolutely the model of a prosperous young engaged couple up from -the suburbs; I, prettily dressed, with the inevitable box of chocolates -on my lap; he, good tempered and easy of manner, paying me all the -customary attentions of programme, helping me off with my coat, seeing -that I had opera-glasses, the best seat, and so on, and yet—apart from -the “official engagement” side of it, how _really_ unconventional was our -relation! - -So much more satisfactory under the circumstances than a real engagement! -Or that pie-bald thing, an understanding! Or that other form of platonic -friendship which either the girl or the man is always hoping, or fearing, -may turn into something else! - -The curtain went up to the soft strains of a tune which I, who have had -to play accompaniments to so many songs, didn’t know.... But beside us -and behind us there were old ladies who murmured, “Ah! ‘_She wore a -Wreath of Roses._’” - -The play began, and I forgot everything else for a time. - -In the first interval we amused ourselves by looking at the audience. -They were nearly _all_ elderly ladies! As the Governor remarked, “Nancy! -Yours and mine are the only heads for three rows of seats that aren’t -grey-haired or covered with bonnets!” - -“They’ve come to catch echoes of their past,” I murmured flippantly as -those tunes from the _Mikado_ sent the curtain up on Act II. - -That finished my flippancy for me. - -In what seemed like hours afterwards I heard Mr. Waters’ voice, cool -and detached, saying something about good acting and soothing syrup and -the most sentimental public in the world, then breaking off suddenly, -anxiously to exclaim, “What is it, Nancy? Aren’t you well?” - -“Of c-course I am! I’m only enjoying myself!” I sobbed quietly; tears -dripping down on to the pleated frill of my afternoon blouse. “I think -it’s p-perfectly lovely!” And I dabbed my face with the powder-puff -swathed in my handkerchief. - -“Rum idea of enjoyment,” said the Governor doubtfully. - -“Not a bit rum,” I argued, having steadied myself again. “You don’t know -much about girls—they’re mostly like that—ask any of them—ask any of the -other typists in your office!” - -“I suppose I’ve never looked upon those as ‘girls,’” said he. -“They’re—machines! machines that eat cherries all day long and chuck the -stones all over the floor. Such inefficient ones, too; they——Why d’you -laugh, Nancy! I say, you know quite well I don’t mean——” - -“Ssh!” came indignantly from under the bonnet—trimmed with squashed -heliotropes and doddering jet beads—on the other side of him, as the band -struck up the rollicking two-step that heralds the twentieth-century act. - -I didn’t cry any more, though. - -I believe I was actually less taken up with what was on the stage than -with the oddness of my having been behind two sets of scenes myself; with -those girls who “couldn’t possibly look upon Still Waters as ‘a man,’ -exactly” and then with this man who never really considered typists as -“girls.” When had he left off considering me as just a typist? How soon -before that evening when we became friends? - -Once more I felt grateful to that evening’s compact, as I followed the -tall figure with that slight dip from the broad shoulders in to the -waist—that line so painfully cultivated by Major Montresor!—and let it -make a path for me out of the theatre and to the waiting car. - -I believe I’ve always really hated going about London alone, or with just -another girl! - - * * * * * - -“Now, then! Rumpelmayer’s, or the Piccadilly, or where, for tea, Nancy, -before I take you on to your friend’s?” - -“I meant to have tea with her,” I explained. “I was going on in the bus, -and getting down to Sevenoaks afterwards by the dinner-train; saying -good-bye to you here.” - -“Oh, were you! Why not take me along too?” he suggested, looking down at -me. - -Well! Why shouldn’t he realize in what sort of places these machines -called working-girls live? He’d heard about the lawns and gardens, and so -forth, of my old home. Let him see the change I’d had before—well, before -that first interview in his office. Then there was Cicely. Yes, when I -left her she was still rather “difficult” about my engagement—rather -given to unspoken hopes that I wasn’t doing it for the money. Let her -see that my (official) _fiancé_ was quite a human sort of young man—the -sort that some girls really might get engaged to without a thought of his -income! - -“My chum is a very pretty girl,” said I; “_she’s_ worth looking at——” - -“Fair?” - -“No, glorious red hair.” - -“Well, take me along and let me look at it!” he urged boyishly; and -presently we were speeding along down the Embankment towards Marconi -Mansions. - -I had my latch-key in my vanity-bag. I opened the door at the top of the -many stone steps and led the way into the passage, which seemed about as -light and wide as a good-sized drainpipe after that airy, tiled vestibule -at The Lawn. Meaning to take Cicely by surprise, I quietly walked into -our small front sitting-room. - -But it was Cicely who took me by surprise. - -She had, already, a visitor for tea. - -Thick cigarette-smoke made a blue haze above the jumble of odd bits of -furniture which we’d picked up second-hand in the Old King’s Road, above -the tea-table with its Persian Rose pottery, its plate of Chelsea buns -and its green dish of cherries—I hoped there weren’t many stones on the -floor!—a haze that half obscured Cicely’s bright head and the figure that -reclined, opposite to her, in our comfiest basket-chair. I saw by the -unusual garments of it that it must be—yes! Sydney Vandeleur! - -Really, I don’t know which of the four of us was least pleased to see the -others, while I introduced Mr. Waters to Cicely and said gaily to the -men, “I think you’ve met before” ... and forced myself to dissipate the -odious pause that followed the insincerely civil greetings by plunging -into some sort of conversation. - -It was worst for me, I think. I was so utterly taken aback—first, by -finding Sydney there at all, and then by wondering what on earth the -Governor would think of his being there—_and in those clothes_! - -For Sydney’s latest idea for not being slavishly got-up like every -other miserably conventional tailor’s dummy was, apparently, to have -his “things” more or less a copy, but an _édition de luxe_, of a French -fisher-boy’s _vareuse_-blouse and skirt-like trousers; those brown -corduroys were of corduroy-velvet at goodness knows what a yard, cut -by some master-hand in Savile Row; the very bagginess at the ankles, -above the leaf-brown silk socks, had been carefully studied. And the -Governor!—who’d once said: - -“_After all, what’s unusual in dress is wrong, nine times out of ten. -Eight times, it’s also hideous._” - -He must be positively flabbergasted at this spectacle! I’m more -accustomed to those ideas; but even I found it a relief to turn -my eyes upon his stereotyped grey suit after that fell and deadly -“_effectiveness_” of Sydney’s.... - -Posing in his dress like that! Posing, even more shamelessly, in his -manner! - -For wouldn’t you have thought that anyone who’d been refused by a girl -and who then came unexpectedly face to face with that girl and the person -for whom he imagines she’s jilted him—_wouldn’t_ you suppose that he -would at least behave like a man? Take it without flinching, even if it -were fairly unpleasant, and carry it off as if nothing particular had -happened? _I_ shall never think the same of Sydney again for not doing -that. - -Perhaps it served me right for the rather spiteful note I wrote to him -just before I went off to The Lawn, but—Need he have committed the -solecism of calling me, when I’ve never been anything but “Monica” to -him, “_Miss Trant_” in italics? It was trying! So was the pathetic -look which he saw fit to call up into his spanielly brown eyes as he -glanced from me to Mr. Waters. (Mask well down there, so I couldn’t -guess what _he_ made of this velvet-and-Vandyke apparition.) And the -worm-in-the-bud expression which Sydney let steal over the whole of his -dreamy, Cavalier’s face as he turned it, in a way that all but said “Ah! -You understand what I suffer!” to Cicely—— - -Cicely, too! _Cicely_, who’s shared ups and downs with me for the last -two years! Even she must needs forsake me, making matters worse by -creating a general atmosphere of blight even while she was bringing in -two more leadless-glaze cups and plates, and making fresh tea, and by -giving an accurate though unspoken impression of what she “understood.” - -“Yes! I am the looker-on at this game. I see it all! The sensitive, -artistic soul—” - -(This is what she thinks of Sydney.) - -—“torn by the sight of this hopelessly stodgy, commonplace young man—” - -(I know that this is how she sums up my friend Mr. Waters.) - -—“being preferred to himself! Ah, Love is blind!” - -(Meaning me.) - -“And people never seem to recognize the right man until it’s too late.” - -(Deluded little donkey!) - -We had tea. What a meal! - -“You do take sugar in it, don’t you, Tots?” plaintively from Cicely, with -a side-effect of, “She’s so deplorably altered in everything else, I -don’t know what any of her tastes may be now!” - -“Does Mr. Waters take it?” (To _me_!) - -“Not any, thanks,” from the Governor. “Only milk.” - -Cicely’s glance commented silently, “Ah! Incompatibility latent here! An -unhappy marriage!” - -Why, why hadn’t I said I’d like to go to Rumpelmayer’s, or Lyons’—or -Lockhart’s? Anything rather than this funereal feast, with Sydney -Vandeleur as the skeleton thereat! Even if he’d remained a voiceless -skeleton! But, cheered by all the subtle encouragement and moral support -from his pretty hostess—I must say Cicely was looking prettier than -ever!—Sydney began to recover a little, relaxed his first pose of open -broken-heartedness, and proceeded to _talk_. - -Nobody else did. Mr. Waters looked as if nothing was going to force his -lips asunder again. I didn’t want to say anything. Cicely was quite happy -to listen. And Sydney held forth. - -He began with—“Have you been to—” and “Haven’t you seen—” various -picture-galleries and pieces of an “advanced” type. - -“What! Not seen ‘_The Keening of Deidre_,’ even? But why not?” he -protested to me, lolling back in that chair as if he didn’t possess a -spine. “Oh, it’s such a wonderful thing; so subtle and so brutal at the -same time. And one’s sure of seeing everyone one wants to see, in the -pit; a positive At Home of them. Better than the dear old palmy days -of the Sicilians. I have been three times. The whole effect is so—so -sculptured! You would love it! Oh, you must take her”—this to my official -_fiancé_, who sat silent and non-committal and very bolt-upright. “You -really must not miss it. It is coming off next week.” - -“I’m going away next week,” said I. - -“Oh, yes? To the country?” - -“To Wales.” - -“Ah, Wales! It used to be so wild and charming and remote—almost as good -as those perfectly untrodden tracts we still get in the West of Ireland. -But it’s frightfully overdone now,” complained Sydney. “One doesn’t know -if it’s the fault of Lloyd George, or the picture postcards, or that -appalling little railway up Snowdon, but Wales has become so _obvious_. -When I’m going over to Ballycool, do you know, I have to read all the -way in the train between Chester and Holyhead, in terror lest I should -inadvertently catch sight of any of the ‘scenery.’ I assure you”—to -Cicely—“that when you get that Snowdon Range, cut out in purple cardboard -jig-saws against what the dear tourists call ‘a glorious sunset’ it’s -almost exactly like a landscape in the Academy!” - -“How _perfectly_ dreadful!” sympathized Cicely—little humbug! who, only -last year, used to mark her favourite pictures in the Academy Catalogue. -I do hate a girl’s tastes to be mere echoes of the man she’s with! - -“And those ruined castles; they’re really almost too priceless to -be true,” enlarged Sydney. “Turrets like this”—he zig-zagged with a -finger in the air, while a gold curb bracelet chinked at his slim -wrist—“reflected, wherever possible, in water. Terrible! I mean, you -simply _have_ to laugh! You feel the landscape transforming itself into -wings and a drop-scene before your eyes! And the ‘Elephant Mountain’ -that they insist on pointing out to you, because it really _is_ so like -an elephant’s back! (Such an attraction!). And then those _meaty_ pink -clouds that they always contrive to get so symmetrically posed _just_ -behind the summit of Snowdon! Snowdon itself is so hopelessly banal -that it only just falls short of perfection. Excruciating! Cader Idris, -now, is a little better,” he went on kindly. “It is still possible to -introduce Cader to one’s friends. Cader, with that quaint lake they have -there, remains quite an attractive mountain, I think”—turning to Mr. -Waters, who still looked as if _he_ couldn’t think of anything to say to -this person who patted the Welsh mountains, so to speak, on the head. - -“We aren’t going to be among the mountains,” he announced briefly. “My -people generally settle for six weeks or so in Anglesey.” - -“Not really? How amusing—I mean, it’s really possible to ‘settle’ -there?” said Sydney Vandeleur, lifting his dark Vandyke beard from his -tie—heavens, what a tie! I’d only just noticed that. “One had always -looked upon Anglesey as a sort of straight line leading to the North -Wall.” - -“H’m,” said the Governor, who, having checked a “Can-such-things-be?” -start, was obviously trying to keep his eyes off that tie of Sydney’s: a -bunch of amber silk, patterned with blatant little splashes of scarlet, -black, magenta, emerald-green.... Futurist, I presume. How could I ever, -ever have dreamt that life, even in Ballycool Castle, could have been -tolerable with a man who wore ties like that? I should have left him -in a week. No! I’m sure I should never have been there to leave him. I -couldn’t.... - -Sydney lighted another cigarette, and the conversation languished. -_Nobody_ spoke. - -In the middle of this sickening sag to the talk I had an inspiration! - -I thought, since both these young men sing and one of them composes, that -it would be at this juncture a bright thought to introduce the subject of -music. - -Why did I do it? - -It was distinctly what Jack calls “a wash-out.” For Sydney Vandeleur at -once switched off on to Eleventh Century folk-songs. And Mr. Waters, -asked if he didn’t think they were too delicious, was “afraid the -Eleventh Century was out of his groove.” - -And then Sydney hummed several only slightly more modern Celtic -dirges—one about “The Sweet Flowers, all gone to Decay!” - -And Mr. Waters said he preferred his flowers _fresh_; adding bluntly that -he loathed all those miserable minor wails himself, and quite agreed with -that law which Queen Elizabeth passed for the Irish bards of her time, -sentencing them to death if they composed songs on any subject whatsoever -except in praise of the Queen’s most Excellent Majesty. - -That brought back some of Sydney’s first pose. With a pained little smile -he turned to me, then, putting on just the expression of the bereaved -collie in Landseer’s “Shepherd’s Chief Mourner,” he asked me if I -_happened_ to have kept the MS. of that little thing he’d written for me -to that sonnet—“_Kissing her Hair, I sat against her Feet_.” - -I felt myself flushing up to the roots of my own wretched hair that he’d -always so praised ... there was something about kissing of hair which -_he_ knew nothing of, and that I was only too thankful to let die a -natural death.... Rather shortly, I answered, “Oh, that song—yes; it’s -tucked away in some drawer or other here, I believe.” - -“If it wouldn’t be troubling you too much, Miss Trant, to lend it to -me again? It was my only copy,” suggested Sydney softly (_con molto -espressione_). - -“Of course,” said I. “I’ll find it for you now. Cicely, you might come -into my room and help me to hunt.” - -Cicely followed me, leaving those two men to entertain each other. How -they proceeded to do so I suppose I shall never know! - -“Well, Cis, how are you getting on?” I asked her, when the door was -closed between us and them. “Foot’s all right, I see, and you said you’d -gone back to work?” - -“Yes, but not at Chérisette’s, you know; I’m working opposite in Bond -Street; Madame Lamaire’s. Mr. Vandeleur got me an introduction from his -married sister, who knows her; and I’m getting a better salary, and such -a much better time, there. He has been so awfully kind, Tots!” - -“Has he? Have you—been seeing a good deal of him, then?” - -“He’s been here several times, but”—reproachfully—“only to talk about -you!” - -“Good of him,” I said. - -Cicely looked more reproach. “Well, he says you’ve taken all the colour -out of his life and left ‘_gold tarnished and the grey above the green_.’” - -“Drat him! And his colours!” I quoted Mrs. Skinner vulgarly and -vindictively. “He’d plenty of them left in his tie, anyhow.” - -“I am afraid,” said Cecily aloofly and with a pointed comparison in her -face, “that you’ve scarcely _realized_ Mr. Vandeleur.” - -“Haven’t I? Well, the sort of man who, when he’s turned down by one -girl, must needs rush and pour it all out into the shell-like ear of the -next——” But I broke off here. - -What I suddenly did realize was that, for next to no reason, I was on the -brink of squabbling ridiculously with my chum. - -So I hastily changed the subject to rent-money and the length of time -I should probably be away, caught up Sydney’s ever-to-be-hated song, -reassured Cicely that I was not going to be married until after the -summer—_long_ after! and told her I was glad she was getting on so well. - -“Get Mr. Vandeleur, if he wants cheering up, to take you to ‘_The Keening -of Deidre_,’” said I. “Good-bye!” - - * * * * * - -It threatened to be a silent motor-drive back to Sevenoaks. - -Again I felt that I should have to be the one to take the plunge into -conversation. - -“Well?” I said. “Didn’t you think Miss Harradine a very pretty girl?” - -“Beautiful hair,” said Mr. Waters, “hasn’t she?” - -“Oh, lovely.” - -Silence. - -I saw that Mr. Waters hadn’t realized what I suspected: namely, that -Sydney was beginning to find my chum quite sufficiently “lovely” as a -girl, not merely as a confidante for his sorrows about “another,” who -was, as he imagined, “another’s.” But I was longing to hear some comment -on Sydney. - -I should have been left longing, I suppose, if I hadn’t said straight -out, “What _did_ you think of Mr. Vandeleur?” - -“Oh, come! What a question! How can one tell, after seeing a man for -half an hour? He seemed—clever, and all that,” fenced my companion. “Of -course he’s not the sort of man _I_ get thrown much with in that sordid, -detestable City of mine, as you call it. What does he do?” - -“He doesn’t have to ‘do’ anything.” - -“Rather lucky for him,” remarked Mr. Waters, in a tone I didn’t fathom. - -I said, “But he does draw and design—and he writes dramatic -criticisms—and he composes.” - -“Gifted sort of chap,” said Mr. Waters smoothly. “I suppose——” - -And then stopped. - -“You suppose what?” I urged. “No, do tell me,” as he looked obstinately -ahead and shut his lips into that line. “You _must_, Billy!” Then I found -myself laughing and colouring a little with surprise. For the first time -I’d used that absurd name in speaking directly to him. - -He turned to me, smiling once more in quite a friendly way. But it was -not to answer my question. It was to ask another. - -“Nancy, you know I shall expect you to write to me? When you’re at Porth -Cariad with my mother and the girls, I mean.... It’ll look funny if you -don’t.” - -“Oh, of course. For the look of the thing,” said I, “I’ll write.” - -“Sorry to trouble you. You can put a blank sheet into the envelope, you -know, if you like.” - -“I hadn’t thought of that!” I laughed, glad to be once again on -comfortable terms of chatty friendship. “But—so I can.” - -“Well, as long as you don’t forget to send _something_,” said Billy -Waters. - - * * * * * - -He reminded me of this once again, on Euston platform. For we—his mother, -his sisters, his official _fiancée_ and the little dog—left London at -eleven o’clock on the following Saturday morning. - -That evening we were all among the sand-slopes and the gorse and the soft -calling of the waves at Porth Cariad. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE FIRST LETTERS - - -“Hullo, Robert Roberts! Any letters for us?” sang out Theo. - -She had darted out of the cottage, hatless, as usual, her nose already -peeling with sunburn and her long bare legs covered with midge-bites and -sea-holly scratches down to her white sand-shoes, to waylay our postman; -he’s the son of Mrs. Roberts, our landlady, a young Welsh giant who wears -that uniform coat for just that five minutes daily which it takes him to -deliver the mails at Porth Cariad. - -“Yes, mam!” he announced. “Picture poss-card for you—I wonder shall I -have it, mam, when you read it? Blodwen and me is making a co-leckshon of -those. Letter for your mother; letter an’ _big_ parsal for the strange -young lady.” - -I—who have not been seen in the place before this year—am the strange -young lady. - -“Here you are,” said Theo, bringing the mail into the -kitchen-sitting-room where we’d just finished breakfast; a room that -boasts three grandfather clocks and five pairs of china dogs and a -dresser crowded with blue-and-white plates. “The letter and the ‘parsal’ -for Nancy are both from the Adored One!” - -Meaning her brother. - -“And I suppose you’ll now have to fly off somewhere to read your -love-letter all by yourself.” - -“Of course I must,” I laughed. - -For it’s rather amusing in the face of all this to think that, except for -one sentimental scrap from Sydney, I’ve never had a love-letter to read -in all my life! - - * * * * * - -This duty-document of my official _fiancé’s_ I’ve taken out on to the -sand-hills; there’s a dip under the crest of one of them where I can curl -up in comfort out of the wind, facing the view across the bay, with that -pale lilac silhouette of the Carnarvonshire hills across the water. - -How funny it seems to unfold a letter bearing the familiar heading of the -Near Oriental Shipping Company’s offices! But this one, actually, is not -type-written, and signed by a “William Waters, per pro.,” and a scrawled -“A. A.” of Mr. Alexander’s. - -William Waters has written in his own hand; not a particularly good one, -either. Several sheets of it? Was it such an unusually slack day at the -office, then? - - “July —, 1913. - - “MY DEAR NANCY, - - “I was glad to hear _from my mother_” - -(I don’t see why he should underline the three last words; _I_ shouldn’t -be likely to write first.) - - “that you’d arrived safely and were comfortably settled into - the cottages. I wonder what you think of Porth Cariad. I do - hope you won’t be bored to extinction in such a quiet spot; - but you were warned, weren’t you, not to expect esplanades and - pier-concerts and shops and things? Do you think you can manage - to make yourself at all happy without them? - - “How do you like the bathing in that little bay next to the - cottages? Can you swim? If not, you will have to learn. I will - teach you. - - “I am pretty keen on getting down myself, I can tell you. Town, - in this heat, is the abomination of desolation; and smelly. So - is the office. You’ve never been here in July. It’s awful. I’ll - let you know later when I shall be coming; time of train, etc. - - “You were missed at The Lawn last night. I took a man who lives - near to share my solitary meal there, and to have a game of - billiards afterwards. He wanted me to try over ‘Ford of Kabul - River’ for him; I can’t accompany myself, though, and he made - an awful hash of it. I wished we’d dined in town and gone to a - show. - - “When I go out to lunch I shall call at Fuller’s and order them - to send you on—for the look of the thing—a box of chocolates. - I hope they have one with a picture of forget-me-nots or - something of the sort on the lid,” - -(Yes; they had. White satin, with the sprays of flowers embroidered in -pale blue silk.) - - “as Theo notices everything. Don’t let her bag all the sweets, - though.” - -(Here the writing gets more scrawly and hurried.) - - “Have just got in from lunch, which I had with my uncle. He was - full of talk; you can imagine it!” - -(I can.) - - “I also saw two other men whom I’d got to meet, and as a result - of this, I think I’ve managed to get through the business that - was keeping me. So I shall be down at the end of the week after - all; cheers for some fresh air and a dip! Please be very glad - to see me, will you? as Theo—but I put that before. - - “Just before I went out to lunch a very rum thing happened: - at least, I thought it was rum until I found out what it - was. I was opening the door of my room when I heard, in the - passage, _your voice_, Nancy! Yes, your voice, with that - little dare-devil tone you put on sometimes, saying these - extraordinary words: ‘_I think it’s to the Savoy that I’m going - out with Mr. Waters to-day_!’ - - “I couldn’t think what on earth was the meaning of it, with you - miles away in Anglesey.” - -(But already I smiled, seeing what was coming!) - - “I wondered what could have brought you back, or if I’d got an - hallucination—can you hear hallucinations?—and I bolted out - into the passage, nearly knocking over two of the typists who - were coming down it. - - “Miss Smith (that’s the one whose affections are otherwise - engaged, isn’t it?) fled like a hare; but that tall, dark Miss - Robinson stood her ground, only moving aside a little for me - to pass. I stopped and asked her straight out, ‘Was it you who - were speaking a moment ago?’ - - “She said ‘Yes’—all meekness at once. ‘Mimicking hussy’ I - thought—for it really had been exactly the way I’ve heard you - speak, you know, sometimes. It was all I could do to keep from - laughing outright, but I just said ‘Well, I am writing to Miss - Trant to-day; can I give her any message from you?’ - - “And she said (in that ‘mim’ voice, which I’m blest if I shall - ever feel able to believe in again!) ‘Will you please give her - my love, Mr. Waters?’ - - “So with love from Miss Robinson, I remain, - - “Your - - “BILLY.” - -(What’s this? “Your” Billy? It can’t be. Oh, no. It’s his disgraceful -handwriting. It’s the “r” being scrawled into the “s” like that. “Yours, -Billy,” is how it really reads. How stupid of me not to see that at once! -Then there’s a bit across the top.) - - “Six-forty train Porth Cariad on Saturday. You might write and - tell me how you do like the place; and you might answer at - once, even if it’s only for the girls to take it to the post.” - -So, for the benefit of Blanche and Theo, I will write at once; I’ll do -it out here, in pencil on my pad, as I’ve so often taken down his own -letters. (One of these days I shall tell him how I loathed it, and how -utterly impossible his dictation was!) - - “Porth Cariad. July —, 1913. - - “DEAR SIR, - - “Your favour of yesterday’s date to hand, for which we thank - you.” - -(There! I wonder how he’ll like that. Will he think that it goes on all -through?) - - “The lovely sweets really were appreciated; but I didn’t let - Theo bag them all, nor take the pale-blue satin tie-up to make - a bow for Cariad, which was what she wanted to do. So then she - said of course Nancy would want to keep that ribbon to tie - round all your letters. She does notice everything, doesn’t she? - - “As for how I like this place, I simply love it, and the - cottages—I’m in the bigger one with your mother, and Theo and - Blanche are together in the other until you come—and I love the - sand-hills with the sea-holly and little prickly brambly roses - and tiny purple pansies growing all over them,” - -(I might slip a pansy from this place that he’s fond of into the -envelope? No, I mightn’t. There’s no Theo to “notice” at his end.) - - “and the cloud shadows on those hills opposite, and Mrs. - Roberts, with her sackcloth cooking-apron and her clogs and the - boy’s cap she wears; and Blodwen, even if all the English they - know does always seem to be all about you! And I should hate a - pier-concert if there was one. There’s everything here to make - me quite happy. Since this very hot weather’s come, the bathing - is delicious. I learned to swim when I was a little girl, thank - you.” - -(So he needn’t think he can teach me anything.) - - “How was Mr. Albert Waters? Still chuckling and laughing ‘ho, - ho!’ I expect. - - “_I_ laughed at your being taken in like that by Miss Robinson. - Yesterday morning I was almost taken in, by something that was - like you: a sharp tap against my bedroom window that might have - been a stone thrown up. But it was only a fat, speckly thrush - cracking a snail; there are always lots of them crawling out of - that southernwood bush by the door. - - “Mrs. Roberts asks me to tell you,” - -(What she _said_, in her speciously honeyed Welsh voice and with her -irresistible if toothless smile, was, “Tell your _Cariad_——” But I -needn’t put that.) - - “that the ’ooden ’ooman—it took me some time to remember that - this was the figure-head on the cliff!—was want paint very bad, - and she wonder would you do it when you come. Welsh people, I - notice, are fond of ‘wondering’ like this, instead of asking - straight out for what they want; yet they generally seem to get - it.” - -(Dear me, this is rather different from the blank sheet I might have -enclosed.... Anyhow, it mustn’t get any longer than his, so I’d better -stop now.) - - “I will give this to Theo to post, and” - -(Goodness, it is difficult to think of how to sign oneself to young men. -To Sydney I was always “Yours sincerely.” A stupid ending, means nothing -at all.) - - “With kind regards.” - -(No.) - - “Assuring you always of my best attention,” - -(No. A bit of that at the beginning was enough.) - - “Will give this to Theo to post, and I am,” - -(Well! What I _am_, after all!) - - “Your official _fiancée_, - - “MONICA TRANT.” - -Ah! _Now_ there’s something I’d forgotten! - - “P. S. I will remember what you’ve ordered—” - -(No, that sounds rather nasty; rather too like Manner B. Cross it out.) - - —“what you—wish”? No! “What you suggest about my being pleased - to see you on Saturday. - - “N.” - -As a matter of fact—I shan’t write it, as it might possibly give a wrong -impression!—but I really _shall_ be quite pleased to see Billy Waters -again. And now to find his young sister, and send her off to the post -with what she, in her innocence, imagines to be a return _love_-letter! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -THE WOODEN WOMAN - - -If a girl were the least bit inclined to fall in love with Billy -Waters—and I see now that some girls might be; though not, of course, -any girl of my type, capable of this kind of frank friendship that puts -anything else out of the question!—well, if she were, she’d find it much -easier to complete the process here at Porth Cariad than anywhere else -that I can imagine him. - -Some men—generally the nicest—are so much more _themselves_ in the depths -of the country. He is. - -I noticed that the very first evening he arrived here, when I went down -to meet him—to keep up appearances before his family—at this tiny station -on the branch line. Before the train stopped I saw his head and shoulders -blocking up the open window of his compartment in his hurry to arrive. -Catching sight of me on the platform, he took the pipe from between his -strong white teeth and flourished it over his head in greeting—his face -one broad smile because his holiday had begun; then the train slowed -down; he was out of the carriage door and taking a running stride towards -me. - -“Hullo, Nancy!” he said, and grasped my hands. “You came? I wondered if -you would. It’s very—appropriate of you. How are you? You look very fit. -A sun-bonnet, eh?”—It was a haymaker’s cotton one, that I’d bought for -a shilling and a ha’penny at the post office, and rather becoming—“I’ve -never seen you in a pink sun-bonnet before.” - -“You wouldn’t be likely to in Leadenhall Street,” I retorted. “How’s the -dear office?” - -“I don’t know or care. I’m here to forget it,” he said gaily as we left -the station for the road between the sand-hills. “I think I shall take to -wearing a sun-bonnet myself!” - - * * * * * - -But what he wears here is just a soft white shirt with a turn-down collar -and a pair of loose grey flannel bags belted at the waist; no hat at -all—his hair has got to look as if it must be permanently rumpled; no -one from the office would recognize him! Even his eyes seem a different -colour; so much warmer and bluer for the deepening of his tan. He drops -a year a day from his age, too. When one sees him striding about these -sandy lanes, or terrifying his mother by those efforts to walk on his -hands in six foot of water in the bay, or when he’s pretending to jabber -back Welsh to Mrs. Roberts and Blodwen, who openly adore him—yes, I can -imagine quite a number of people finding him positively attractive here -in the country. - -In the country, too, as I’ve always heard, it’s so much easier to fall in -love than it is in town. Town, with its rush and racket and roar, seems -to insist that the things that really matter are getting on and making -money—or even the bare living for which half these grimy crowds are -struggling and toiling! But the country!—_that_ has a way of suggesting -itself as a series of lovely backgrounds for a grouping of Two, and of -coaxing home the idea that all that matters is Love. To a falling-in-love -kind of person the country here would seem as bad as Hamlet for being -“_so full of quotations_” from every poet who ever wrote about trysts, -and gathering rosebuds, and loves in valleys, and foolish, pretty -nonsense of that sort. _They’d_ be reminded of it by every dance of a -pair of blue butterflies over the dunes; every spread of the rosy arms -of sea-anemones in the pool towards the incoming wave; and as for these -other waves of scented gold that are poured over all the waste ground -hereabouts—— - -“It’s a blessing there’s such a lot of it out just now!” as Theo remarked -this morning at breakfast. “I suppose engaged people _would_ want to be -where there was plenty of gorse!” - -Whereat her brother and I exchanged glances, across the table, of amused -intelligence. For it’s all very well for this child to think she can -“chip” us with that old tag about kissing and the gorse in bloom. We’ve -only got to remember how little she suspects that the only kiss between -us is that “duty good night” one of Uncle Albert’s visit, and the laugh -is all on our side! - - * * * * * - -“You needn’t laugh, Billy,” Theo added. “You know you’re really -frightfully cross because you won’t be able to get Nancy all to yourself -this afternoon, with these people coming!” - -It was the first I’d heard of any visitors, for I’d come down rather -late that morning. I hadn’t slept as well as I usually do. Outside the -window of my little sloping-ceilinged cottage bedroom the water, at -high tide, had seemed to make rather more noise than its usual soft -lap-lapping against the rocks. And then the moon, rising like a big round -primrose-coloured Chinese lantern in the star-sprinkled purple sky over -the Rivals on the other side of the Menai Straits, had poured a flood of -white radiance straight upon my bed, and I hadn’t bothered to get up and -pull down the yellow linen blind to shut it out. I had wanted to feel the -sea-scented night-breeze across my face. So I had lain there, tossing a -little between the snowy rough country sheets, watching the square of -light creeping inch by inch up the wall, and thinking idly of all sorts -of irrelevant things.... - -Of Cicely in Marconi Mansions.... - -Of “Smithie” at the office, and her boy. They didn’t prove much truth in -the theory that people fall more deeply in love in the country. I saw -again that crossing at the Bank, with the big motor-buses skidding across -the muddy road like beginners on skates; and there, in the middle of the -fog and the petrol-reek and the jostling luncheon-hour crowds, those two -anæmic, City-fied young faces shone as radiantly as if the lovers walked -the loneliest Eden that ever was.... - -Of a school-friend of my own, now very happily married, who had said to -me, long ago: “An engagement, Monica, is such a _skimpy_ time! It’s made -up of nothing but good-byes and good nights to the person you most want -to be always with!” - -And of the difference between that sort of engagement and the -“arrangement” between myself and Billy Waters, which has converted itself -into such an entirely satisfactory and amusing friendship.... - -The result was that I’d dropped off to sleep again after Blodwen’s bang -on my bedroom door, and that I’d been the last down at breakfast. - -“Who’s this that’s coming, Billy?” I asked. “Your Uncle Albert again?” - -“No, thank—I mean, no, not him,” said Billy. “Some French people you -haven’t met yet. They’re touring North Wales in their car. He’s a man -I’ve had a good deal to do with in business.” - -“And _she_——” began Theo, stopping uncharacteristically short as her -brother went on, tapping a letter he held. - -“I’ve just heard from him that they’re in Holyhead now, and coming over -here to look us up this afternoon. So that puts a stopper on our plan of -painting that figure-head for Mrs. Roberts after lunch. We’ll have to -see if we can get it done this morning instead. Good thing I got that -paint last night at the wheelwright’s. Are you on, Nancy? Then, if you’re -ready, we’ll start now, shall we?” - -“Blanche and I don’t think we’ll come, thank you,” said Theodora -punctiliously. - -“What, not until you’re asked?” laughed her brother, rummaging for the -paint-pots under the southernwood bush at the cottage door. He gave me -one pot and the brushes to carry, taking the other two himself. “Well, -good-bye, all!” - -“Come back, then, Cariad!” called Blanche, but the little white dog -frisked unheedingly in circles ahead of us, across the shingle at the -edge of the cove, over a couple of sand-hills, then up the steps cut in -the turf of the cliff where the Roberts have set up a flagstaff and the -wooden woman. - - * * * * * - -She’d been the figure-head of the _Gwladys Pritchard_, Mrs. Roberts had -told us, which had been wrecked in the bay below, many years ago; the -name and the face alike having been copied from the real girl who was -“cariad” to the owner of the vessel. - -“She must have been pretty,” I thought, the first time I climbed the -cliff. - -For many coats of paint, roughly applied, could not spoil or disguise the -setting of the carved girl’s eyes, nor the tender oval of the up-tilted -chin, nor the lines of the neck flowing down into the sloping shoulders -and the figure held up in an unmodern curve above the corset of the -Sixties, which must have set the fashion of Miss Pritchard’s dress. She -wore a little jacket with basques and epaulettes and shoulder-seams set -far down the sleeves; and a tiny pork-pie hat, trimmed with a wing, was -perched upon her hair, which had been last painted yellow as the gorse -that grew in hummocks all around her. The jacket had been white, with -trimmings of emerald green; the same green, too, plastered the hat and -the wooden nosegay which she held up against her breast. Yet, for all -this crude green-and-white, for all the untaught modelling of it, there -was a vitality about this graven image which I’d never seen in any -statue. Was it because it had once been part of that live thing, a ship? - -I could picture that image of a slender girl, leaning breast forward -again from the prow of her lover’s vessel as she heaved and dipped like a -gull on the waves; scanning horizons, joyously riding the gale, and free -to sea and sky! - -Rooted in turf, the immobility of cliff and rock was now her prison, -while the gulls still screamed and wheeled above her.... - -And the real Gwladys? - -“Did she go down with the ship?” I’d asked Mrs. Roberts. - -“No, indeed, mam. There wasn’t one drowned on the _Gwladys Pritchard_,” -Mrs. Roberts had assured us. “That Miss Pritchard she was marry to my -cousin, Captain Lloyd, since—dear me, I don’t know when. They keepin’ a -public-house in Bluemaris now. Ô! she _is_ gone stout, too!” - -“It would have been _prettier_ if she’d been drowned,” Blanche had said -softly. - -“Mam?” Mrs. Roberts had said. - -But Mrs. Waters had finished the story by telling us gently, “Anyhow, the -Lloyds have three of the _sweetest_ little grandchildren; I’ve seen them!” - -Evidently _she_ had thought that for either woman or ship to be safe in -harbour like that was better than any more picturesque finale.... Well! -I don’t know.... - - * * * * * - -We reached the flagstaff, and set down our pots of paint among the -buffets of gorse that had sprays of purple ling and blue scabious growing -through and making a bouquet of each. - -Billy’s shirt-sleeves are always rolled up to the elbow; the sleeves of -my white cotton frock are three-quarter length; so we were both equipped -for work, though I’d refused the offer of Mrs. Roberts’ sackcloth apron. -It was _too_ coal-y and butter-y and paraffiny and scented with hen! But -here the heady warm fragrance of the gorse almost drowned the smell of -our paints. - -“Scarlet, and black, and white? Scarlet for her hat and jacket, eh?” -suggested Billy. “And how are we going to paint her hands and face? What -colour’s flesh?” - -“Some people say it’s just the colour of honeysuckle,” I answered -absently. I can’t be perfectly certain that he _did_ retort so sharply, -below his breath, “_Does_ he, indeed!” or that the name of Sydney -Vandeleur had been threatening to crop up once more between us. Still, -I was glad of the wide pink shelter of my sun-bonnet as I added, in a -matter-of-fact way, “You _could_ get a sort of flesh-tint by mixing a -little of the red with the white paint, but I don’t think I should. -Suppose we leave the face and hands creamy-white as they are?” - -“Very well; and her lips red, and the jacket and that toque affair, with -more dabs of scarlet for the flowers in her bunch,” he said, kneeling -on the sun-warmed turf on the other side of the figure from me, “with a -black wing in her hat.” - -“And her hair left as it is, too,” said I. - -“No, no! I got this on purpose for her hair,” he said, and drew a full -brushful of tar-black paint across the carven and crinkly locks in front, -“she must be a brunette, this time.” - -“Oh, and Mrs. Roberts will be so annoyed to see her without her beautiful -golden chignon,” I protested, working away with the scarlet paint at the -back of the jacket, “she’ll think she’s quite spoilt.” - -“Nonsense; looks much better like this,” he declared. “A black-haired -woman looks so much more _alive_ than the others. Like red wine, dark -grapes, crimson roses ... fairer colours are insipid, washed-out-looking!” - -“No woman thinks so,” said I. “You never hear of a blonde tinting herself -dark. It’s always the other way about!” - -“I know _one_ girl who wouldn’t change,” he argued, glancing over the -shoulder of the wooden woman at the border of dark hair between my bonnet -and my face. “You needn’t pretend you would, miss! Now what are you -smiling at?” - -“Only something,” I said, “that I’d just remembered.” - -“Yes? (You’re an unexpected sex, aren’t you?) Well, what was this?” - -“Only—look out, Billy, you’ll let that black drop run down the side of -her face—only something a girl I know said about fair men being like weak -tea!” - -“Meaning to say, I suppose, that she didn’t think much of _your_ taste in -_fiancés_?” suggested Billy Waters, with a mischievous laugh. I laughed -too. And for the several score of times since we have been here together, -I thought to myself what a delightful and unusual and thoroughly -satisfactory arrangement this friendship of ours had turned out to be. - -I never dreamed that at that very moment _the life of that friendship had -about five more minutes to run_. - -“There!” said Billy, picking himself up and taking a few steps back from -the figure, to survey it, with his fair head on one side. “You can’t say -it isn’t an improvement. What would your friend say to that coloured -hair?” - -“Strong tea,” I suggested flippantly. “Tea that’s stood too long!” - -“You aren’t looking at it. Come over here and see!” - -I straightened myself and went and stood beside him. - -“As a matter of fact, Nancy, the lady’s got rather a look of _you_!” - -And actually something in the contrast of the glistening black locks -against the creamy-pale face with the now scarlet-tinted lips might have -been vaguely characteristic of what, night and morning, I see in my own -mirror. - -“Well, but I hope _I_ don’t look as if I ‘made up’ my mouth!” - -“Why, you _don’t_ make it up, do you?” - -“Of _course_ not,” said I. And then I turned from looking at the painted -figure to the other deeper, tenderer colour of the sea washing a strip of -sand below the cliff. - -“Oh, it _is_ lovely here,” I sighed, revelling in the beauty of that and -the sky. “Did you ever _see_ anything so blue as it is to-day?” - -“Or so golden?” added Billy, nodding towards the hassocks of gorse in -full bloom. “I’ve never seen it like this before. D’you know that there’s -a Welsh proverb that calls this county ‘the land of thriftless gold’? -Rather pretty, isn’t it? It must have been wonderful here in the spring; -this is the second crop, you know. A man I know once told me that it was -like falling in love.” - -“How d’you mean?” I asked, as he stopped. “Aren’t you going to paint the -wing in her hat while you’ve that brush full of black paint?” - -“Presently.—Oh, yes, about that gorse. He said the first blooming was -more showy—more fuss made over it—first love, you know, and all that; but -that it was nothing like as sweet as the later time. Should you agree -with him, d’you think?” - -“How _should_ I know?” I retorted rather flippantly, to hide my intense -surprise that Billy should possess—let alone quote!—a friend who sounded -so utterly unlike himself. “You might know me well enough by this time to -see I’m not that sort of girl!” - -“Which sort of girl? The kind who doesn’t fall in love a second time?” - -“The kind who doesn’t fall in love at all,” I said decidedly. “Anyhow, -I find the second blooming of the gorse, without any metaphors, quite -beautiful enough against that dragonfly-blue bit of Bay!” - -“Ah, yes! You’re fond of the effect of flowering plants against the -blue sea, as I think you mentioned, the evening my uncle dined at The -Lawn,” said Billy, teasingly and unexpectedly. “Only, didn’t you specify -oleanders and myrtles and the Riviera——” - -“Oh, Billy! I never thought you’d do that,” I interrupted him with real -reproach. “No; I _never_ thought you’d be so mean as to remind me, ever -again, of that ghastly evening! I didn’t!” - -There was silence for a moment. He stared down at me. I wouldn’t look -at him. I turned to look at a brown velvet bee that was buzzing some -flattery or other into the golden ear of a gorse-blossom near by. Then I -heard him say slowly: - -“‘Ghastly,’ you call it?” - -“Well—! Of _course_!” - -“I see,” he said, still more slowly. “You mean that it still rankles. You -haven’t forgotten.... You resent that still, in spite of agreeing to be -friends ... in spite of letting one suppose that—well! that it _wasn’t_ -so sickeningly hard for you now, after all. You _do_ bear a grudge then, -still. You mean—” It came out, the last thing I ever expected to hear him -mention!—“that about that kiss!” - -“That?” I retorted quickly, and with my airiest laugh, for this seemed -the only way in which to face the paralysingly embarrassing point -he’d seen fit to raise again. “Oh, that! I never gave it a thought, -Billy! I quite understood! Besides, you couldn’t possibly call that -private-theatricals sort of peck a _kiss_, exactly!” - -“No,” he returned, as quickly. “You couldn’t, could you?” - -He took a step towards me, then caught me to him by the shoulders, and -for a second I thought he was going to gratify the longing which I’d seen -in his eyes any time during that first week of my stay at The Lawn. - -I thought he was going to shake me. - -But no. - -In quicker time than it can be told, his hands had flown from my -shoulders to the pink strings of my sun-bonnet; he’d untied them and -tossed the bonnet on to the nearest hassock of a gorse-bush. He put both -brown hands under my chin and turned my face up to his. Before I could so -much as gasp, he swooped down and kissed me, muttering, “But what could -you call this—and this—and this?” Three times—greedily—on the mouth. - - * * * * * - -For a second I had to clutch at his shoulder to steady myself; for sea -and cliff and gorse seemed wheeling round me in swirls of blue and green -and gold. - -Then I wrenched myself away and faced him—without seeing too distinctly -what was in front of my eyes. - -“Don’t say anything to me,” I heard myself tell him, in a voice that -sounded unnaturally quiet and calm. “This—this can’t be forgiven. Don’t -ask.” - -I heard him begin to say something about: “Do you think I am made of——” - -“Don’t speak to me again, please,” I said, still in that unnaturally -quiet voice. “Not again.” - -I snatched up my sun-bonnet from the gorse-bush, rammed it down over my -hair, and tied the strings so tightly beneath my chin that they nearly -throttled me. Then I turned, saying, “I forbid you to follow me,” and -left him standing there between cliff and sky, beside the wooden woman. - -I walked on until I thought I was out of his sight, then I ran; ran -blindly across the cove and up the sandy path to the cottages. - -On the doorstep of the larger one Theo was sitting, emptying her white -canvas shoes of sand on to the cobbles of the garden path. - -“Hullo, Nancy! Do you know that Cariad was so bored with you that he ran -home?” she said. “What have you done with Billy the Beloved? Is he——” - -“Let me pass, please,” I said quietly, and walked swiftly into the house. -The kitchen door was open and Mrs. Roberts was laying the table for the -mid-day meal. She began, “Was you finiss paint the——” but I couldn’t stop -to speak to her. I ran up the rickety wooden stairs to my bedroom. There -isn’t a lock on the door; I looked. So I just latched it, and went and -sat down on my bed, with its patchwork quilt of faded pinks and mauves. I -began tracing with my fingers the pattern made by the hexagonal patches -of purple. I don’t think I thought of anything at all. - -And I don’t know how long I’d been sitting there before I heard light -steps on the staircase and a tap at the door. I raised my voice a little. - -“Don’t come in.” - -“Nancy,”—it was Blanche—“dinner’s ready!” - -“I don’t want any dinner. I am not coming down.” - -“Oh!—What’s the matter, dear?”—with quick concern. “Are you ill?” - -“No! I’m not ill!” - -“Have you got a headache?” - -“No! I haven’t got a headache. Only please go away. I don’t want to see -anybody.” - -I heard her go softly downstairs again—then the kitchen door opening, and -a murmur of voices. - -His voice. - - * * * * * - -Ah! that brought my anger surging over me at last like a great wave. I -sat bolt upright, with a crumple of the quilt clutched in each hand. - -How dared he! How _dared_ he! - -Taking odious advantage of a situation! _This_ was not what I agreed to -when I said I would be nominally engaged to him. - -_This_ was not unavoidable, like that last time. - -Oh! He needn’t have pointed out to me the difference between that time -and this! I’d _thought_ I was angry then. My anger now was as different a -thing as the difference between those two sorts of kisses. - -_Oh!_ - -_He’s_ broken the contract—he knows that it was tacitly understood that -there should be nothing of this—In fact, it wasn’t so much as thought -of—_ever_. - -_Right_ on my mouth!... - -Well, I don’t owe him anything after this. I shan’t speak to him again. -I shall have nothing more to do with him. He’s a right to my name as his -official _fiancée_, he can keep that—at a distance! My name—nothing else. -I shan’t go on staying with his people after this! Let him make what -excuse he chooses to his mother about that. Let him explain it away as he -likes. I shan’t help him! - -If it were to save his life, I’d never lift a finger to help him again! - -I shall go away at once.... - -How could he! Whether it was a vulgar attempt at flirtation, or simply -that he was riled and meant to be rude to me in the most brutal manner he -could think of—I don’t care which it was! - -What had I said—done—looked—that he should imagine he might? - -After this, he might even say I’d encouraged him! - -Hateful, _hateful_! - -Well, I shall go away.... - -Brute! - -To-morrow, I shall _go_! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -“MANY WATERS——” - - -Well! Anyhow there’s no sense in sitting up in my room brooding over this -thing, on a heavenly afternoon like this and all. - -I’m not going to miss it all just to please _him_. - -And if I am leaving everything—sea and sunshine and mountains—to-morrow, -I may as well take in as much of them as I can to-day. Besides, I suppose -I shall have to go down some time. - -There are these people—whoever they are—expected this afternoon. -Obviously I shall have to be at tea to meet them? I shouldn’t in the -least mind letting _him_ down by remaining invisible until I’m all packed -up and ready for the little local train that must take me up to Holyhead -to meet the Euston mail. But there is his mother to consider—she has been -so sweet to me from the beginning. What I can’t understand about her is -how she ever managed to have such a son? There must have been something -odd and horrid about the father; and he must take after him. The _girls_ -are all right. - -There they are, going out now; down the sandy path to the station; Theo -bare-legged and bare-headed as usual, swinging a basket; off to buy jam, -I expect, for the visitors’ tea; Blanche carrying letters. I heard his -step on the cobbles ten minutes ago, and Mrs. Waters always rests in her -room until three o’clock. The coast’s quite clear, then. Why shouldn’t I -go out and have my bathe? I missed it this morning—thanks to all _that_! -Perhaps the cool green waves of the Bay will help me to feel as if I’d -washed a little of that memory away from me. Already it seems years since -my last bathe; only yesterday morning! When the girls and I ran down -together, to find him already in, practising walking under the water; and -he’d called out “I say! Isn’t it topping to be alive on a day like this?” -as he emerged, head up once more, dripping and glowing in his indigo-blue -sheath, his hair sleek once more with the wet, his arms and shoulders as -smooth and pinky-white as any of ours, but making ours look curiously -slender and delicate. - -Years ago! Everything had been so different! I’d thought _he_ was so -different. - -Well! This will be my last bathe for the summer, so I may as well enjoy -it, all to myself. - - * * * * * - -I undressed quickly, slipped into my black woven silk club costume, and -twisted round my head the long orange silk scarf that keeps my hair from -getting too wet. I simply won’t take to one of those sponge-bag-like -rubber caps that some girls still wear for bathing. They’re too unsightly -for anything—and one doesn’t exactly want to look a blot on the seascape, -even if there doesn’t happen to be anyone else bathing, to see one.... - -As it happened, I found, to my great annoyance, that there was someone -else already in the little cove next to the cottages that it was Theo’s -idea to christen “The Bay of _Many Waters_.” There was a smooth head, -some distance out, dark against the afternoon glitter; a steady stroke -that I knew. - -_Oh!_ - -So he’d come out first! - -Well, that meant that I couldn’t have my bathe here after all—just like -him!... Fresh rage against him surged up in me as I caught up the white -wrap of Turkey-towelling that I had thrown down upon a seaweedy rock with -my string-soled shoes. I’d leave him to it. Perhaps I could get a dip in -the next bay under that cliff where the wooden woman leaned forward to -her watch? - -But, even as I turned to slip away, I heard a sound from across the water -that seemed to make my heart, for a second, stop its beating. - -It was a choking shout for help. - -“Nancy!—Here!—Here!” - -Then that dark head disappeared under the water. - -It couldn’t possibly have been for as long as it _seemed_. No! - -People can’t hold their breath for as long. Then it was up again. The -swimmer had flung himself on his back and was floating. And I—without -actually realizing what I had been doing, I must have cast off my wrap -again, have splashed through the creamy surf of the first waves into the -smoother jade-green depths beyond, for I found myself swimming, striking -out, out—from the shore.... - -Still I didn’t know how I’d started—or why. Except that here was a human -being in trouble whom, somehow or other, I had to help. I didn’t think -about who it was. It wasn’t because of that broken shout of “_Nancy!_” -I’m sure. No; I am sure that, just then, no thought of saving Still -Waters was in my mind. It was just another human being who had called to -me; and towards whom I swam so desperately, making, in my hurry, such a -splashing over each stroke that it seemed to me endless before I came up -to where he floated on his back. - -Automatically I remembered something our swimming-instructor had -drilled into us at school. I found myself telling myself that it was -dangerous—dangerous to get within reach of a drowning person’s hands. -They’d grip you, and you’d both go under. - -“Keep behind him,” I was telling myself. “Keep behind him!” - -But there was no need for me to trouble about avoiding his clutch. When -he spoke, I realized that he, in his danger, was keeping his head far -better than I was. He was calm. - -“Cramp,” I heard him say, “in my left leg. You’ll have to tow me. Can you -swim on your back?” - -“Yes.” - -Whether I could or not, I supposed, I should have to. - -So in turn I flung myself on my back, and caught hold of him under those -hard, strong-feeling arms of his. - -Then began the struggle back to shore. - -The tide was setting in, thank heaven! and as long as we were in the deep -waters it was not so hard. Presently we came to where the waves began to -break. The wind was blowing off the shore, blowing the surfy crests of -the waves backwards as a girl’s hair is blown across her face ... and -presently I was half blinded by the spray that dashed over my head, into -my eyes and mouth. - -I choked, panted.... - -“Rest a minute,” said a voice close to me. “No hurry. The tide will take -us both in.” ... - -But, getting my breath, I struggled on again, yard by yard. Again I got a -mouthful; spluttered, coughed. - -“All right—all right—take it easy!” the voice was saying. - -I simply couldn’t pay any attention to that—I was labouring with all my -strength for both—for myself and this log in the water that I must—_must_ -get ashore. I was startled when he gave a sudden powerful jerk of his -shoulders that altered our course. - -“You’ll have us on to the reef,” he said. “I’ll steer—don’t work so hard—” - -I heard myself gasping. - -—“don’t get flurried, Nancy!” - -“Nancy!” Yes! Then I did realize who it was that I was tugging along with -me for dear life. His life was in my hands—mine, when I’d felt ready -to murder him an hour ago. I’d had to save it.... “Serve him right,” I -thought wildly, as I struggled along. “Oh, serve him right! I’ll show -him—I’ll teach him to kiss me again.” - -Indeed, I’m not sure that I wasn’t muttering this aloud to myself in -the water. Anyhow, voices seemed buzzing in my ears—one was his own as -I’d heard it yesterday—“I say! Isn’t it topping to be alive? Isn’t it -topping to be alive?” - -And then it seemed to come to the very last effort I could make. “_Ah!_” -I heard myself groan. - -The next thing of which I was conscious came with a shock of surprise. It -was the soft jolt of my shoulders against sand. - -We were aground! - -For a minute or so I must have been swimming furiously in my depth, -without even feeling the growing warmth of the shallows about me. - -I let go my wild, unneeded clutch of his arms, staggered to my feet, -waded in, then dropped again, face downwards and panting, on to the -beach, a few yards below the tide-mark of crisp, black seaweed, straws, -and broken shell. - -It was over—we were safe. And now—what? - -I didn’t know. - -Anyhow, for a moment I lay there unable to rise or speak. I threw my arm -across my eyes. Then I found that he’d dragged himself up beside me. He -was leaning over me; saying something I was too dazed to catch. - -I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want him to say anything. He needn’t -suppose I’d intended to save his life. He needn’t think this absurd -crisis had made any difference. There was still this morning between us. -There always would be. This made no difference. None! None at all! - -I got up again, hearing my teeth chatter a little. I turned to the rock -where I’d thrown down my peignoir, and as I did so, I heard him behind me -raise his voice a little: - -“I say! I can’t, you know!—You’ll have to help me up to the cottages, I’m -afraid—” - -I glanced down at him; he was sitting up, his face a little white under -the tan, but quiet and expressionless. And as I looked at him, sitting -there backed by the empty, sunlit cove and the cliff with the figure-head -and flagstaff small as toys in the distance, I passed through the one -second’s most extraordinary experience of my life. - -Was it a waking-dream, or what? The result of shock and over-exertion, -like those buzzing voices, just before, among the waves? For of all -the mad, impossible fancies to dash into one’s mind—before one’s eyes, -even!—this was the maddest. - -This was what happened in that second’s space: - -_Vividly there flashed before me a picture of my own Self just as I -was then, in my black silk maillot with my wet black hair streaming -down my neck; for I’d lost my scarf, it floated like a torn-off strand -of orange-coloured seaweed on the waves. I saw it there.... And I saw -that mind-picture of myself fling herself down on her knees beside him -again—fling herself into his arms, cold from the sea-water and dripping -and hard; saw her bury her face against his throat; heard, more clearly -than in a dream, her gasping sob of, “Billy! You were drowning! I might -have lost you!”_ - -Then—flick! the picture vanished, and I was drawing my wrap about me -composedly enough as I replied to him coldly, “I will help you up—on one -condition. That you don’t speak to me.” - -He said quietly, “You prefer that?” - -“Only on that condition,” I repeated. - -“Very well,” he rose slowly to his feet, trying them one after the other -in the sand. “Only—I’m afraid I shall have to lean on you a bit—not hard.” - -So, after I’d helped him on with his own wrap, I stood for him to put his -arm about my shoulders. I don’t know if he leaned hard or no. Slowly and -in silence, we walked up so from the shore to the cottages. Just before -we got to the sandy path in front, his arm dropped, and he smothered an -exclamation: - -“Hul-_lo_!” - -For, tilted up between the deep ruts made by Mr. Roberts’ cart in the -sand in front of the cottage gardens, we caught sight of a motor-car; -a gaudy, cherry-coloured affair, all ablaze with sunlit brass. The -visitors. They’d come, then. I’d forgotten _them_. They were in my -cottage at tea, I discovered, after he had turned quickly in at the -little gate of the cottage he shares with Blanche; from behind the door -of the kitchen sitting-room of our larger one I heard a babble of talk -and much laughter. Must I face it? With this dreadful day behind me? -Slowly I mounted the wooden stairs to my room and began to dress. I was, -all of a sudden, deadly tired; why, I felt only half awake; what I would -have liked would have been to fling myself down on that patchwork-quilted -bed and sleep the time away until I was to leave Porth Cariad for ever. - -That this must needs have happened this afternoon, to add to the -conglomeration of things between him and me that I longed to forget! -After the way he behaved this morning! - -(Ah, Billy, why did you? We were such chums!) _Caddish_ of him! To think -that he _might_—that I could be treated so! - -That fact remained—and all the waves in the Bay of Many Waters hadn’t -washed any of its bitterness away. As for that mad, mad fancy of mine -afterwards on the beach—well! it must have been something like the way -people declare that the whole of a drowning person’s past life rises -before them in the moment of peril. Only, of course, those would be -pictures of things that had happened—not the reverse of anything that -ever, ever _could_ happen! - -One thing—I’d never let him thank me for the outwardly magnanimous act -into which I’d been just forced, and which had left me too utterly -exhausted even to rage over it as I might. My arms felt almost too -limp to raise to my head as I wrung my streaming hair into a towel and -pinned it, still wet, firmly about my head. It took me minutes to put -on each garment. Meantime those minutes were ebbing away, and these -people downstairs were being kept waiting, expecting to see his official -_fiancée_ at the tea-table. And if I felt I couldn’t stay up here as -I longed to do, it wasn’t on his account. It wasn’t the girl he’d -engaged—and insulted so!—it was his mother’s guest who confronted in the -wavy looking-glass her very washed-out appearance, her dark, ringed eyes -and damp hair plastered down to keep it from dripping on to the first -clean blouse that had come to hand. - -Certainly I looked very little credit to him! - -With a shrug I turned away and went downstairs. - - * * * * * - -The warm kitchen seemed full of people and their voices, and of a -mingled scent of brewing tea and warm butter and—could it be a whiff -of perfume: _trèfle_? The tea-table was crowded with Mrs. Roberts’ -gayest crockery, with her largest black teapot, with mounds of yellow -light-cakes and clusters of brown eggs and great slabs of Welsh farmhouse -bread-and-butter. In the middle a glass jug held a bouquet of heather and -honeysuckle and blue scabious. There was a dish of damson jam, and a very -golden, “shoppy” cake. - -At the head of the table, Mrs. Waters was entertaining a stout, sallow -gentleman with a black moustache and a plaid tie, who was talking French -very fast and with a good deal of gesture. Blanche, elbows on the table, -was leaning eagerly across it to talk; opposite to her were her brother, -looking much as usual again, I saw, and Theodora in a state of flushed -animation, from whom, in the general babble, I caught something that -sounded like “tell Billy’s sweetheart—” and between Theodora and him -there sat, leaning back in her chair and laughing gaily, a young girl in -a wonderfully-cut and simple get-up of flame-yellow and white and cream, -with a swirl of feathery yellow about her midnight black hair; one of the -prettiest girls I’d ever seen in my life. Ah! it was she who’d brought in -that whiff of clover-scent? - -She was laughing up into his face. - -And she was calling my official _fiancé_ “Billy.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -THAT GIRL - - -There was a scraping of wooden chair-legs on the tiled kitchen floor as I -came in, and the men rose. - -Mrs. Waters introduced “Our friend Monsieur Charrier and his -daughter”—and the stout gentleman, who wore pale-hued boots shaped like -the blades of oars, bowed until I could see the rolls of fat beneath -his collar behind, then shot at me out of eyes like two black currants -a glance that made me feel utterly disapproved-of and “found wanting.” -The girl gave me a look less frankly measuring, while the whitest teeth -in the world flashed in her little face, oval and smoothly olive as the -shell of one of those eggs on the table. - -She was very lovely.... - -She held out her hand and gave mine the violent shake that foreigners -seem to think so truly English; and then I slipped into the empty place -next to Blanche, feeling thankful for the tea which Mrs. Waters handed to -me in a large cup decorated with a group of Welsh women in the costume -never seen except on china. - -I drank it in a kind of thirsty dream; I couldn’t have talked to save -anyone’s life just then; but the talk was buzzing on all around. - -“—planned to go to-morrow; but shall you be here?” - -“—since we find ourselves in such charming neighbourhood, we could -prolong our sojourn——” - -“Oh, yes, _do_ prolong it! So ripping for Blanche and me to have Odette -to go about with! Of course, we never _see_ Billy and Nancy here!” - -“Don’t believe her, Odette!” he was laughing quite naturally. - -“—can’t call your shore your own, this year! _You_ don’t know what it is -to have an engaged couple in the place!” - -“No? It is not agreeable?” The pretty French girl turned to smile at him -again. “You do not encourage me to come, so!” - -“I’m writing a book about it——” - -“Theo dear, finish your tea and don’t talk so much!” - -“‘The Complete Gooseberry’ it’s called, if you know what that means.” - -“Ah! Place where you find the little babies! Yes?” - -“No! not place! People! Unengaged ones like us and you and everybody but -_Them_.” - -“—Enchanted, madame!” - -“—with rules like this: ‘_Don’t cough outside doors; they hate it. Far -better not go in_!’” - -“—More hot water, please, Blodwen——” - -“—_Don’t stalk them with a camera. You never get anything worth -printing!_” - -“—And will I bring a two more fress negg, mam?” - -“_If one of them’s away, don’t ask who’s got the ink!_” - -“—No, but do you remember the bathing at Dinard?” - -“—Next year, perhaps——” - -“—start before lunch——” - -“—if the tide’s right——” - -“—But Monsieur Charrier, as you were saying——” - -“—icy!” - -“—as warm as warm!” - -“How was it to-day, Nancy?” - -“Nancy, I believe you stayed in too long, dear,” murmured Mrs. Waters -gently to me as she passed my cup down again. - -“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said vaguely, trying to smile at her. She was -the only one of the party to whom I felt I could turn in my utter fatigue -and bewilderment. For in that party I felt myself as a sort of plain and -neglected little nursery-governess. It seemed impossible that anyone -should ever have admired _me_—that Major Montresor had ever paid me -compliments—or Sydney wanted to marry me!—or that, for at least a moment, -my employer had found me attractive enough to flirt with. I hadn’t looked -at him, but I knew he hadn’t glanced once at me. His attention was -entirely divided between Monsieur Charrier, to whom he listened with a -deference new to me, and that pretty French fashion-plate in white and -cream and tango-colour, who laughed whenever her host said anything at -all. - -Yes! She was very lovely. She made me feel dowdy and drab and _gauche_ -beyond words. Even at my best I should have felt that she outshone me; -even if I did possess longer eyelashes and a flush of pink and a dimple, -what were these compared with the finished _chic_ of the way she wore -hair and clothes—to her scintillating vivacity? No wonder the man beside -her was so obviously lost in admiration of her! - -Men adore a girl who’s “_bright_,” who amuses them while she saves them -the trouble of thinking what to say. I believe that somewhere at the back -of every man’s mind there’s a fancy portrait of himself, in a sultan’s -turban, applauding condescendingly while some fair dancing-girl postures -and performs for his pleasure. - -_Men!_ Even the ones who have seemed “whitest,” as Jack calls it, turn -out to be cads in the end. Trying to flirt with the girl to whom you’re -nominally engaged, and whom you’ll never marry, is the sort of “joke” -that appeals to a masculine sense of humour. Yes, even when the possessor -happens to be really attracted by quite another girl. For it didn’t take -me many seconds of silent looking-on to see what game was being played -between my employer and that girl. - -“Odette, are these your gloves?” - -He picked them up from the floor when at last we all rose. - -“_Your_ gloves, Billy,” retorted Mademoiselle Charrier gaily. “Still a -pair from the beautiful great box you bought me. You remember, yes?” - -“Ah, the box you won from me at that flying-meeting. Of course I -remember.” - -And I too remembered hearing of those gloves and this bet, ages ago—the -afternoon after I had been out to lunch for the first time with my -official _fiancé_. - -So this was the young French girl he’d told me about! And as I watched -them standing chatting together, a little apart from the group round the -motor outside, I suddenly gave a quick guess at something else he might -have had to tell me about her if he’d chosen. - -_This very girl had something to do with his official engagement to me!_ -Somehow or other, she was his “reason” for appearing to have a _fiancée_ -at all—a _fiancée_ upon whom he’d been so particular to impress that -“this affair would never end in marriage!” Possibly my employer and that -girl were already secretly—but really, not nominally—betrothed to one -another? - -It looked like it. It looked uncommonly like it. - -At something he said she blushed quite rosily. Oh, and they mustn’t think -I didn’t notice her shake of the head and her quick little silencing -frown at my official _fiancé_ when her father, in a tea-coloured alpaca -dust-coat, at last left off fussing over his engines and asked them if -they—calling them “_mes enfans_”—were ready to start? - -“Oh—but are you going too, then, Billy?” his mother put in quickly. -Monsieur Charrier answered with a flow of French about “_affaires_,” and -documents which he had left at his hotel in Holyhead, which it would be -so much, so much better if Mr. Waters would spare but a little half-hour -to investigate. - -“Very good of you to give me the opportunity, sir,” said Mr. Waters. “I -can get a train back, mother.” - -“Ah, but no, but no! The auto will be again at your service as soon as -we have dined at that dog of an hotel,” declared the stout Frenchman. -“I will bring your son home quite safely, madame, to you and”—with a -particularly hollow show of politeness—“to mademoiselle!” - -Here his daughter murmured something about the four seats in the auto, -plenty of space for mademoiselle his _fiancée_ if she would deign to -accompany—— - -I expect Mademoiselle Charrier knew well enough how safe it was to issue -that invitation! So did my employer, when he struck in with “Ah, that’s -very nice of you,” then turned and addressed me directly for the first -time since we had walked up from the beach together. - -“Yes! That would be a good idea, wouldn’t it? You’ll come along too, -won’t you, Nancy? We could get a trap back.” - -I excused myself as naturally as I could manage it, with something about -being rather tired. It was true enough. - -As that cherry-coloured car panted, jerked, then whizzed off down the -stone-wall-bordered Holyhead road, with its trio of passengers, I felt -almost as if it had driven straight over me. - -And I felt as if I shouldn’t have cared very much one way or the other if -it had! - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -THE FIRST AVOWAL - - -I suppose I must have dropped off to sleep directly I threw myself down -on my bed, and have slept for some time. - -It was growing dusk in my little bedroom; outside my window veils of -purple gauze were drawn over sand-hills and shore, and the tide was far -out again by the time I was awakened by a tap at my bedroom door. - -“Yes?” I called drowsily, wondering, for a second, where I was, and -what horrible thing it was that seemed lying in wait for me to wake up -properly and remember it. - -The door opened and Mrs. Waters came in, carrying a little tray. - -“I’ve brought you this, dear.” It was a glass of ginger wine with two -biscuits laid over the top of it. “I know you stayed in the water too -long this afternoon; you were done up. Drink it up, child.” - -I sat up, and she put out her hand to smooth my damp hair while I -finished the glassful. - -“That’s better, isn’t it?” - -“Much, thank you,” I sighed gratefully; for the wine had seemed very -heartening, and heartening was what I needed. The horrible memory had -come back to me. Two of them, in fact: that of this morning, even before -that of this afternoon. His mother knew nothing of either; _that_ I read -in the pink, December rose of a face under the grey hair. The dear! and I -must leave her.... - -“I’ve brought you something else too,” she said, almost shyly, like a -schoolgirl who isn’t sure that she won’t be snubbed; “something you’ll -like.” - -She put her hand to her soft black muslin bodice, unfastened something -that was hidden inside, and brought out a thin, old-fashioned pendant of -flat gold, slung on a slender golden chain. - -She opened it and held it out to me. I took it in my hand and carried it -to the window, where there was still enough light by which to see it well. - -Coiled up below the oval glass, faintly gold as thistle-down in sunshine, -and fine as floss-silk, there was a baby’s curl. - -“That was the very first curl I ever cut from Billy, the day that he -was christened,” his mother told me softly, sitting on the side of my -bed, while I stood, not knowing how to speak to her, by the window. “He -had such pretty hair always!” she went on, “quite as pretty as Theo’s -is now. Only boys—men always seem to look upon curly hair as a sort of -affliction; they’re never satisfied unless they’re flattening it out with -brushes and horrid stuff out of bottles, are they? And when we all go -back to Sevenoaks again, Nancy—” - -I lifted my head to try to interrupt her, to say something about my being -forced to go away before, but no words came; she went on talking, as if -more to herself than to anyone else, of what seemed, just then, almost -unbearable to me. - -—“I’ll show you heaps of other little things that belonged to him as -a baby. His very first tiny shirt! They put new babies into shirts -then, you know. Fine linen, with narrow, real lace round the neck and -the little sleeves.... Oh, of course I know those silk-and-wool vests -they have now are much more sensible. I’m _quite_ modern, really. -Still—there’s a lovely embroidered christening-robe of his ... all his -robes. I made others for Blanche and Theo. I’d a fancy to keep them all -separate, so that when they—my babies!—grew up and married they could -have them handed on. So all Billy’s will be for you, Nancy—and the little -locket. I knew you’d care to keep it.” - -“I?” I cried, aghast and huskily. I held it back to her. “Oh, no! It’s -not for me!” - -“Of course it is. I always meant to give it to his bride on her -wedding-morning.” - -“Then you keep it for—for her, until then,” I broke in, with a little -laugh that sounded wild in my own ears, and I pressed the pendant with -the christening-day curl back into his mother’s hand. She said nothing -for a moment. - -Presently, in the dusk, I felt her long arm slip round me, and her -hesitating, gentle voice was saying very earnestly and pitifully: “Nancy! -You do care for my boy, don’t you?” - -And then into that day of queer and crowded horrible happenings, there -was packed yet another. - -In my own ears I heard my own voice answering his mother’s appeal with -words I could scarcely recognize as my own. Yet it was no freak of -imagination this time. It was no mad fancy like that on the beach. It -was I, Monica Trant, who in that voice so shaking and strained cried -desperately: - -“Oh, yes! _Yes!_ You _know_ I care for him!” - -And with that avowal in my ears I felt as if some stranger had cried -aloud a secret that I had never even guessed, but that now—_now_ I knew -to be coming true. - -I found myself putting out my hands before me, almost as if this growing -knowledge were something that I could hold away from myself. For a time -I must hold it away; I _must_! For at least as long as I remained here. I -clenched my hands tightly, dropping them to my sides, using all my will -to bring myself to speak in my usual voice again. - -“Will you tell me what time it is, Mrs. Waters?” - -“Half-past seven. You’ll go to bed early, dear, won’t you? You won’t stop -up!” - -“No, I’ll go to bed.” - -“And to-morrow—Nancy, I don’t want to say much more. Only, Life promises -to be so golden, dear, for you and him!” - -It was then that she gave me a sting that I wish I could forget. I -_shall_ forget, but not at once, that his mother said: - -“_Fate has been merciful to let you two meet._ Don’t let that be spoiled! -To-morrow——” - -I held her hand with that little locket in it clutched for a minute -against my breast. - -“It shall be different to-morrow,” I whispered before she went, keeping -my meaning to myself. It will, of course, be “different” enough! - - * * * * * - -Half-past seven. There was just time, then, to send my wire. - -I crept out silently over the sand-hills and away to the tiny post office -where, thank goodness, the postmistress’s literal English won’t allow her -to read much between the lines of this. - - “To Harradine, Marconi Mansions, Battersea, London. - - “Please send off immediately to Trant, care Waters, Porth - Cariad, Anglesey, telegram as follows: (Begins.) ‘Please return - at once; am ill, must see you, Cicely.’ (Ends.)—From TOTS.” - -If she only has the sense to answer that correctly, and at once! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -“ALL CHANGE HERE” - - -Cicely’s answering wire—for a wonder correctly worded—arrived this -morning at breakfast as I came down. - -I’ve shown it to the Waters: explained that I must be off at once. Only -Theo protested angrily, “Your chum ill? How _careless_ of her just when -we were such a jolly party, and going to Red Wharf Bay with the Charriers -to-morrow, and all!” The others accepted it with scarcely a word. They -didn’t even show that they found it odd that Miss Harradine, who lives -in Battersea, should hand her telegram in at Euston Station—though I -wondered over that myself. Not even Mrs. Waters said a word to press me -to wait and send a nurse instead; she didn’t ask when I thought I might -come back. If she _looked_ questions I didn’t see them; I was steadfastly -keeping my eyes for breakfast-cups, and clocks, and time-tables, and -anything but the faces of these people I’m going to leave—for good. All -the morning I’ve spent in my bedroom, packing-up. - -Twice, while I was busily emptying drawers and laying out my things in -folded heaps on the bed, I heard outside my window a whistle like a -blackbird’s note; but this time I wasn’t taken in for a moment. I knew it -wasn’t a blackbird. I took no notice of him. - -I went on packing, laying my string-soled bathing shoes at the bottom -of my trunk. A long time before I shall need _those_ again! I let him -whistle. - -He tried something else. - -Twice there was a sharp tap on the pane, just as when that thrush was -cracking a snail. But I knew that this time it really was a pebble thrown -up to catch my attention: thrown, not from the trimly-gravelled sweep -in front of a big house, but from the cottage garden planted with sandy -white pinks and lad’s-love—thrown to bring me down. I wasn’t to be either -whistled or tapped to his side. - -I rolled my sun-bonnet—there was a little rip where it had caught on a -gorse prickle—into a tight pink bundle and rammed it down beside my shoes. - -I wasn’t going down. - -Then came a crunching on the cobbles of the path below, and a soft call -of “Nancy!” - -Not I; I wasn’t going down. - -“Nancy!”—more urgently. “I say!” - -No! Let him think what he liked of me—rude, obstinate, childish, or -sullen—as long as he only didn’t guess _why_ I didn’t mean to go down, or -even look out the window to answer him. I couldn’t face it now. Not with -what my own lips had first told me of the thing which I had to hold away -from me, at arm’s length, for as long as I had the strength. - -“Nancy!” - -Evidently he was set on saying something to me—but whether it was about -yesterday morning or yesterday afternoon I didn’t care. I was equally set -on his not having the chance. Now I was afraid this chance would happen -after lunch, and I was grateful to that which prevented his taking me up -to Holyhead and seeing me off by the Euston mail alone. - -I rejoiced over the timely and snorting arrival of that magenta-coloured -“auto” of the Charriers, bringing over Monsieur with some more of his -business-documents, and Mademoiselle with business that a child might -guess at. - -I leaped at their proffered lift of luggage and all, back to Holyhead -Station, and the four of us went off together. - -Then, sitting beside this French coquette, who seemed bent on seeming -sweet to me—(Why? I suppose because the girl to whom he _is_ engaged -feels that it’s “in the picture” to be generous to the girl he _has_ -“engaged”)—my heart sank, and I wished I hadn’t accepted. We were -speeding along far too fast along the level road towards the purple hump -of the Holyhead mountain. We should be there too soon. Heavens! There’d -be half an hour to wait at the station, and he could get what he wanted -to say in then.... - -Why hadn’t I thought of that! If something would only happen.... - -It did. - -Never, never has a motor breakdown been hailed with delight before by -a passenger; but I blessed the fortunate accident that kept Monsieur -Charrier and my employer fumbling, fidgeting and fuming about the -bonnet for over half an hour by the roadside. Mademoiselle, in her -lemon-coloured wrap and daring little hat, sat on the top of a low -stone fence with me in my brown silk coat and skirt in which I’d first -travelled down to The Lawn. I was so delighted by the delay that I could -even laugh quite gaily at her as she chattered. - -“Always the same! Each time that we take a passenger to make very -quickly, there arrives this _malheur_!... Now, now, it is good? it is -well? it is right? No?... Regard my father, Miss Nancy, on the earth -under the auto nearly: he look like a little fat dog that has been run -over, not? Ah look at this brave Billy, always the same idea, _encore -un_ spanner! Now he will lick her into shapes!... It is finish, Billy? -No?... Ah, he is doing it express, on purpose.... You will loose the -train, and Mademoiselle must return with you—what a chancey day!” - - * * * * * - -Mercy! Return with him?—the midnight train would be impossible—I should -be kept until the next morning—Horrors! My heart was in my mouth at the -thought.... - -It was with two minutes to spare, however, that we flung ourselves, -with the hastiest of thanks, out of the motor, and rushed into the busy -station that stretches down to the quay, where a couple of slanted -funnels seemed as big as two leaning towers of Pisa painted red. No time -to lose. He found me a corner-seat facing the engine, in a carriage with -one other lady. He attended to my luggage with the speed and ease of a -man who can make men obey, then he looked straight at me and began: “I -haven’t time now, but look here, I shall——” - -Again I baffled him. - -“I have nothing to read!” I cried, as if in dismay over the fact. “Will -you fetch me a paper—anything.” - -With a little jerk of his shoulders he turned away to the bookstall, -and I sat back in my corner looking dully out at the moving bustle on -the platform below the big Norman Wilkinson posters of steamboats on a -moonlit sea. Why couldn’t we start—it must be time! I’d said good-bye -to his people, said it as if I were going no further than for one of my -afternoon tramps at Porth Cariad with him. Now it was to him that I must -say good-bye.... I couldn’t take it in yet. I didn’t want to. Above all, -I didn’t want him to say it—or anything else. - -Again the situation was unexpectedly saved. - -The carriage-door burst open, and a man, panting with haste, flung a cape -and a blue-covered _English Review_ on to the seat opposite mine, drew -his handkerchief over his brow with a “Phew!” that meant “Only just done -it!” then leaped out again on to the platform, calling, “Porter! when is -this train due off?” - -“She ought to be off now, sir; we’ve been kept back by the boat, we’re -ten minutes behind time.” - -But it was not this that made me sit up and turn quickly to the man who’d -dropped back into the seat opposite to me. Slim shape, soft hat, Vandyke -profile—yes, I thought I’d recognized the voice. Sydney Vandeleur, of all -people—and at this moment! At any other, I might have longed to pick up -that _English Review_ and hurl it at his picturesque head, but, for just -this one occasion, I was overjoyed to see him. My employer wouldn’t be -able to say any last words now, before him. - -“Monica—Miss Trant!” exclaimed Sydney quickly. “How odd! Did you see -_her_?” - -“See whom?” - -“Why, Cicely!” - -Cicely! The tone in which he used her Christian name told me all there -was to know, _there_! I’d thought so! - -“I’ve been seeing her off, you know, to Ireland—the Dublin boat—just gone -off.” He nodded towards the quay. “Had to get back to London to-night; I -am meeting the Mamma in Pont Street to-morrow morning, and——” - -“Take your seats, please! Take your seats!” The guard’s whistle was at -his lips as my official _fiancé_ came racing back along the platform. An -armful of papers and magazines fell on to my lap. - -“Here you are, Nancy. And, I say! I’m going to——” - -What he was going to say broke off again with a snap. And the last glance -I had of his blonde, sun-browned face and quick eyes showed them frozen -in a stare of utter astonishment at the sight of my travelling-companion. - -Yes—my goodness! What would he think of finding me with Sydney -again?—Sydney, whose name has so often nearly cropped up between us. -Would he think——? - -What difference would it make if he did? - -The train steamed out of the station across the flat Anglesey country, -between marshlands ghostly-white with bog-cotton in the dusk.... What -would he think? - -This was what occupied me all the time Sydney was talking, for he was in -a mood to talk to anyone. I, for example, was not the Rose, but I had -shared rooms with the Rose, and he was eager to tell me about her, and -how she had gone to stay with his married sister until—something or other -to do with “the Mamma.” Poor Lady Vandeleur, fated to see her only son -falling in love with such totally ineligible girls! First a City typist -at twenty-five shillings a week; now a Bond Street mannequin! - -But my employer didn’t know of this change. How could he? He -probably—yes, certainly!—imagines things are as they might once have -seemed to be. - -Will he think I arranged this? - -“Of course you know her—but not as one does now!—the last few -weeks! We were together at the Café Royal—He’s going to paint -her—Colouring!—Wonderful! You should have seen the costume I designed for -her—Five Arts Ball——Purposely giving the effect of——Quite in the period, -of course!—People who understand!—Such _souplesse_ of mind as she has——” -Sydney went on to the air. My whole attention was for someone very -different. - -He can’t imagine I’d do anything so underhand! Even if he did imagine -that—well, I couldn’t explain unless he asked. If he did ask, I could -explain less than ever! Oh, why can’t I wipe four months straight out of -this year and begin again? But then, there would have been Jack to help! -But then, there would have been Sydney.... I should have been engaged to -this creature before me in that hat, talking of Cicely’s _souplesse_ of -mind! If he—the other one—only knew what I really think of Sydney! - -“Fancy,” I commented haphazard to the rhapsodist before me. “Well; I -do hope everything will be all right.” And I took up the magazine my -employer had tossed on to my lap—there was a picture on the cover of a -pretty Summer-girl looking over the sea—and prepared to hold it up in -front of me for the rest of the journey. - -Sydney—surprised and sulky—read his _English Review_. Presently I refused -his not too pressing invitation to join him in the dining-car, and he -left me for an hour and a half. - -For love, that robs us women of the appetite for anything but Romance, -seems to make men even hungrier for their food. - - * * * * * - -“Eus-tern!” came the familiar Cockney bawl again at last. “Eus-tern!” - -It was a change, after what I’d been used to for the last few weeks, to -have to fend for myself in the matter of luggage and a taxi. One doesn’t -specially look to men in love for decent manners. Still—that other one -knew how to pay these attentions in spite of his Odette and her gloves! -Sydney’s evidently the type that pays homage to the Well-Beloved by being -casual towards every other woman. He seemed to efface himself until his -lukewarm offer of getting me a cab could be answered from the cab-window. - -“Ah—may I tell him to drive to Marconi Mansions, Miss Trant?” - -“I’ve told him, thanks. How fearfully hot it is here, and how stuffy”—I -sniffed with distaste—“after the country!” - -“Yes, isn’t it?—one’s almost consoled for Her being away, in that lovely, -soft, pure air of Ballycool! Good night!” - -The last sort of night I thought I’d have! But once back in my familiar -little camp-bed in Marconi Mansions, I tucked my cotton dressing-gown -round me because no sheets had been left out, and fell into that -dreamless trance of utter tiredness. - -I slept like a log all night. - -(_Next day._) - -_How_ the flat seems to have shrunk! and what a state Cicely has left it -in! Has she moved _all_ our ramshackle furniture since I was here last? -Used that table to be right in the middle of the room, choking it up -like this?—and where’s my dear print of “Kitty Fisher” that used to hang -just _there_, where she’s put that framed oil-sketch of—what on _earth_? -It looks like a study, by Blossom, of that coloured tie of Sydney’s—and -there’s a little red “_sold_” label on it. I suppose he bought it for -her out of one of the shows at the Grafton Gallery. The couch, too, -is littered with books ... Marinetti ... Schnitzer ... Tangore ... -Strindberg’s “_Stronger Woman_” ... a slender volume, “_The Everlasting -Mercy_,” inscribed “_To Cicely, from her devoted S. V._” - - * * * * * - -H’m! Cicely among the intellectuals? Well, I suppose some of us are made -adaptable as water, taking the shape of any vessel we’re poured into by -Man. Perhaps—perhaps I might have been the same, if—— - -But I do wish she’d had the _souplesse_ or the _something!_ to throw -away, before she left, this litter of florists’ half-dead flowers, -expensive stale roses and carnations, that fills up every one of our pots -and crocks. - -I’d better do it, I suppose.... - -Also I’d better wash up my breakfast-things—and Cicely’s of the day -before, which are heaped upon the kitchen table. - -On the top of an oily quarter-pound of butter there’s a very dirty note. - - “_Dear Miss I am unable to come to-day has my little girl is - queer hoping no inconvenence yrs truely mrs skinner._” - -All right. I’ll wash up ... loathsome job! That kettle always took so -long to boil—we ought to have a flat-bottomed one like the one they -use for picnics at the Waters’. It’s a good thing I’m able to think -so composedly of them. Doesn’t it show, after all, that—what I told -his mother, what I thought I should have to hold away from myself so -determinedly, may not really be true ... may not, anyhow, be the deep -and lasting sort of “true” that I imagined? Just a fancy, a passing, -summer-holiday attraction for someone who’ll never guess. It must—it -_shall_ be that. No harm in remembering him—all of them. Let’s see. -To-day was to be their excursion to Red Wharf Bay. I can see the whole -party—and their jolly, sun-browned faces against the throbbing blue of -sea and sky. Odette Charrier will be like some bright foreign bird just -alighted amid the homely gold of the Welsh gorse ... prattling away in -her pretty broken English that I believe she sometimes breaks on purpose -to hear Billy Waters’ amused, boyish laugh. - -They’ll be together all the time to-day—no official _fiancée_ to -intervene with even the shadow of a claim.... - -Together they’ll be unpacking the picnic basket, hunting for the -corkscrew, picking up big, sun-warmed pebbles from the beach to lay at -the corners of the white picnic cloth to keep it from flying into the sea. - -The others will be—oh, somewhere about.... - -Those two will stroll off after lunch, I suppose. I wonder if they’ll -bathe? _He_ wouldn’t have lost his nerve even after that afternoon -swim.... _Only yesterday?_ They’ll bathe from the rocks, I expect. And I -might still have been there.... - -A ring at the door of the flat. Milk, Mrs. Skinner, or—what? - -I’d better go and see.... - - * * * * * - -They call _us_ the unexpected sex, of whom no man can ever say what we -shall be at next. - -What about themselves? - -Only last evening I’d left him standing, stiff with astonishment, on the -Holyhead platform. This morning here he was again, blocking up the tiny -entrance to our flat—my official _fiancé_! - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -PARTING COMPANY - - -Thank heaven for the instinct that silenced the welcoming “Billy!” before -it broke from my lips. Thank heaven also for that numbness all over me -that allowed me to say in a voice as detached as if it had been the -piano-tuner to whom I’d just opened the door, “Oh! good morning.” - -“Good morning.” A tone as blank as a whitewashed wall between him and me. -“I suppose you are surprised to see me.” - -“Well, I—yes, I am, of course.” - -“You didn’t expect me.” - -“No.” We both glanced down at my sleeves, still rolled up from the -kitchen. - -“I have something to say to you,” he went on in that same tone. His face -I couldn’t see in that little, dark drainpipe of a passage where we -stood. “That’s why I came.” - -“Oh!” - -What could it be that brought him an eight hours’ journey on my track? -Surely not that foolish old out-of-date apology still—or those unwanted -thanks for saving his life. - -“Don’t you want to hear what it is?” - -“Er—yes; oh, yes,” reluctantly. “But I’m sorry I can’t ask you to sit -down here; you see my friend is away——” - -“Oh! She’s _away_. I’m glad she’s well enough. I thought she was ill.” - -This I didn’t know how to meet. - -“Where may I speak to you, then?” he added. - -“Is it—about something very important?” - -“Important enough to bring me up to London by the midnight train after -you’d left. I just had a bath and breakfast at an hotel and came on here. -So—” - -Evidently there was no getting out of it. - -—“Will you come out and talk? If it’s not troubling you too much,” he -added stonily. - -“Well, if you will wait until I put on my hat and coat,” I said slowly, -“I will come out into Battersea Park with you. We can sit down there.” - -In a few minutes we were sitting side by side on a couple of green-backed -wooden chairs on the path that faces the sluggish brown river and the -barges that slid slowly between us and the tower of Old Chelsea Church. - -Why had he come? - -“Important,” he’d said. Was it a recall? Must I go back for the five -remaining months of my year’s contract? I remembered, then, that it was -in writing—I’d forgotten that! Must I return to Porth Cariad to serve the -purpose of him and that girl? - -If he insisted, I must. - -I should be glad—(not, not to be with _him_ again! That passing feeling -I should no doubt manage to kill. I _must_ kill it)—to be back with his -mother and Blanche and Theo in that golden Anglesey, instead of in this -baked and dusty park, rowdy with Board-school children on holiday. For -the sake of the _place_ I could forget the man I was with; I could ignore -that morning when we painted the figure-head! Thank heaven I was feeling -so like “a wooden woman” myself. - -For another moment I was kept waiting, wondering what he would say. Three -words told me everything. - -They swept aside so many things that up to then had seemed real and -undeniable enough. They did away with hours in a music-room, of another -hour in the dusk under a copper-beech, when overtures were made of a -friendship that seemed as if it were going to work all right, (“_You -could be such a little brick to me!_”) but had broken down because, -after all, he was a man and I a girl—even though I didn’t happen to be -the right girl.... Those weeks of gay, open-air comradeship in Wales, -that morning of sunshine and hotly-snatched kisses on a cliff among the -gorse, that afternoon of a race and a struggle for life in the jade-green -waters of a bay.... All these were to be as though they’d never been. - -It was all over in those three words: - -“Now, Miss Trant!” - -The unexpected sex? Oh, no! It’s we who can be trusted to do just what’s -expected of _us_ by our nearest man: to be heroic, petty, clinging or -capable. He meant me to be utterly business-like and formal. Well, he -found me so, my tone just matching his own. - -“Now, Miss Trant!” - -“Yes, Mr. Waters?” - -“It’s about this nominal engagement of ours. That was to go on for a -year, I think.” - -“Yes.” - -“You’ll be glad to hear it needn’t last so long, after all.” - -“Not a year?” - -“Not any longer at all. I’ve come to release you now.” - -I found absolutely nothing to say. It was as if I’d been preparing to -walk down a long corridor that stretched before me, and had found, after -I’d gone a yard, that a door was slammed in my face. I seemed to stare -at blank walls in every other direction.... I’d better say something.... -What was there? - -“Thank you for letting me know.” Then, “As this has only lasted so much -less than the time you said, I will send back to you my cheque for——” - -“You will do nothing of the kind, please,” curtly. “I made the -arrangement. I break it.” - -“Yes, but that money——” - -“I shall not take it, anyhow.” - -“I shall send it somewhere, then,” I told him, and glanced round at the -nearest group of grimy little Cockneys on the brown grass. “The Fresh Air -Fund.” - -“As you please.” - -A pause. I was wondering if he meant me to say anything else. He began -again. “I expect you guess my reason for this change of arrangement.” - -“I think—I do,” I said. - -Yes, I thought, whatever it was that stood between him and an open -engagement to Mademoiselle Charrier must be at an end, and Miss Trant, -alias “Nancy,” is no longer needed for the rôle of the red herring on the -trail. But his next remark almost startled me out of my chair. - -“Ah! You mean you quite realize that in breaking this contract, I’m -considering _your_ feelings. It is for _your_ sake.” - -“_Mine?_” - -“Naturally!” he said sharply. “When I saw that the arrangement had become -so irksome to you—when I saw _why_——” - -I turned to stare up at his temper-set face, repeating “When?” - -“Need you ask when? Last night,” he said, still more sharply, “at -Holyhead Station.” - -Ah! Then he _had_ thought—what I’d wondered about. It was my turn to look -set with anger; I know I flushed. Let him go on. - -“Yesterday, first thing in the morning, you get that wire, handed in at -Euston. A message that’s obviously—well, a fake. Didn’t you arrange to -receive it?” - -“Yes,” I admitted shortly. “I did.” - -“Ah. I knew that, Miss Trant. Following on that, I find you travelling -back to London the very same evening with that—that friend of yours, Mr. -Vandeleur. Rather a coincidence.” - -“You mean,” I said, my heart thumping with rage, partly against Cicely’s -adorer for making this trouble, partly against this other man with his -savage tone and suspicious eyes, “that you think I told him to send the -wire!” - -“There was the wire! And there _he_ was.” - -“Even if it had been so, why not?” - -“With you engaged to me?” - -“Nominally!” - -“Makes no difference to the circumstances!” he shot out. “Who knows that, -but you and I? To anyone else, it would have looked uncommonly——” - -“I don’t see it!” I declared, but I saw the reason of his anger and it -made me angrier still. _His_ dignity compromised! His official dignity as -a _fiancé_! So I had heard of married men, with wives to whom they were -utterly indifferent, still showing that furious male jealousy of other -men. “But I should have been doing nothing against our contract.” - -“Nothing against the letter of it, you think? But when I asked you to -enter into it, one of my first questions, you’ll remember, was whether -you were already engaged.” - -“Well?” - -“Well! I shouldn’t have troubled you if I’d known all this. I’m sorry.” - -“Known all _what_?” - -“Remember, it’s not the only time I’ve seen you with him!” he went off at -a tangent. “There was that first occasion—at the Carlton. I thought there -seemed something, when he congratulated me! And then that time at the -flat. He had eyes for nothing but you.” - -“Oh, _hadn’t_ he!” I was breaking in, but my late employer went on with -his indictment. - -“Even Montresor, at our house, seemed to know all about it! And now his -meeting you in Wales—You won’t tell me that wasn’t by appointment?” - -“I will,” I said, lifting my head. “I do, Mr. Waters. It wasn’t.” - -He was silent for a moment. - -“Please take my word.” - -“Of course, if you say so!” he agreed quickly. Then, more quickly still, -“But if he didn’t send that telegram, who did?” - -“You saw it! It was signed.” - -“Yes; by your friend Miss Harradine. That says nothing. You asked -her to send it—wired the night before, perhaps.... Didn’t you?” he -cross-examined me. “Didn’t you?” - -“Well—if I did? Yes!” - -“Why did you, Miss Trant?” - -I looked away from him, mutinous but helpless, at the border of the -path in front, with its little clumps of heat-shrivelled purple -pansies, drooping over the powdery earth. There was something that no -cross-examination should get out of me! Let him know that I couldn’t bear -to stay in the same place with him—first, because he’d kissed me; next, -because there was no reason that he should ever kiss me again ... every -reason that he would not? Never! - -“Why had you to go?” - -“Oh!” I cried, with a little stamp of my shoe on the gravel. “Why need -you pry into—into what’s my affair alone? Is even an _official fiancée_ -allowed to keep nothing to herself?” - -“Very well,” he said savagely. Then, off at another tangent, “But at -least you won’t tell me that the fellow didn’t want to marry you himself?” - -“What difference does it make if he did? That was ages ago, months!” I -let out hastily. “Anyhow—one’s not supposed to tell these things, but, -as we’re talking business, I may tell you as a business-secret that I -refused him!” - -“You did?”—quickly. “Was this before—before our arrangement was made?” - -“N-no. Just afterwards.” - -“Ah! You weren’t free, you thought. Otherwise——May I ask if you would -have accepted him?” - -“You’ve no right to ask!” - -“I know that,” he admitted angrily, “but have you—had you a right to make -me look foolish—about him?” - -“I never have done that!” I snapped. “You believe me that last night was -an accident.” - -“Yes,” he argued, “but you must confess that other things look rather -mysterious.” - -“Mysterious? Need _you_ talk about things being mysterious,” I argued -back, “when the whole of what you wanted me for has been such a mystery -to me? You’ve never given me a hint of the reason!” - -“I haven’t been able to! You were to have known later! But about this -other——” - -He broke off as a mild-looking old man plumped himself down on the green -seat next his, and began to scatter crumbs out of a paper-bag to the -sooty sparrows twittering on the path. - -“I can’t tell you, here——” - -“I am rather deaf,” said the bird-feeder, mildly looking up, “and quite -elderly. Don’t mind me.” - -Still Waters looked as if he could have choked him with his paper-bag. - -“We’ll walk about a bit, if you don’t mind,” he said curtly to me. - -And it seems to me now that for hours and hours we two walked Battersea -Park, talking, talking, still repeating ourselves over “_that wire_” -and “_nothing to do with you_” and “_yes, but I’d at least a right to -object to your making me look_——” ... Round the lake we went, up and down -the path of the river front, on the broad bald grass patches, passing -communities of little motherly girls with perambulators and picnic-bags -in the shadow of the elms, skirting little boys’ cricket-matches -conducted with crooked bats, shrill yells—it was all noise and glare and -dust that morning, and I couldn’t really say why we should be walking up -and down in it like this, endlessly discussing what had no point, now.... -Hadn’t we come, long ago, to the end? - -At last he did raise a fresh point. - -“Anyhow,” he blurted out, “I stand in your way no longer.” - -This roused me beyond all the rest. - -“D’you mean,” I cried, exasperated, “in the way of my possibly marrying -Mr. Vandeleur?” - -“Exactly!” - -Was I to stand this? Was I to let him go away imagining _that_ was -the sort of girl I was? Was I to allow him, later on, to think of his -official ex-_fiancée_ (if he ever thought of her again) as being quite -contented to accept a dangling _dilettante_ with those tastes and that -tie, an indoor object who pottered amiably about Art-galleries and girls’ -studios, between the Tiny Theatre and the Cave of the Cub, a pampered -amateur who couldn’t earn his living to save his life?... was a real man -to think of me, married to That? No—fear! - -So I said, very distinctly, “Even if his extremely easy attention -_hadn’t_ been caught by another girl—the girl he was seeing off to the -Irish boat last night at Holyhead, if you must know!—even if he were -the only man left on board a—a desert-island, I shouldn’t want to marry -Sydney Vandeleur, so now you know!—And you needn’t think, as men always -_do_ think, that it’s sour grapes!” I rushed on before he could put in -a word. “You might ask my chum about that—the very afternoon we had -tea there I nearly offended her by letting her see what I thought of -_him_!—even though he still imagined himself in love with me——” - -Here I broke off, for a flying cricket-ball from one of those shrieking -teams we passed had knocked off my companion’s straw hat. He had to pick -it up and then to sling the ball in back to the small and grimy bowler -before he could speak; and I, worked up to it now, didn’t see why he, the -man, should be allowed the passing of every vote of censure, so I went on: - -“As for your accusing me of making you look foolish, Mr. Waters, what -about you, with me? What about the other girl? I was, after all, your -official _fiancée_. And—and in that capacity, I might just as well have -objected to your paying so much attention to _her_!” - -“What’s this?” he took up very sharply, stopping on the path. “When have -you seen me with another girl?” - -“Why! Yesterday! The day before, too!” - -“_What——?_” he said, long drawn-out. “Can you mean—_can_ you mean the -daughter of Monsieur Charrier?” - -(What did he imagine? Could I mean the figure-head of the _Gwladys -Pritchard_?) - -“Of course I mean Mademoiselle Cha——” - -“Object to Odette Charrier?” he cried, almost as loudly as Theo might -have done. - -And, staring up at him, I saw that the set mask of his face had broken up -into its broadest, most boyish smile. His eyes were full of laughter and -delight.... - -Ah! How she must hold him, I thought, for her very name so to irradiate -him in a moment! - -“_That_,” he said, with the laughter running through his voice,“was so -utterly different.” - -“Ah, yes! It’s always ‘different’ in one’s own case. You and another girl -can do as you choose—but you wouldn’t have allowed an inch to me and -another man—_you_ mustn’t be compromised. Well, you should know your own -side of it. All that, I suppose, is what you can’t tell _me_.” - -“Exactly!” he said again, and all the smile went out of his face. “This -_dashed_ tangle!” - -“But considering it’s all at an end now,” I said reasonably enough, “why -need we go on talking about it?” And then I found that I was holding my -breath in suspense. - -Terrified suspense lest he should take me at my word.... - -I knew then. I knew why I felt so. If we _could_ only “go on”! I asked -for nothing more. - -More clearly with each minute, these hours had been showing me one thing -at least. Whatever he chose to say, however he rated me, dictated to me -what I should or should not have done—to listen to his voice was pure -joy. Just to be—in Battersea, Anglesey, anywhere!—the sea itself, but -_with him_, was like coming out of a stifling tunnel into sunshine and -air. - -He didn’t want me, but I was helplessly his. - -A mere summer-holiday attraction? No, so much the worse for me. _That_ -wouldn’t have meant this sense that every thread of me was knit up and -together into one strand that drew me, tied me to him; and must be broken -or unravelled now; for neither broken nor unravelled threads are much -more good for working! - -A passing fancy? Not it; not this helpless enchantment that had been -growing and growing over me—for how long I didn’t know. It didn’t even -allow me to wish that I’d never known the man beside me except as Still -Waters of the Near Oriental, that I’d never seen him in his home, never -listened to tones of his voice unknown before, never realized what a -perfect darling he could be, this “real Billy,” or how it would be heaven -to be made love to by him! - -His hand up the cliff-path once or twice.... - -Three kisses ... three-and-a-half, if I count that Sevenoaks time, were -all I should have to think of for the rest of my life.... Wildly I -thought that, if he suggested it, I’d be humbly content to remain his -official _fiancée_ for ever. Only not to be sent away! Not to be cut off -from the sight and sound of him! Not left to a life that must be all -echoes and shadows; desperate, threadbare memories of everything he’d -looked and said, every note of his songs, the very gestures with which -he’d feel in his coat-pocket for matches, each movement of his lips and -eyes! - -I had to keep my own eyes resolutely from his as we turned away from the -cycle-track, afraid that even he might notice. - -Presently he stopped again. - -Already? - -I daren’t look at him. I looked down at his shadow on the dusty road, -a pool of black—the sun was high above us, time was getting on. And I -mustn’t show him how desperately I would have clutched it back if I -could. (Oh, to think of those other hours, days—a whole long week of -them!—that I had wasted in sulks, in “baiting” him, at The Lawn!) - -We were standing by one of the bridges. Here, where I had once thrown -away flowers of his—oh! how could I?—I remembered something else that -must come into our parting. A smaller thing, but a more barbed one. Not -to be shirked, though. - -“Your ring!” I said. - -I took it off and handed it to him. - -It flashed its green and blue and orange sparks in the sunlight as it lay -in his palm. He looked at it, hard. No harder than I did. I was looking -my good-bye to something that had meant so little—and so much. Too much. -I didn’t know how I was going to bear another second of this; and then, -quickly, he closed his brown hand over his diamonds and dropped them into -his jacket-pocket. Gone. - -Then, looking eastward over the bridge, he said, “We’d a discussion about -this before.” - -“Had we?” I said. - -I wondered what had become of my pride, so frantically was I hoping that -this might lead to another “discussion” now. Anything to keep him for -another few minutes.... That gesticulating _trèfle_-scented French beauty -would have him for the rest of her life; she might spare him to me for -just one more squabble! - -“Yes: don’t you remember how you informed me you’d send the ring back at -the year’s end? I said then——But look here!” he broke off, “isn’t there -anywhere near here where we could get some lunch while we settle about -this?” - -Ah! Then I should have my few minutes longer! - - * * * * * - -There’s a little creamery in the King’s Road where he and I lunched -together again: this time off rolls and butter and boiled eggs. There he -began again. “An engaged girl who had been _really_ engaged,” he said, -“would insist upon sending back the ring as a matter of course; but why -in this case?” - -And so on. - -It was just because I was so afraid of seeming to linger, as I longed to -do, that I appeared to be in such haste to finish the meal that nearly -choked me, and to draw a glove over that ringless finger that felt, -suddenly, so bare and unfamiliar—and lonely. - -“You’ll have coffee, won’t you?” - -“No, thanks.” Oh, why hadn’t I said, “Yes”? - -He’d lost that scowl, he seemed so much nearer the old friendly terms -again, and it was for the last time! - -“I will; unless you’re in a hurry, Miss Trant? Just a moment—” - -Yes! Just a moment! It was all I asked, that, and that my heart should -not beat so fast and make me feel so weak and dizzy. - -—“Here, boy!”—this was to a newspaper-boy who was strolling past the shop -behind a large pink poster and a bundle of early evening editions. - -“D’you mind if I just look up something——” - -The man opposite to me unfolded the still damp sheet; his eyes on the -paper gave mine the chance of one more direct, long, hungry look at his -face. - -Then came surprise on surprise. - -I saw his face change utterly, turn blank, agitated. An odd-sounding -“_Ah!_” broke from his lips. Then he looked up again alert, decisive. - -He stuffed the paper into his pocket, paused one instant, frowning in -thought. Then counter-ordered the coffee. - -“No time for it,” he said. Then rose to take his hat from the rack beside -the little mirror. - -So soon? Oh, so soon? What had brought this about? Why “no time”? It -seemed scarcely a minute since I’d opened the door of our flat to him, -and now he was off! In this hurry! Why? - -But that didn’t matter. What mattered was that, after all, I was a -soldier’s daughter: that it was expected of our family that they should -show no sign of being under fire, and that I’d got to go through what was -coming without a tremor or glance to betray the sick sinking of the heart -within me; lightly and steadily, holding myself well in hand. Afterwards -I could get back to the flat.... - -So, as one tells the dentist, “I’m ready—_now!_” before a wrench, I -picked my minute and was holding out my hand to him as he turned from the -waitress. - -I must say it first. - -“Well, good-bye, Mr. Waters!” - -He didn’t seem to hear that. - -“Miss Trant, I find I’ve got to get down to the City at once.” - -“Oh, yes?” (It sounded all right, I think.) “Then here we part company.” - -Sharply concise, in his old orders-for-the-day voice, came Still Waters’ -“No. If you don’t mind, I want you to come on with me.” - -With him? - -And presently I was whizzing down King’s Road to Sloane Square in a taxi -beside him, wondering, as even he had never made me wonder yet, what this -further unexpectedness might mean. He said nothing. He was intent upon -the paper he had taken out again. - -Business, of course—but why take me with him? - -At the post office he stopped the cab, got out and strode to the -telephone, then out again. - -“As quick as you can,” he told the driver, “to the Near Oriental Shipping -Company’s offices, Leadenhall Street.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - -THE FIRST GLEAM - - -At the office, which to my experience seemed to belong to a previous -existence, but to my eyes seemed only of yesterday, every familiar object -was in its place and unchanged. The first of these was the figure of Mr. -Dundonald. He confronted us just outside the door of the Principal’s -office, and after a bow to me which a week ago would have made me long to -shriek with amusement, came forward with his most _affairé_ manner and -said something, gravely and in a low voice, to his chief. - -“I know. Can’t attend to it now. Presently!” the Governor put him aside, -but also seriously. “When Mr. Albert Waters comes in; I’ve ’phoned him. -Send the boy to me when I ring.” - -Then he opened the door of his room. - -Here, too, all looked exactly as it had done that afternoon four months -and an eternity ago! The light and spaciousness of it, the mile-walk -stretch of deep red carpet, the round-topped mahogany clock on the -wide mantelshelf, that big desk, bare but for the turnover date ticket -upon it, his revolving chair in front of it, and that other plump -green-morocco-covered arm-chair that he had first pointed at, that -afternoon, for me to take. - -He pointed to it now. - -“Sit down, please.” - -Down I sat, watching him as he turned to the desk. He was writing rapidly -telegraph-forms. Then his hand went out to the well-known row of electric -bell-pushes on his desk. One thing there, after all, was new: the -extending bracket-telephone. Ah, yes; he’d put that in his letter.... - -The equally well-known sharp little Cockney face of Harold appeared at -the door; the boy came up and took the forms, which the Governor had -gathered into two bundles. - -“These to go off at once. These to be coded.” - -“Yessir.” - -I sat there wondering. If this business of his meant so much haste, why -had he made Mr. Dundonald wait for it? Above all, what had I to do with -it that I should be there at all? - -We were alone again. He glanced at the clock, then wheeled round in his -chair and faced me. He spoke with matter-of-fact politeness. - -“Now, Miss Trant! I suppose you want to know what all this is about? -Not only my bringing you on here, but about the whole of our past -arrangement?” - -Did I want to know? After all, what did it matter to me now? For me, all -had been summed up in his dropping of my—of his name for me, and in the -remembrance of another girl’s laughing face. What stones would he give -_her_ to wear? Not diamonds.... I said nothing. - -“Shall I tell you,” he began again, “now?” - -“Well, I don’t think any explanation was promised when you drew up that -contract,” I said wearily. “I don’t really mind ... you needn’t trouble.” -... - -“I might _wish_ to clear it up,” he suggested. “Well, suppose we begin -with this.” - -He handed over to me the newspaper which seemed to have hurled such a -bomb at him. - -I read the paragraph his finger marked as he passed it to me. - - END OF THE FREIGHT WAR. - - _From our Hamburg Correspondent._ - - I am in a position to state that an arrangement has been - completed between the interests represented by Messrs. Holmes, - Laing & Co., of Liverpool, and a powerful combination of this - port, of which the Allgemeine——is chief. The terms of the - compact are naturally secret, but it is believed that they - include a large setting apart of capital for the purpose of - carrying on the recent freight war to lengths that no rival - combination can hope to equal. Should such a combination - care to lease the river, it can ascertain to what extent the - amalgamation is “bluffing.” From the point of view of exporters - generally, this will mean that the cheap rates that have - obtained during the last two years to all ports of the Near - East will not last much longer. - -I read it again. I was feeling much too tired and stupid to read -newspapers—a lengthy, fruitless and exhausting occupation at any time, I -consider. - -“I’m afraid,” I said forlornly, passing it back, “that this doesn’t -convey very much to me.” - -He smiled, I thought as much as to say, “These _business_-girls!” - -Then he said, “Well, but you’ve met this Monsieur Charrier, this big -French shipping man, in Anglesey? Perhaps you didn’t realize that I’d -business reasons for remaining on cordial terms—keeping in with him -at all costs? Anyhow I may tell you now that this was in view of the -amalgamation which he and my firm might be forming. I couldn’t, you -understand, say anything before, but there was to be an alliance——” - -“Yes?” (Between himself and that Charrier girl. Why go on explaining it -all to me? I didn’t want to hear all this.) But he went on more quickly: - -“You saw the sort of man he was. Touchy, excitable, easily put off! I -had to be always on my guard with him. So that when I heard that he—this -important person to me, Miss Trant—seemed inclined to do me the honour of -selecting me, not only as a business-ally, but also—” - -He paused and looked at me. Of course I was attending, if that was what -he meant! - -—“also as a possible son-in-law, what was I to do?” - -I said nothing. Of course he could do nothing but accept such a bride -with enthusiasm; but why apologize to _me_? - -“I realized,” he went on, “that I might offend him to the verge of -breaking off the other deal. I explained to you at our first interview -here that I’d _had_ no intention of getting married?” - -(Had. Then he’d fallen in love with her later.) - -“Last Easter, which we spent at Dinard with the Charriers,” he went on, -“I—we all were on the most friendly terms with Mademoiselle Charrier—” - -I clenched my hands together; they were feeling, on that August -afternoon, cold as ice. - -—“And she was soon quite confidential to _me_,” continued the Governor. -“Told me lots of things about herself, just like a child—” - -(A minx! That assumed frankness!) - -—“told me, even, of her own understanding with a young airman who was -over there then. A secret from her people—you know what these French -parents are—but I don’t suppose it’s a secret any longer now this is all -up.” - -(Ah, no! Odette Charrier wouldn’t find it hard to jilt an airman or an -archangel—for him!) - -“It was she herself who told me, perfectly candidly, of her father’s -idea of the offer of her hand to me. You know that rum French way they -have—pretty awkward, that,” went on the Governor, beginning to speak -almost as rapidly as for that dictation he used to gabble off to me. “I -was in a tight corner then! There was the risk of turning a possible -friend—and such a powerful one!—into a certain enemy. I knew how offended -he’d be by a refusal that _might_ seem due to reluctance! Then there was -the young lady to consider—What’s the matter, don’t you follow me?” - -“No—I don’t understand,” I made myself say quite coherently, “what you -mean by ‘refusal.’” - -“Well, _she_ didn’t want to marry me! She’d got this aviator-chap. _I_ -didn’t want to marry anybody—then.” - -(_Then._ Was he going to inflict upon me the whole of their love-story?) - -“And I could only forestall the proposal she told me he meant to make -by showing her father some really tangible proof that I was out of the -question. You see?” - -“Yes,” I said slowly. “_I_ was—a nominal _fiancée_ was to be the tangible -proof.” - -“Exactly. Well! Now comes the news that does away with that necessity. -I’d been expecting the corroboration of it for some days. However, it’s -out at last; here.” He tapped the paper. “It means that the alliance -Waters-Charrier has been knocked on the head; it means that my firm -isn’t going to be quite the almighty concern I hoped it might; but it -also means that something—a big thing!—is saved out of the fire: namely, -that I needn’t take these drastic measures to avoid Monsieur Charrier’s -displeasure. If I don’t want to marry into his family, I can say so if I -choose.” - -(_If—!_ He meant that _now_ Odette and he could show that theirs was -nothing but a love-match!) - -“And if I hadn’t broken off our nominal engagement this morning, Miss -Trant, I should be able to do it this afternoon; _now_.” - -This meant that he was positively eager to get rid of me. Knife-thrust -as it was, I was glad to feel it. It spurred me for what I had to do, -this time without even being allowed to pick my minute; to rise, smile -conventionally, hold out my hand in farewell. - -He took it lightly, dropping it almost at once. In a tone of -unmistakable, undisguised relief he added, “So that’s the end of _that_.” - -“Yes!” I returned, quite casually enough to deceive a man, though it took -my last ounce of effort. “Good-bye!” - -“Wait a minute. I said ‘the end of _that_,’” took up my late employer. -“Now here’s something that begins. Will you sit down again, please?” - -The influence of the place we were in, I suppose, made me obey him. Again -I sat back in the green-leather chair, wondering if it made it better or -worse to have this leave-taking so dragged out, wondering why he chose -this form of torture. - -He came and stood above me. He began, quite gently, “I’ve taken your word -that that about Vandeleur was an accident, not an appointment. Well, -then! If it wasn’t on _his_ account that you had that wire sent to recall -you, if it wasn’t because of _him_ you bolted like that from me—from -Anglesey,” he spoke more emphatically, “_Why was it?_” - -Again this cross-examination? What was I to say? I looked desperately -about the big room and its handsome fittings, at the side-table where I -used to sit with my notes. - -“_Why?_” he insisted. - -“Oh!” I cried angrily. “Does it matter?” - -“Yes, it does. Why did you run away?” - -I shook my head. He couldn’t _make_ me say.... - -“_Why?_” he repeated mercilessly. “Was it because of what occurred the -morning before that tussle of ours with the Bay, that time you were so -reluctantly compelled to save my life?” - -“Oh, _yes!_ if you must bring that up again!” I threw at him, struggling -to call back the helpful, self-respecting anger which I’d been able to -feel quite easily then. “It’s all done with now, so——” - -“So it _was_ because I kissed you.” - -“_Well?_” - -He stood looking at me. I couldn’t look at him, but I held my head up and -stared hard at a distant pale-green wall. - -“Are you—are you _surprised_ at that? Any girl,” I forced myself to say, -“would have been furious.” - -“You mean,” quickly, “that any girl is furious when she’s kissed.” - -“Oh, _I_ don’t know. I’m not thinking of other girls!” - -“Any girl _I_ kissed, then?” - -“No”—the Charrier girl’s face flashed before me, and a bitter little -laugh escaped me as I spoke—“oh, _no_.” - -“You mean only yourself, then?” - -“I suppose so, but——” - -“_You_ objected, strenuously enough. Why?” - -“‘_Why?_’—” - -“Was it”—he was cross-examining me again—“because it was I who kissed -you, or,” he paused, “because it was a merely official lover who did so?” - -I was caught; there was no direct answer I could make. - -“I hated it!” I cried defensively. - -He varied the form, not the question. - -“It, or the circumstances?” - -“Oh! Anything you like.” - -“But which?” he persisted. “There’s a world of difference between the -two. If you please, Miss Trant—” - -(How dared he use that authoritative tone for which I detested and adored -him so!) - -—“I want to know which it was?” - -“Do you think I would stay”—I tried to fence—“after being treated like -that? It was”—I groped for a strong enough word—“infamous of you, Mr. -Waters!” - -“Of me?” he said. “It would have been equally so of any man?” - -“Far worse of _you_!” I blurted out before I could recall it. - -“Why? Because I’d no right?—But nor has any other man, apparently?” he -added questioningly. - -“Oh, _none_.” - -“Then,” he said, and it sounded almost triumphant, “am _I_ so specially -hateful to you?” - -“Yes.” - -“_Yes?_” he caught up. - -“_No!_ Oh—” I felt myself shaking all over as I tried to wriggle out of -this corner into which he’d got me. What was he doing? Had he guessed? -Guessed that I cared? Then why drive it home?... It was worse than -cruelty ... it was—“anything you like, if you must go on like this. -Only—please—please _don’t_ ask—anything.” And I stopped on the sob that I -could only just keep back. - -“Ah,” he said slowly. Still I couldn’t look at him, but I heard a change -in his voice as he added, “Very well; what excuse do you expect me to -offer?” - -“Excuse?” I flamed. I was too afraid I should break down in earnest and -disgrace myself. “There _is_ no excuse you can possibly make.” - -“Isn’t there? There might be more than one, I think,” he said, quite -gently still. “I might put forward, for instance, that I’m only an -ordinary man, subject to temptation, and that you—if you’ll allow me to -say so, Miss Trant—are a very lovely girl.” - -“Ah, no! Don’t!” I cried out, stung. “_Not_ that sort of thing.” - -“Quite right,” he broke in promptly, but still quietly. A second’s pause, -then— - -“There _would_ be no excuse for snatching at you like that, Nancy, if -there weren’t a reason. And the reason, if you really haven’t guessed it, -is, as it happens——” - -Once before, that day, three words from him had made a series of -situations crumble away and become as though they’d never been. Once -again a whole set of relations—that between a typist and the head of -the firm; that between a paid official _fiancée_ and her employer; -that between a man and a girl who played that drawn game of platonic -friendship; that other between two who quarrelled and fenced and -misunderstood and hurt each other and themselves so cruelly—was brushed -aside by another three words. - -Billy Waters, still standing there and looking down gravely at me, said -very simply, “I love you.” - -What could I say? I was too dazed. I gasped, as when at Porth Cariad -I waded out for a swim, and a racing wave met me and dashed above my -breast, catching my breath. Sentences formed themselves and died away -before I opened my lips. - -“You can’t mean——” “Then why——” “A mistake——” “This is the first gleam -I’ve had that you——” “If it’s because you’re _sorry_——” Then, of them -all, I could catch firmly at only one thought. I said breathlessly, -holding the arm of the chair, “_But that girl_——” - -“Won’t you understand? I never gave her a thought of that sort, or she -me,” he declared rapidly, “except about how we were to get out of it. -If you only knew, that unfortunate French child and I had as much ado -to keep from getting married as some couples have to pull it off! I -tell you she and that young Lenoir—man who’s just beaten the record for -upside-down flying—were—but it’s not _their_ affair I’m bothering about -just now—it’s——” - -“But she was so pretty!—so much smarter—she——” - -“She was quicker than you! _She_ spotted, that day at tea in the cottage, -how her plan for me of an official _fiancée_ was working out.” - -“_Her_ plan?” Even in that moment I remembered that the idea had never -seemed quite like him! - -“Yes—_I_ was at my wit’s end. _She_ told me the only plan was to say -I was already booked! Yes! But who to? ‘Anyone,’ she said. ‘You engage -someone—like a courier, an interpreter—someone you pay to understand it -is a farce’—(You know the way she talks!) ‘You go to an office—your own, -perhaps. You choose one of your stenographistes—you have of them, yes?’ I -told her I’d got four. I think I said three of the lot would be more or -less impossible as a _fiancée_, but the fourth—But never mind that.” - -“Yes, but I do! What did you say about the fourth?” - -“I’ll tell you,” he said, laughing a little, “some time. We have plenty -of time, I hope.” - -“No, now,” I said. It _was_ my turn to insist. “What about the fourth?” - -“Oh, I forget! Well, then,” hurriedly. “I believe I said she seemed quite -a nice, quiet, unassuming little mouse of a person—look here, you’ll -_have_ to forgive me if I do tell you!—not particularly brilliant at her -job, but dependable; and that perhaps she _was_ the kind of girl one -could take about when it seemed necessary, and leave a good deal to one’s -people—mind, I’d scarcely _seen_ you! I hadn’t seen you! I said I thought -you seemed——” - -“Well?” - -“Well, perfectly _tractable_!” - -He broke off to laugh again, and moved nearer to me. - -“A fortnight after that, Nancy, you were defying me in my own den! That -frock, and—_chucking_ my ring about the piano! And now ...” he said, with -a hand in his jacket-pocket, “now, Miss Trant, I’m going to put that ring -back, if I may, in its proper place.” - -He would have taken my hand, but all in my flurry of delight I put them -both behind me. - -“No! Wait! Your people—what will they say to—all this?” - -“But ... bless me! they know we’re engaged!” - -“Yes, _that_ way,” I said shakily. “But _this_?” - -“D’you suppose, Nancy-Monica Trant, that they’re ever going to know that -there’s any difference? D’you think ‘Theo will notice’ any? I doubt if -they’d believe that yarn if we told them! Very soon we shan’t believe it -ourselves! So——Wait? I’ve waited too long!” - -But I was, all of a sudden, shy of him as I’d never been in my trembling -typist days. I put him back with a look. - -“_How_ long?” I asked falteringly. “Can’t you tell me when?” - -His face was full of protest, but he leaned, half-sitting, against the -edge of his desk. - -“What can I tell you?” he said. “That it was just now in Battersea Park, -seeing that the girl one can’t stop squabbling with is the girl one _has_ -to make love to——” - -“Yes, but really——” - -“Or that it was mere gratitude to you for dragging me out of the water? -Or—as soon as I saw how disappointed my people would be if I ever let -you go. (My mother, last night! In tears—declaring it must be all _my_ -temper!) Or that—well, that as soon as I got you down to my home I began -to wonder what on earth I was thinking of, not to see that I kept you -there.” - -“No, but really——” - -“Hang it all, Nancy, after all these weeks and months!” he cried, gaily -impatient, throwing back his handsome fair head. Could I ever have -thought he wasn’t handsome? He strode up to me, sat sideways on the -green-leather arm of my chair, put his hand in front of me on the other -arm, and so faced me. It brought his eyes, gay with laughter and delight, -nearer than they had ever been, except once, to my face. - -And I felt those eyes of his flash swiftly, from the ripple of hair over -my ear to the hot scarlet wave that I knew was dyeing my cheek, then -to my mouth. And it was as though I had felt his lips first here, then -there, and then there again, even before he drew closer yet and kissed me -as though he could not stop. - -But I pulled away. “Oh, Billy! No! _Please!_” I heard myself sob. “I -can’t bear it. Not—not all at once. Not so _much_——” - -“Little _miser_!” he muttered, and took my hands down to clasp behind his -neck. “Am I _never_ to be allowed anything——” - -“But I thought——” - -“How _could_ you?” he whispered. “Haven’t you _eyes_?... Dashing away -from me like that, before I could get in a word! You spitfire! ‘Don’t -speak to me,’ at every turn! And that first time, I was only given a -scrap of your hair to kiss!” - -“S-sorry you don’t like my hair——” - -“Not like it?” He pressed his cheek to it. “Not all that lovely soft -stuff that I always wanted to touch?—and mightn’t—not even that time -after it came loose in the water—” - -“Looking _horrid_!” - -—“and clung all down you! D’you know what I shall do to it, presently?” - -I didn’t speak; I shut my eyes against his shoulder, and sighed.... And I -had once thought I was not the “falling-in-love-type” of girl! I had once -called him “that frozen ogre!” - -“I shall twist this hair of yours into a great rope of black silk,” he -said, “and haul you off by it to that cave! Only question is, how soon? -Nancy! How soon?” - -“A cave?” I said, half hearing, with my mouth against the cloth of his -sleeve, “what d’you mean?” - -“Why, the sort of cave with a rose-garden to it, and perhaps a little -white wicket-gate at the top of the stairs—don’t you remember?” - - * * * * * - -But we’d certainly forgotten the author of that long-ago _contretemps_ at -the breakfast-table of The Lawn, the elderly _enfant terrible_ of that -age-old week-end! Our heads were close together over the date-ticket that -the head of the firm had grabbed from his desk to reckon up “how soon -it could possibly be,” my finger with the ring on it was caught between -his lips, when the briefest of taps at the door was followed by the most -sudden of entrances—by Uncle Albert Waters. - -“Ah!” he began, “what’s to be done now?” His rosy, John Bull face was -unrecognizably worried, but it suddenly lighted up. “What, the little -girl too?” - -I had sprung away—I hope!—before he could have noticed that there, in -that most official-looking of offices, I had been sitting on his nephew’s -knee; but I was still so fluttered that I could think of nothing to do -but offer the old gentleman my cheek! At all events, _he_ was absurdly -pleased. - -“_Nancy_, my dear!... But what brought _you_ back to London?” - -“Furnishing,” said Billy, without a quiver. - -“Glad to hear it, my boy! First bit of good news to-day,” said Mr. -Waters, turning grave again. “I say, Billy! About this——” - -“I’m going,” I said quickly, picking my hat up from the side-table where -it had been tossed down as upon a gorse-bush. “I only meant to stay a -minute.” - -“_Nancy_—I say!” came resentfully from the desk. - -“I’ll be in the waiting-room, then,” I promised. “Or, if I may, I’ll -go and look up Miss Robinson and the girls while you talk over your -business.” - -I don’t know why, exactly. Only I felt I must see those three girls -again with this new look on my face. They might not know the difference! -Still—I walked to the door. - -“Sensible little woman, this of yours, William,” his uncle trumpeted -approvingly, holding it open for me. “Knows there’s a time for -everything.... All to yourself for good, presently; _that’s_ been -official for months now. Don’t you glower at me, lad, I saw you——” - -The door shut behind me. But through it I heard Uncle Albert’s -robustious: “Why! Bless my life! Anyone would think I’d interrupted you -before you’d been engaged five minutes!” - - - - -POSTSCRIPT - -FULL MOON - - -“This,” said Billy, taking in a full breath of the sea-scented air of -Porth Cariad, “is better than your old idea of a Riviera honeymoon, -Nancy!” - -We had just walked down from the larger of the cottages towards the -shore, and were watching that great primrose-coloured Chinese lantern -of a moon rise slowly, slowly over the jagged, purple silhouette of the -Carnarvonshire mountains into the pale mauve September dusk. - -Presently it would cast a glittering path of light across the Bay of Many -Waters, and throw a black shadow from the cliff of the wooden woman on -to the sands of our cove. There was a soft lap-lapping of the high tide -beneath us, and a softer scurrying of rabbits among the sand-hills; now -and again a gull called, or we caught the distant shouts of the men in -the fishing-boats putting out for the night. - -Beyond these small sounds there was a great and brooding Peace; we were -two hundred miles and more from the noise and sunshine and merriment -of the morning, from the great green lawn sown with all the colour and -movement of the wedding-party, living confetti!—from the white house, -echoing with laughter, and voices—Theo’s above the rest—calling far after -us: “Good luck! Good luck!” - -“And are you glad to be back here, with me, to-night?” - -“To-morrow,” I said dreamily, “we’ll go everywhere where we used to go——” - -“Over to that cliff, Nancy——” - -“Yes, and finish painting that figure-head——” - -“Yes, or _not_ finish painting her. We’ve wasted too much good time at -Port Sweetheart as it is!” - -But I felt that all our time here had all been so lovely—all! And now, -this cool white radiance was bathing the place in a light more magical -than any day I had seen. It made of it one of those dream-countries -one walks in, half-waking, as a child: a wide and lonely, lovely land; -secret, too! of which one would not give the entrance to one’s very -dearest; a land I had scarcely dreamed of since I was a half-grown girl. -Why did those dreams come back to me now? I stared out to sea; I didn’t -want to move or speak; just to be there, watching that moonlight on -those waves, was enough. I was as still as that image of that other girl, -high up on the cliff.... - -At that moment I felt ... not myself at all, but outside myself and part -of it all—of the quivering, whispering sea under that chill and silver -light, of those fairy hills, of the sighing, cool air, and of the dewy -earth. There was something of all these in my own being—something of mine -in all of them. For that one moment I had forgotten the lover beside me; -for just that last rapt moment he was nothing to me.... - -Then he spoke. - -“The lights on the boats down there ... like glow-worms! Only those are -putting out to sea. And a glow-worm lights up—did you know why? to guide -its mate home.” - -I sighed; slowly, slowly growing back again, out of the inhuman white -glamour and that silver distance.... - -“Are there,” I asked, a little absently, “any glow-worms in this place?” - -“Further inland, perhaps,” he said. - -Very gently, he drew me round to face the cottages. A warmer, dimmer, -rosier light streamed through the door of the kitchen, where we caught -the pinky round globe of the lamp, the gleam of the white cloth, the -small, dark, cosy shape of Mrs. Roberts moving to and fro, setting, with -a little chinking of plates and forks, our supper. - -She came to the door and called in her insidious voice, “_Mae’n barod -rwan, sir!_” - -“That means it’s ready now,” said Billy softly. “Come in, dear. Yes—those -lights are outward-bound, Nancy. But you—you’re anchored, aren’t you? All -fast?” - -“Ah, but as I love to be,” I said, this time with a happy sigh; and -turned—to his breast. - -He clasped me, crushing against my neck a kiss that has left there, rosy -and distinct, the impression of a chain.... - -It’s that slender gold chain which holds the little oval pendant framing -a christening-curl. His mother fastened that gift beneath the white -shimmer of my bridal-gown this morning. - -And I remember something that she said when first she offered it. - -Presently, I shall tell my husband what it was. - - -THE END - -_Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey._ - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of His Official Fiancée, by Berta Ruck - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE *** - -***** This file should be named 63865-0.txt or 63865-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/8/6/63865/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian -Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: His Official Fiancée - -Author: Berta Ruck - -Release Date: November 23, 2020 [EBook #63865] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian -Libraries) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><i>His Official Fiancée</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p> - -<div class="u"> - -<p class="titlepage larger red"><i>His Official Fiancée</i></p> - -<p class="center"><i>By Berta Ruck (Mrs. Oliver Onions)</i></p> - -</div> - -<div class="figcenter titlepage" style="width: 70px;"> -<img src="images/tp-deco.jpg" width="70" height="100" alt="" /> -</div> - -<p class="titlepage"><i>TORONTO:<br /> -<span class="red">WILLIAM BRIGGS</span><br /> -1914</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>Printed in Great Britain</i></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p> - -<p class="center larger"><span class="smaller">DEDICATED TO</span><br /> -THE TWO GRANNIES</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> - -</div> - -<table summary="Contents"> - <tr> - <td class="tdr smaller">CHAP.</td> - <td></td> - <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">I.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Summons</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">II.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Proposal</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">12</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">III.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Thinking It over——</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">21</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IV.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Accepted!</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">29</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">V.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Lunch together</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">47</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VI.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">What They said</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">67</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Choosing the Ring</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">77</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">VIII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Engagement is announced!</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">88</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">IX.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Lover Who came too late</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">101</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">X.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“His” Mother’s Invitation</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">118</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XI.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Meeting “His” People</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">130</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Dinner</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">140</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Tête-à-Tête</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">149</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIV.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Quarrel</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">160</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XV.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“The Light of Other Days”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">177</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVI.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Ordeal by Inspection</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">189</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Theo sits up</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">193</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XVIII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Kiss</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">211</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XIX.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Handshake</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">222</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XX.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Friends</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">253</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXI.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Letters</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">277</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The Wooden Woman</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">287</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“Many Waters——”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">305</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXIV.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">That Girl</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">317</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXV.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Avowal</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">324</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVI.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">“All change here”</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">330</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">Parting Company</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">343</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr">XXVIII.—</td> - <td><span class="smcap">The First Gleam</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">362</a></td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class="tdr"></td> - <td><span class="smcap">Postscript.—Full Moon</span></td> - <td class="tdpg"><a href="#POSTSCRIPT">381</a></td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> - -<h1>HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE</h1> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE SUMMONS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“‘<i>A girl without a sweetheart</i>,’ girls—(I -was readin’ something about it this -very morning ’s I was coming along in the -Toob),” chattered little Miss Holt over her -work. “<i>A girl without a sweetheart is like a -ship at sea, without knowing what port she’s to -put in at</i>——”</p> - -<p>“Accounts for the way a lot of ’em seem to -pick their sweethearts on the principle ‘<i>Any -port in a storm!</i>’” said Miss Robinson, with -her little sniff.</p> - -<p>“Well! Seems to me there’s a good deal -in the idea that a poor husband is better than -none,” came philosophically from Miss Holt, -whose back is always curved like a banana over -her typing-table, and who “smarms” her dull -brown hair down under a hair-net until her head -looks like a chocolate. “After all, my dear,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span> -if you’re married, you’re married; and nobody -can say you aren’t. But if you <em>aren’t</em> married, -you aren’t. And nobody can say you <em>are</em>!”.</p> - -<p>“How true,” said Miss Robinson dreamily. -“Got that, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>And she gave a sardonic glance towards me, -to see if I was thoroughly taking this in. I -was trying not to. The buzz of Cockney -whispering which goes on, intermittently, all -day long in our murky “typists’-room” was -beginning to get on my nerves again almost as -badly as it did in the first week that I worked -at the Near Oriental Shipping Agency. I -didn’t raise my eyes. Then, above the click -and the buzz, came a shriller:</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant, if you please?”</p> - -<p>My fingers fell from the typewriter, and I -looked up with a start into the sharp little -South-London face of our smallest office-boy.</p> - -<p>“Yes? What is it, Harold?”</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant, Mr. Waters says he wishes to -see you in his private room at two o’clock.”</p> - -<p>“To see <em>me</em>?” I asked in a panic; hoping -that it might not be true, that by some lucky -chance my ears had deceived me. They hadn’t.</p> - -<p>“Yes; at two o’clock sharp, miss.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Harold,” I heard myself say in -a small, dismayed voice.</p> - -<p>Then I heard the door of our room shut upon -the office-boy’s exit.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> - -<p>I turned, to meet the shrewd, sympathetic -brown eyes of Miss Robinson over her machine.</p> - -<p>“Governor sent for you?”</p> - -<p>I nodded dismally.</p> - -<p>“Any idea what it’s about, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, it might be about <em>anything</em> this last -week,” I sighed. “It might be about my -forgetting to enclose those enclosures to the -Western Syndicate. Or for leaving out the -P.T.O. at the bottom of that Budapest letter. -Or for spelling Belgium B-e-l-g-u-i-m. Or half -a dozen other things. I knew Mr. Dundonald -was going to complain of me. It’s been hanging -over me for the last three days. Anyhow I -shall know the worst to-day.”</p> - -<p>“P’raps he’ll give you another chance, dear,” -said little Miss Holt.</p> - -<p>“That’s not very likely,” I said. “He’s -such an abominably accurate machine himself -that he’s ‘off’ anybody in this office who isn’t -a machine too, girl or man.”</p> - -<p>“D’you suppose the Governor even knows -which of us <em>is</em> a girl and which is a man? because -I don’t,” put in Miss Robinson. “I bet you -he——”</p> - -<p>“Talking in theyairr!” interrupted the -grating Scotch accent of Mr. Dundonald, as he -passed through to the Governor’s room, where, -alas! I, Monica Trant, was soon to present -myself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span></p> - -<p>A deathly silence, broken only by the clicking -of the four typewriters, fell upon our department.</p> - -<p>But I’m pretty sure that all the work <em>I</em> did -from then on until lunch-time was of very -little good.</p> - -<p>That gloomy typists’ room, looking over the -“well” of the great buildings in Leadenhall -Street, and so dark that we worked always by -electric lights, switched on one over each machine, -faded away from me. I ceased to know I was -breathing in that familiar smell of fog and -mackintoshes and dust and stuffiness. I ceased -to hear the muffled roar of the City outside, and -the maddening “click! click-a-click-pprring!” -of the typewriters within, as I shut myself into -my own mind.</p> - -<p>Dismally I reviewed my own situation.</p> - -<p class="tb">Here was I, “alone in London,” all my -poor little capital spent on the business-training -which I had joyfully hoped was going to bring -me in a nice “independent-feeling” income of -at least two pounds a week. At the offices of -William Waters and Son, of the Near Oriental -Shipping Agency, a post I had obtained after -weeks of weary searching for work, my salary -was twenty-five shillings a week. <em>Now</em>, in all -probability, I was going to lose even that. And -then what was I to do? How was I to go on -contributing my half of the rent of the Marconi<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> -Mansions flat; how was I to pay for even my -cheap meals and my “these’ll-have-to-do” -clothes? How <em>was</em> I to earn my living?</p> - -<p>Obviously, I’m not cut out for a business-girl!</p> - -<p>My three months in the office has plainly -shown me that.</p> - -<p>“You lack method, Miss Trant”—as Mr. -Dundonald, the head of our department, has -told me more than once. “You lack <em>concentrrayshn</em>. -You are intelligent enough, for a -young lady, but when I think I can rrely on -you, what happens? I find ye out in some -rideeclus mistake that the rrrawest student -from Pitman’s wouldn’t make. And this after -I’ve warrrned you times and again. What -do you think is going to be the end of it?”</p> - -<p>Evidently the sack.</p> - -<p>And what else <em>is</em> there I can do?</p> - -<p>Nothing!</p> - -<p>I can’t draw fashion-plates or write articles -for the magazines.</p> - -<p>Go on the stage—no, I never <em>could</em> remember -my cue, even in private theatricals. I love -children—but people want diplomas and Montessori -Systems with their nursery-governesses. -For serving in a shop I don’t suppose I’m tall -enough. That’s one of the inconsistencies of -men—they quote poetry about a girl being -“just as high as their hearts,” and then advertise -for parlour-maids and mannequins who must<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> -stand well over five foot nine, which I don’t. -Though, even if my nickname <em>is</em> “Tots,” thank -goodness I’m not dumpy, like little Miss Holt, -who thinks a poor husband is better than -none....</p> - -<p>What about the principal profession open -to women—getting married?</p> - -<p>Well, but I never see any men, now a days—you -can’t call things-in-the-City <em>men</em>, exactly—whom -I could get married <em>to</em>. Besides, there’s -nobody, now that I’m an unbecomingly-dressed -pauper, who would want to marry me.—Except, -perhaps ... Sydney Vandeleur ...? Dear old -Sydney is a friend left over from the days before -the smash in our family when “<i>the world was -more than kin when we had the ready tin</i>.” I’ve -seen him several times since, and he was just -the same as ever, so sympathetic and amusing; -such a “pal,” and with something about him -that made me quite certain he’d be ready to -become something more, the minute I encouraged -him.</p> - -<p>“Encouraging” him wouldn’t be too unpleasant -either, though I never was in love with -Sydney. By this time I’ve come to the conclusion -that I’m not a bit the falling-in-love -type of girl. Major Montresor, of father’s -regiment in the old days, told my brother Jack -once that “little Monica had the makings of -a first-class flirt; she belonged to the successful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span> -Order of the Cold Coquette.” After listening -to the dodderings and drivels and despairs of -girls who <em>aren’t</em> cold, I’m rather thankful that -I <em>am</em>. At least I can be fond enough of -people in a sensible sort of way. I could be -of Sydney.</p> - -<p>I suppose it will end in my getting him to -marry me....</p> - -<p>But not yet. I haven’t even got his address! -He and his mother have gone on a tour to -Japan, and they won’t be within reach for so -much as a dinner for about a year. Whereas -it’s to-day, <em>this afternoon</em>, that I’m to get the -sack without knowing what else is to happen to -me!</p> - -<p>A pretty depressing outlook!</p> - -<p class="tb">At one o’clock I went out to lunch at what -the typists here call “The Den of Lyons,” with -Miss Holt and Miss Robinson.</p> - -<p>Our fourth typist, pretty, anæmic Miss Smith, -had evidently made other arrangements to-day. -She wore another hat; a fresh bunch of violets -was tucked into her long coat, and she monopolized -the looking-glass while she attended to -her complexion with a pot of face-cream, a -clean hankie, and a book of <i lang="fr">papiers poudrés</i>.</p> - -<p>“We’re extremely smart to-day, Smithie,” -said Miss Robinson. “What’s on?”</p> - -<p>“I’m going out to lunch with Still Waters.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span></p> - -<p>This was “the” office joke at the Near -Oriental.</p> - -<p>“Still Waters” meant no one less than Mr. -William Waters, Junior, the head of the firm, -who acted as General Manager, and from whom -I had just received that fatal summons. He -would as soon think of having a word to say to -one of his typists out of business-hours as of -giving a dance in the office itself. So that the -excuse “<i>I’m going out with Still Waters</i>” always -means that the speaker intends to keep her -engagement to herself. It’s an open secret in -the office that Smithie, who keeps a manicure-set -in her hand-bag and who blushes twice -daily down the telephone, has “got some sort -of boy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right, haughty! Don’t bother to -apologize,” said Miss Holt. And we left Miss -Smith to her preparations.</p> - -<p>Presently we caught sight of her again in the -crowd outside. She didn’t see us, or anything -else, I think. She was smiling and sparkling -and flushed, and “looked as different as a fortnight’s -holiday,” as Miss Robinson said. All -three of us glanced from her to the young man -she was with. To bring <em>that</em> transfiguring light -into a girl’s face, wouldn’t you have expected -him to be a mixture of some Greek God and -Bombardier Billy Wells?—Far from it. -“Smithie’s boy” was scarcely taller than she;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> -narrow-chested office-shouldered, with a face -as pale and peaked as a long envelope.</p> - -<p>“What a kid!” criticized Miss Holt as we -passed.</p> - -<p>“All men <em>are</em> awful kids,” pronounced Miss -Robinson, “but you do bar them looking it. -Of the two, I don’t know that I wouldn’t rather -have ’em like graven images!”</p> - -<p>Which brought us back to the horrible subject -of that graven image, our Governor.</p> - -<p>Over glasses of hot milk and the poached-eggs-on-toast, -the plates of which rasped on -the marble-topped table of the shop that <em>always</em> -smells of steak-and-kidney pie, the other girls -made themselves specially agreeable to the -colleague who was preparing for the sack in -another hour.</p> - -<p>“It is too bad. We shall miss you from our -room,” said good-natured little Miss Holt. -“Still—(Here, miss! I said egg, I didn’t say -sardine-sandwich! I wish you’d attend when -anyone speaks!... She would, if I’d a boy -with me! Such is life!)—Still, it isn’t as if -there wasn’t other posts you could get. Easily. -Don’t you look so hopeless, Miss Trant. You’ve -a taking way with you, and a nice smile; wasn’t -I passing the remark, only the other day, about -what a pretty smile Miss Trant’d got? And, -say what you like, looks <em>do</em> count when a young -lady’s in business!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes, it’s a pity Miss Trant don’t know she’s -good-looking. We ought to have told her -about that, before,” said Miss Robinson dryly. -“But you’re all right. <em>You’ll</em> get taken on -somewhere where they don’t make an international -affair of it over one misplaced comma -or a tiny smudge off a new ribbon. <em>You’ll</em> -get round the men. I don’t mean Still Waters. -He’s not a man, of course. He’s a machine -that can say ‘<i>Now, Miss Trant!</i>’”—here she -broke into perfect mimicry of the Governor’s -curtest tone. “And’ <i>What is the meaning of -this evening’s cables being one-fifth of a second -after time?</i>’ He doesn’t count. You try for -something where there’s a human being at the -head of affairs——”</p> - -<p>“And if it’s near she can come out to lunch -with us just the same as before she left,” -suggested Miss Holt.</p> - -<p>“She hasn’t even left yet,” said Miss Robinson -encouragingly. “What price one of those -fancy cakes, Miss Trant? Choose the least -poisonous-looking, and I’ll treat you—for luck!”</p> - -<p class="tb">At a quarter to two we got back to the office.</p> - -<p>I went and washed in the dressing-room. I -took down all my hair. My hair’s my pet -vanity; it’s very long and thick and silky, and -“just the colour of massed black pansies against -her honeysuckle-coloured flesh-tints,” as Sydney<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span> -Vandeleur once said. He “puts” everything -like the artist that he is. (Oh, why wasn’t it -to meet <em>him</em> that I was preparing, instead of -that young frozen ogre of a Governor?) I -wound the long swathe smoothly round my head -again, pinned it firm, and made sure it was all -right at the back, <em>not</em> with any idea of impressing -Still Waters (who would scarcely have noticed -the fact had all his typists been completely bald, -so long as they were efficient), but merely -because to feel perfectly neat made me a little -less painfully nervous.</p> - -<p>The clock, striking two, chimed in with my -humble tap at the door of Mr. Waters’ private -room.</p> - -<p>“Come in!” called the dreaded voice of our -Governor.</p> - -<p>And, trembling inwardly, in I went.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE PROPOSAL</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The large, light room, with its handsome -furniture, seemed to stretch for miles -between the door and the big writing-desk, -covered with green leather, at which Mr. Waters -himself sat, frowning over a letter. The desk -was generally bare but for the note of his day’s -appointments, with the hours, on the turnover -date-ticket.</p> - -<p>“Two o’clock,” and a heavy “X” marked -this coming interview, as I could not help seeing -when I finished what seemed like a long and -tiring walk over the thick crimson carpet, and -stood meekly at his elbow.</p> - -<p>He looked up, alert, clean-shaven, his fair -hair brushed as sleek and shiny as the nap of -his own silk hat, his mouth closed as tightly as -his own cash-box; he was the very picture -of a successful young City man, whose one and -only interest is his business.</p> - -<p>“Ah! That you, Miss Trant?” he said, in -the quick, curt, business-like voice that Miss -Robinson can imitate so perfectly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span></p> - -<p>He wheeled round in the chair to face me.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, please.”</p> - -<p>I was thankful to sit down. Although I -don’t think my panic showed in my face, my -knees were actually beginning to give under me. -Mr. Waters pointed to a plump, green morocco-covered -chair. Down I sat, on the very edge -of it. I set my teeth to listen to what this office -tyrant had to say.</p> - -<p>(How extraordinary that he and Sydney Vandeleur -should <em>both</em> be “men”!)</p> - -<p>If he only wouldn’t keep me; if he’d only -just tell me to go, and get it over....</p> - -<p>But his first remark took me absolutely by -surprise.</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant. If you don’t mind, I -want to ask you a few questions. Don’t -think them impertinent, for they are not -so intended, and they are necessary to the -matter in hand. And—please don’t misunderstand -them.”</p> - -<p>Here his alert face grew even more business-like. -His keen grey eyes met my startled brown -ones steadily for a moment. Then he added, -in an emphatic, “<em>underlined</em>” sort of tone:</p> - -<p>“There is nothing in these questions to which -your father, or anyone belonging to you, could -take any exception. You understand?”</p> - -<p>“Understand”—No! I certainly didn’t. -What could he mean me to understand? I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> -hadn’t grasped it even when he repeated the -question a trifle impatiently.</p> - -<p>“You do understand that, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>“Oh—er—yes—of course,” I murmured, in -duty bound.</p> - -<p>But I was so utterly dazed by this unlooked-for -flight-off-at-a-tangent of the Governor’s that I -heard myself answering as if in a dream the -questions he put next.</p> - -<p>“Twenty-one. You’re of age, then,” I heard -him saying through the daze. “Both parents -dead: m’m. No one else belonging to you?”</p> - -<p>“One brother in South Africa,” my lips -answered mechanically. And my inward wonder, -“<i>What on earth has that got to do with Mr. -Waters?</i>” was mingled with an added dull -twinge of anxiety. For I haven’t heard from -poor old rolling-stoney Jack for three months -or more.</p> - -<p>“No one belonging to you in London? -M’m. And you’re dependent for your living -upon what you earn here?”</p> - -<p>(Yes! or else I shouldn’t have to sit here -answering questions about things that are absolutely -no business of yours! was what I thought -rebelliously.) I said aloud, reluctantly, “Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Where do you live, then—alone?”</p> - -<p>“I share rooms with another girl in Battersea,” -I had to tell him, still wondering resentfully -what in the world might be the meaning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> -of this catechism. <em>Wasn’t</em> it the prelude to -dismissal, after all, then? <em>Wasn’t</em> he preparing -to be hateful and sarcastic, and to tell me he -felt my talents were being wasted at the Near -Oriental (this is one of Mr. Dundonald’s pet -<i lang="fr">clichés</i>), and that he advised me to look out elsewhere -for a better position at a higher salary—if -I could get it? What <em>would</em> be the next -question, then?</p> - -<p>It was <em>the</em> last thing that I should have dreamed -of his asking.</p> - -<p>“Do you mind telling me, Miss Trant, whether -you are engaged to be married?”</p> - -<p>Engaged? I? What <em>could</em> he want to know -that for?</p> - -<p>That was less his business, even, than any of -the other questions he’d put!</p> - -<p>It seemed doubly odd, since I <em>had</em> been meditating -on the possibility of “getting engaged” -that very morning. Ever since twelve o’clock, -the mental image of Sydney Vandeleur’s picturesque, -dark face, with his small Vandyke beard -and gentle, adoring brown eyes, had been very -near me. There was always Sydney in the background, -of course. Backgrounds don’t count, -presumably. Even if they did, though, what -concern was it of my business employer’s? I -did wish I had enough self-assurance to announce -frankly, “Well, I <em>do</em> mind telling you, -as a matter of fact!” But ... twenty-five<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> -shillings a week don’t provide a girl with much -self-assurance!</p> - -<p>I could only let him have the literal answer -in return for his direct (and unwarrantable) -question.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no; I’m not engaged.”</p> - -<p>“Good!” said Still Waters briskly. (Why -“good”?)</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant, I can tell you the reason—or -part of the reason—I sent for you this afternoon. -I must begin by impressing upon you -very definitely that”—here he paused, and -at each word of the announcement tapped -solemnly on the big desk with his finger—“I -don’t want to get married myself.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not!” I almost gasped, wondering -what in the world this very obvious truth (for -one <em>could</em> not imagine Still Waters in connection -with marriage or engagements) had got -to do with me?</p> - -<p>“At the same time, there are reasons why -for a time, at least—say a year—it should appear -that I was going to be married. I may tell you -those reasons later on; that depends. At -present I’ll merely tell you that it is important -to me that I should be officially, that is nominally, -engaged.”</p> - -<p>I gazed at him. There was no more expression -in his face than in the pearl pin in his expensive-looking -grey tie. What could he mean?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> - -<p>“I wish it to appear to everybody—to my -family, to my acquaintances, to the people in -this office—that I am actually engaged,” he -explained. “I wish to find someone who, to -outward appearances, could take the place of my -<i lang="fr">fiancée</i>; could go about with me, stay at my -home, and be introduced all round as the girl -I meant to marry. She must understand from -the very beginning that it was absolutely a matter -of business; that the so-called ‘engagement’ -would terminate at the end of the year, and that -there could be no possible question of its ending -in marriage. If I found this lady, I would make -it worth her while; paying her at the rate of -ten pounds a week for her services. You follow -me, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>I began to “follow,” but I could scarcely -believe that he really intended to carry out this -mysterious scheme. It was more like the plot -of a Gilbert and Sullivan opera than any “business” -I’d ever heard of in real life. Still more -incredible was what came next.</p> - -<p>“It seemed to me from the first that the most -suitable person for the post would be—yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Me?” I echoed, aghast. Oh, this was -getting out of comic opera, and into the realms -of nightmare! Was he <em>really</em> suggesting that -I——</p> - -<p>“Yes; you, Miss Trant. You are a lady in -every essential, if I may say so, of looks and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> -manner. You seem to possess the gift of making -yourself generally liked. You’re distinctly intelligent, -in spite of your work, which is——” here -for one instant a gleam of what looked almost -like humour seemed to flash from the Governor’s -eyes. But it was gone again so swiftly that I -couldn’t be sure whether it had ever been there. -I must have been mistaken. He went on imperturbably: -“I am a very fair judge of character, -and I believe you to be trustworthy. As a mark -of my confidence in you, I shall pay into your -account the whole sum of five hundred pounds -so soon as you let me know that you consent to -enter into this arrangement.”</p> - -<p>“Five hundred pounds?” I echoed stupidly.</p> - -<p>“Yes; that is payment for the entire year -at the rate of ten pounds weekly. I hope you -will see your way to accepting it. Think it -over to-night, please,” said Still Waters, -in his curtest, most business-like tone, “and let -me have your answer here—if you can, that is” -(meaning “you must!”) “at eleven-fifteen to-morrow -morning. I need hardly tell you that -this must remain strictly between ourselves. -I think that’s all.”</p> - -<p>He glanced at the round-topped mahogany -clock above the fireplace, then put his hand out -to the row of electric-bell pushes on his desk. -Our interview was over.</p> - -<p>“Good afternoon, Miss Trant.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span></p> - -<p>“Good afternoon,” I murmured rather -feebly, as I retraced my steps over that long, -long stretch of carpet to the door.</p> - -<p>I felt furious with myself for lacking the ordinary -pluck to tell the Governor then and there:</p> - -<p>“I shan’t need to-night to think the question -over. My answer is ‘No!’ I can’t possibly -undertake such an arrangement.”</p> - -<p>For how can I? How can I accept such an -extraordinary position? “Officially” engaged -to the Governor—the office tyrant, the mummy, -the fault-finding automaton! Fancy “going -about” with him, letting everyone imagine that -I was actually going to marry him! Fancy -playing that Gilbertian part, with no rouge -and no fun and no footlights to carry me through -it, in a “piece” that went on all day and every -day! And fancy—this was almost the most -appalling thought of all—fancy having to face -all the other girls in the office.</p> - -<p>Oh, impossible; quite impossible! I can’t -do it. I must summon up all my courage and -tell him so to-morrow.</p> - -<p class="tb">“Well?” whispered Miss Robinson, from the -next typing-table. “What <em>did</em> the graven -image say? Was he a brute? <em>Is</em> it the sack? -Or is he giving you another chance?”</p> - -<p>“I think he means to give me another chance,” -I murmured. (Such a chance!) “I am——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p> - -<p>“<em>Talking</em>, ladies!” broke in the warning. -“Miss Trant, it’s generally you, I notice!”</p> - -<p>And Mr. Dundonald’s voice brought back -the bugbear that has haunted me since twelve -this morning—the terror of being penniless and -out of work once more.</p> - -<p>Oh, if I could only attain to some job, <em>some -other job</em>, that would bring me in that princely -salary of ten pounds a week! Imagine the -blessed relief, the security of knowing that one -had five hundred pounds in one glorious, solid -lump at one’s back. But then, imagine accepting -the Governor’s terms before one earned it! -Oh, no!</p> - -<p>The bogey “<i>out of work</i>” haunted me down -into the Tube lift, along the Embankment, all -the way back up our grey Battersea street, with -the red-faced pavement-artist who always touches -his cap to me, smiles and points to his lurid -chalk-drawing of a wreck with the legend: -“<i>Like the Artist—On the Rocks!</i>”</p> - -<p>“I’m on the rocks myself, Blossom. This -is probably the last penny I shall be able to give -you!” I told him, with a desperate little laugh.</p> - -<p>Then I turned in at the entrance to Marconi -Mansions, and climbed up our stone stairs to -the cheap but cosy little top-flat which has for -six months meant “Home” to us two bachelor -girls.</p> - -<p>How long should <em>I</em> be able to afford to share it?</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III<br /> -<span class="smaller">THINKING IT OVER——</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>I always expect to be in long before Cicely -Harradine, the girl who shares the place -with me. We first made friends in a ten-shillings-a-week -bedroom at the Twentieth Century -Club, when she was left much as I was, a waif -without any friends that counted, and with just -a tiny lump of capital. This she used up in paying -her fees at the Slade School of Art, where -she’d gone, in her innocence, with a view to -taking up fashion-drawing. They all used to -say at home that she’d “a gift” for sketching, -and she’d heard—we’ve all heard!—that there -are fortunes to be made out of fashion-plates. -Only she hadn’t realized that for a girl of her -sort, lovely and good-hearted and “gormless,” -there’s only one way of getting a fortune; -namely, by marrying it. And how <em>can</em> you -marry, as she often says plaintively, if you never -even <em>see</em> any “possible” men? All the people -she seems to see nowadays—besides Slade -students—are the gorgeous Jewesses who deal<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> -at the “studio” where Cicely’s one real “gift” -(that of a tall, willowy figure) is now turned to -advantage by showing off the evening-frocks -and opera-wraps of Madame Chérisette, in -Bond Street, in the show-rooms she can seldom -leave until well after seven o’clock.</p> - -<p>So to-day I was astonished to find the second-hand, -cretonne-covered couch in our sitting-room -already occupied by what looked like a -bundle of rugs, dishevelled red curls, and arnica -bandages, whence proceeded the sound of dismal -sobs.</p> - -<p>“Cicely!” I cried, alarmed. “You back -already? Why, what’s happened?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear, such an <em>awful</em> catastrophe!” -wailed the voice of Cicely, while the willowy -figure twisted itself into sitting up against our -cheap flock cushions. “What do you think? -When I went out to lunch this morning I -managed to slip on a bit of banana-skin that -some perfect <em>pig</em> had flung down at the crossing—No, -Tots! it <em>wasn’t</em> those shoes I will wear, -so you needn’t say that!—and I twisted my -ankle and cut my head on the kerb, and I had to -be brought home in a taxi, and the doctor’s -been, and he says I’m to keep my foot up for a -fortnight, and what—what on earth’s to become -of my job?” wept Cicely. “Chérisette won’t -take me on again, for there’s a girl waiting <em>now</em> -for my place! A <em>niece</em> of somebody’s! She’ll<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> -<em>snap</em> it up! And <em>what</em> am I to do? Hurp, -hurp!”</p> - -<p>She could only sob, and I could only stroke -her pretty, incompetent fingers.</p> - -<p>“There’ll be that <em>doctor</em> to pay! And it’ll -be the <em>rent</em> again in three weeks’ time! It’s -<em>always</em> being the rent, in this place, Tots! It -<em>never</em> was at home. And <em>I</em> haven’t got any -money saved now that I’ve bought that bicycle -for Saturday afternoons. Isn’t it perfectly -awful? Hurp, hurp! Oh, girls at home who -get doctors and dentists and washing and everything -<em>f-found</em> for them, hurp! are so fond of -<em>envying</em> girls who earn their own livings because -it’s so free and independent—how <em>can</em> they? -<em>They</em> wouldn’t want to earn their horrible livings -if they <em>only</em> knew how ghastly it was as soon as -you got ill and hadn’t anything but a few shillings -between you and goodness knows!”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Earned increment is sweet, but that unearned -is sweeter</i>,’” I quoted bitterly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you laugh at everything, Tots! This -is serious. <em>S-s-s-seven-and-sixpence!</em> That’s all -I’ve got left in the whole wide world! And -<em>you’ve</em> nothing but your twenty-five bob a -week!”</p> - -<p>(Yes! I thought; and even that modest salary -will be lost to me to-morrow. For when I -tell the Governor that I find I can’t accept his -offer, he’s pretty certain to sack me. After his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> -allusion to my “work,” after Mr. Dundonald’s -“warrrnings,” what else need I expect? But -this wasn’t the moment to tell my poor, distracted -chum my own bit of bad luck. Even if -we <em>were</em> both out of work and on those rocks -together, it must, for the present at least, be -kept from <em>her</em>.)</p> - -<p>“Now look here, don’t you worry,” I said, -more cheerfully than I felt. “You <em>know</em> you’re -no end of a ‘find’ as a mannequin, because you’ve -got the voice that goes with the figure. It must -be rather a shock when Madame’s clients ask -something that looks like a young duchess in a -dream of a gown ‘<i>What did you say the price -was?</i>’ and get told in the accents of Whitechapel -‘<i>Twenty-ite paounds, Madam!</i>’ That’s -the pull <em>you’ve</em> got, so you know you’re sure of -another good place as soon as your foot’s right. -Until then I—I can manage perfectly well for -the two of us. What about something to eat? -Mrs. Skinner coming back to cook to-night?”—Mrs. -Skinner is <em>supposed</em> to “do” for us. I -often think that, in another sense, she <em>will</em>!</p> - -<p>“No. She’s off for the whole day to go to a -funeral. You said she might, this morning.”</p> - -<p>“So I did. I thought it was a week ago—it -feels like it. Well, I’ll get supper.”</p> - -<p class="tb">As I passed into our little dark cubby-hole of -a kitchen, I saw something that I’d overlooked<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> -before—a letter left lying on the mat, as it had -dropped through the letter-box. I picked it -up. It was addressed to me. And at the sight -of the thin foreign envelope and the South -African stamp my heart sank even lower. I had -a presentiment that I hadn’t come to the worst -yet.</p> - -<p>It was a letter from my brother in Cape Town; -poor old ne’er-do-weel Jack, who scarcely ever -writes anything more than a picture postcard -with a view of the Cape of Good Hope, or something -of that kind, unless he’s in trouble and wants -something.</p> - -<p>With a sigh I took out the crackling, scrawled -sheet; and my eyes fell on the last sentences -first.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<i>You’ll have to get the money for me, old -girl. You know you can if you try. Ask -Vandeleur to lend it to us; he’d do anything -for you. Haven’t got his address, or I would -have written to him myself. I am absolutely -on the rocks, so don’t wait. You’ll have to -wire a hundred pounds to the Bank here——</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<p>A hundred pounds? Mightn’t he just as -well have said “a million”? What was all this -about? I took the letter into my own little -room and sat down on the camp-bed to read -it through....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span></p> - -<p>In five minutes I have grasped all that I can -take in at present of the situation; an old one.</p> - -<p>Jack is in trouble, worse trouble than ever -before. Debts; an I O U that was to fall -due in six weeks. Threatened exposure of—<em>something</em> -that he doesn’t explain. “<i>A business -affair?</i>”</p> - -<p>Yes; Mr. Dundonald is quite right. I -<em>have</em> “no head for business routine.” My -head’s going round with the bewilderment of -it. It <em>can’t</em> mean that Jack, my own brother, -Father’s only son—one of the <em>Trants</em>—has been -“not quite straight” with the accounts that -are in his care? He must be mad! It must -be the hot sun in that awful country. Not -<em>Jack</em>——!</p> - -<p>But to suggest that I should turn to Sydney -Vandeleur for the money, even supposing that -I knew where the Vandeleurs were to be found -just now—oh! As if I wouldn’t rather die! -Yet there’s nothing else that I can do——</p> - -<p>Stop. There is one thing.</p> - -<p>For, as if flashed in letters of fire over the -dim purple sky over the London roofs outside -my window, I seem to see the words—</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">“FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">And they mean, not only a solution of the -difficulties of Miss Trant, typist, not only<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> -comforts and security for Cicely, the show-girl -out of work, but the saving of our family name -and honour from disgrace. Help instead of -ruin for that poor dear weak-kneed broken reed -of a brother of mine.</p> - -<p>It’s Providence, that wildly eccentric scheme -of the Governor’s. I don’t care what its object -may be. I only know that now—<em>now</em>—I daren’t -refuse to fall in with it. Never mind the details. -The main fact is that <em>I must have that hundred -pounds, and this is the only way to it</em>.</p> - -<p class="tb">I’ve just taken supper into our sitting-room, -and I’ve been able to smile quite recklessly down -into the woe-begone, girlish face under the -arnica bandages.</p> - -<p>“Buck up, Cis, and eat some really good -scrambled eggs with little bits of ham chopped -up in them. And then there’s some glass -loganberries, hot; and somebody’d been what -Mrs. Skinner calls ‘pampering the milk,’ so I -got a brown jar of cream for them. <em>One</em> comfort -of living in a <i lang="fr">ménage</i> without any <em>men</em> (a joke, so -please laugh) is that we can eat what we <em>like</em>, -instead of stodging horrible, gristly chops and -steaks and potatoes every night of our lives. -And I brought in some red ink—not Veuve Emu -this time, but really decent Burgundy to cheer -us up——”</p> - -<p>“But, my <em>dear</em>—!” protested Cicely, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> -the scared glance of the business-girl who knows -what it costs to eat and drink.</p> - -<p>“It’s not extravagance. I can afford it.”</p> - -<p>“You can’t! You can only <em>just</em> manage to -scrape along for yourself—and you know your -poor darling hat’s awful, and you told me you -couldn’t get another—you haven’t managed to -put by a penny for ‘extras’—you told me -yesterday——”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yesterday! But I shall have some more -money—<em>now</em>.”</p> - -<p>“What?—and you never told me when you -came in? What, have Waters and Son actually -given you a <em>rise</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Supplementary duties,” I explained briefly, -drawing a wooden chair up beside Cicely’s couch -and laying a clean towel over it for a tablecloth -before I set down the plate of ham-scramble. -“Pretty well-paid, too. Yes. I got the job -to-day. And,” I concluded with resolution, -“I begin it to-morrow.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV<br /> -<span class="smaller">ACCEPTED!</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“And when do you think the ‘engagement’ -had better be announced? At once?”</p> - -<p>This was what the Governor said to me this -morning when I again presented myself at his -desk; this time with the timid “acceptance” -which, after poor Jack’s desperate appeal, is -my only alternative.</p> - -<p>“At <em>once</em>?” I gasped. “Oh, but—How -could it? The—well—people would think it -so”—I checked a hysterical laugh—“so -<em>funny</em>!”</p> - -<p>“Funny? What’s funny about it?” took -up the Governor, as sharply as if he didn’t see -anything at all odd in the whole situation. But -he does. He <em>must</em>! What a hateful trick -men have of pretending they’re <em>not</em> pretending—when -you’re unable to prove, in so many words, -that they <em>are</em>! People talk about women being -more complicated; good gracious! It’s we -who are simple and straightforward. What<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> -was I to make of the Governor, when he asked -me, in quite an annoyed tone of voice, “I suppose -men at the heads of offices have become engaged -to their employees before now Miss -Trant?”</p> - -<p>“Y-yes—of course—<em>Become engaged</em>.”—He -was talking now as if <em>this</em> were <em>that</em>!—“But not -if——”</p> - -<p>“Not if what?”</p> - -<p>“Well, not if they have never seen them to -speak to!” I explained falteringly. “You -see, Mr. Waters, the three other typists in my -room——”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Those girls!” said Mr. Waters -casually, and I caught my breath.</p> - -<p>For in the tone of those two words from the -Head of Affairs I heard the rest of his meaning—“If -<em>they</em> think it odd—if <em>they</em> make difficulties, -they can go, at once.”</p> - -<p>I saw that nightmare threat of “the sack” -looming again, this time over the heads of three -girls who had worked with and always been very -decent to me. They—if they stood the least -bit in this young office tyrant’s way—could go!</p> - -<p>“It’s not only the girls,” I urged, clenching -my hands to keep them from shaking, and hating -the man who made me so nervous. “It’s—everybody. -Mr. Dundonald, Mr. Alexander, -they must all know that you scarcely exchanged -a word with me until you sent for me yesterday,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> -when we—they all thought you were going to -dismiss me——”</p> - -<p>“Ah?” said the Governor coolly.</p> - -<p>“—S-so I can’t tell them, right on the top -of <em>that</em>, that we are actually engaged to be -married! There’ll have to be—some—some -other sort of warning!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t see the necessity myself,” said -Still Waters, fixing those keen grey eyes -upon me as if I were a letter-file or a paper-weight, -or some other inanimate object that -they’d happened to fall upon while he was -meditating on other things. I wondered if he -were thinking that, sooner than be bothered -over this affair, he would sack Mr. Dundonald, -Mr. Alexander and his whole staff! “Still, -if you prefer it. You mean that there had -better be some intermediate stages; that I -ought to begin by singling you out from the -others, seeing more of you, and so on. Quite -so.”</p> - -<p>It was uncanny, the cut-and-dried way in -which he spoke of proceedings which—well, are -always looked upon as so intensely the opposite -of cut-and-dried! This affair was the imitation -of something very different; still, one -hardly expected him to be able to map it all out, -like the diagrams in scientific dressmaking!</p> - -<p>“Now, how am I supposed to ‘see more’ -of you?” he went on, in the same tone as he<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> -might have asked, “<i>Where must I join this dotted -line to section D?</i>”</p> - -<p>“Ah, I have it.” (The sections were -beginning to fit in neatly.) “You will come -into my room here each afternoon in Mr. -Alexander’s place, and take down my letters.”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” I agreed, relapsing into my -usual outward meekness and inward rebelliousness.</p> - -<p>What a <em>fearful</em> nuisance, to be banished to the -Siberia of the Governor’s private room, after -the murky but cheery atmosphere of the typists’ -“glory-hole,” and the society of three other -girls!</p> - -<p>A couple of years ago I should have used -the shibboleth of my set at home to describe -these same girls—“Terrible!—Impossible!” I -should have noticed nothing about them beyond -their cheap “stock” clothes and the Cockney -accents that used to be such an hourly jar to my -nerves. I shouldn’t have differentiated the -sentimental “Smithie” from Miss Robinson, -who has more capacity in her carbon-stained -little finger than most of the girls who were with -me at Wycombe Abbey had in their heads. I -should scarcely have considered them of the -same race of being as myself, and as for being -on friendly, talkative terms with them—Well, -having to fend for oneself in the labour-market -does knock a good deal of the nonsense out of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> -one. Here I was, quite annoyed at the prospect -of giving up the companionship of the three -for the afternoons!</p> - -<p>Still, it would be worth it. My employer -would be as good as his word about the five -hundred pounds. He’d open an account for -me. And at lunch-time I shall be able to cable -that much-needed hundred to Cape Town.</p> - -<p>I’m to begin earning it as private clerk—to a -living tape-machine!</p> - -<p>“Yes. That will be quite the best plan,” -he went on. “That will pave the way for it.” -His tone became if anything more “scientifically -diagrammatic” still as he said, “To-day -is May fourteen; let me see—How long do -you suppose it would take before it would -be considered the natural thing for me to fall -in love with you?”</p> - -<p>“‘Natural’? How could it ever be considered -natural” was on the tip of my tongue, -“for you to fall in love with anybody?—You, -who think it ought to be mapped out into a -certain number of days, like that sum about -‘<i>twenty reapers reaping so many acres in a -week</i>.’”</p> - -<p>Primly I answered aloud, “I should think you -could please yourself, Mr. Waters.”</p> - -<p>“Well, we will see about that presently,” -said my employer, turning to the desk. “And -now there is this——” After speaking about<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> -“the time it took to fall in love,” I thought -he’d reached his limit. But no. He went -further.</p> - -<p>From a drawer that he unlocked he took out -a paper that he handed to me.</p> - -<p>“I have taken the precaution of having our -whole arrangement put down in black-and-white, -if you will kindly sign it here.”</p> - -<p>—“In <em>black-and-white!</em>”—“<em>sign——!</em>”</p> - -<p>I felt the angry colour surging up into my -face; I was all the more furious because I dare -not show the real rage I was in.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. I’ll sign it,” I said, with desperate -meekness, “if you really think it’s necessary. -If you imagine that I am the kind of girl who -might take advantage of our—our contract -afterwards, sue you for breach of promise, -or——”</p> - -<p>“Come, come!” Still Waters interrupted -briskly, peremptorily. “It’s just because I -didn’t think you were ‘that kind of girl,’ amongst -other reasons, that I selected you for my post. -This instrument is drawn up largely on your -own account. You have a pen——?”</p> - -<p>I took it out of the case fastened to the front -of my very utilitarian blue delaine blouse. I -hate wearing it there. I always look upon it as -the sign of servitude and the mark of the beast, -but it’s the custom—and business-like.</p> - -<p>“Right. Now, Miss Trant, I think that’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span> -all for this morning. You can arrange to come -in and take down my letters each afternoon at -a quarter to three, beginning to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said, in my meekest tone.</p> - -<p class="tb">Loud were the murmurs of commiseration -that broke from my three friends in my -own room when they heard of this novel -arrangement.</p> - -<p>“What, my dear? <em>You</em> to take down his -old letters? That’s the Governor’s idea of -giving you one more chance, I suppose,” -sniffed Miss Robinson, “before he sacks you! -Pity he didn’t tell you to go, and get it over -yesterday!”</p> - -<p>“He’s simply impossible to please. Why, -when I come here first,” said Miss Holt, “he -had had three girls at it in one week and they all -came out in tears because the Machine had -snapped their heads off. For one thing, he -dictates at such a rate that I don’t know -how he expects anyone to follow him without -they have to ask him to repeat it, and <em>then</em> he -glowers at you like a Gordian! See if he -doesn’t!”</p> - -<p>“It’ll be ‘<i>Now, Miss Trant!</i>’” mimicked -Miss Robinson, gabbling at top-speed. “‘<i>Got -that? Go on</i>—</p> - -<p>“‘<i>We can offer no further explanation of same -beyond facts already supplied, and are of opinion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span> -that there is nothing to be gained by prolonging -this correspondence.</i>’ Certainly nothing to be -gained by you, my poor dear!”</p> - -<p>“No, he’ll be sending for that stolid Scotch -Sandy back before the afternoon’s over!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t discourage the girl too much before -she starts. Still, I wish you weren’t forsaking -our room for the afternoons, Miss Trant. We -shall miss your merry prattle and your footstep -on the stair.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and there won’t be much prattling for -you in there,” said Miss Smith. “More like -sitting among the mummies and sphinxes and -things in the British Museum. Girls, can you -imagine Still Waters ‘prattling’ to anybody, -even as a little boy?”</p> - -<p>“That man was never anything so human as -a little boy,” declared Miss Robinson. “He -was created grown-up and ready-made and put -together like a Remington. Probably in the -very act of clicking out—</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Contract B.954. Our buyers advise us as -under</i>,’ and so on.</p> - -<p>“I wouldn’t mind what I betted that <em>he</em> -never cried over going to school for the first -time, or began to fancy himself more when -he’d sat out at a dance and flirted——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Flirted!</em> The Governor!” I put in—quite -forgetting What would presumably be my -cue very soon, and laughing with the others.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> - -<p>“You might just as well think of him falling -really desperately in love with——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Talk</em>-ing, ladies,” broke in the usual voice, -followed by the usual lull.</p> - -<p>But the usual twinge of fear didn’t visit me -this time.</p> - -<p>Let Mr. Dundonald report me; let him -complain of me, bitterly, to the Governor if -he likes! All Caledonia, stern and wild, can’t -get me turned out of the Near Oriental <em>now</em>. -To-morrow sees me unshakably installed as—the -Governor’s private clerk!</p> - -<p class="tb">I must say Mr. Waters is even more paralysingly -alarming to work for in this capacity.</p> - -<p>His dictation—Well! Miss Robinson described -it. He simply doesn’t realize, doesn’t -<em>mean</em> to realize, that “a clerk” is composed of -anything more than a pad and a scurrying -pencil. He literally does not <em>see</em> that these -objects may be trembling in the grasp of the -anxious slip of a young woman, who has to -guide them! He’s excruciatingly particular -about the transcribing of his sheaf of letters. -And I shudder—that is, I <em>should</em> have shuddered -only last week—to think what would happen -to Miss Trant, typist, if she brought in anything -to be signed one second after four-thirty, -which is his time for leaving.</p> - -<p>But now I’m secure in the knowledge that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span> -however much that machine of a young man -with the closed cash-box of a mouth may long -to sack me as a typist, my other, more lucrative, -post could not be so easily filled.</p> - -<p>Hurray!</p> - -<p class="tb">To-day is Friday: that Day of Terror in -the office, the day of the outward mails. But -it’s brought no terror to me. My week’s salary, -if you please, has amounted to eleven pounds, -five shillings.</p> - -<p>Twenty-five shillings of that was paid out to -me in the usual way by Mr. Wallis, our cashier—little -dreaming that my purse was already -bulging with ten more than welcome sovereigns -that I got in exchange for my own cheque -(The grandeur of that!) at the Bank where -that providential five hundred pounds (four -hundred since) has been put down to the -account of “Miss M. Trant.”</p> - -<p>I daren’t allow myself to think what would -have happened if it hadn’t been for that.</p> - -<p>As it is, I am able to take home quite a lot -of invalid dainties to Cicely (left to the tender -mercies of Mrs. Skinner) as well as a lovely -lemon-coloured azalea in a pot, and a brand-new -novel (four-and-six—half her share of the house-keeping -money!).</p> - -<p>Spending this fortune will come fatally easily -to me, I know. But I’ve a dim presentiment<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span> -that the earning of it isn’t going to be as easy -as that!</p> - -<p>This morning, which now seems about a year -since I began my “supplementary duties,” -Harold summoned me to appear at twelve o’clock, -instead of after lunch, before the -Governor.</p> - -<p>First of all I was seized with nervous flurry, -wondering what on earth I’d done. Then I -remembered that it wouldn’t really matter about -that. What mattered was what I should <em>have</em> -to do next?</p> - -<p>There was another cut-and-dried plan for -this in the very tone of the Governor’s “Good -morning” when he glanced up to see me standing -submissively beside his desk again.</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant, you have been working -in here exactly a fortnight,” he reminded me.</p> - -<p>“Exactly a fortnight.” I wonder if he is -going to keep count of every one of the three-hundred-and-sixty-five -days of the year which -must elapse before I shall be able to say a gleeful -good-bye to him and his diagrammatic “engagement?” -I expect so: I expect there’s a time-table -for each one, drawn up and carefully put -away for reference in one of the locked drawers -of his big cleared desk.</p> - -<p>“I think that something more might be -done at once about this arrangement of ours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p> - -<p>(A fortnight! Neither too long nor too short -a time, he probably considered, for some -“fresh development” to take place.)</p> - -<p>“So what about my taking you out to lunch -to-day?”</p> - -<p>What about it? A vivid mental picture of -the expression on the faces of Miss Robinson, -Miss Holt and Smithie rose before me. What—<em>what</em> -would they look like when——Well! -They’ve <em>got</em> to look it sooner or later, so it might -as well <em>begin</em> to-day.</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” I nearly said. Then I hesitated. -No! Why <em>should</em> he be able to “fit in” every -single detail of his plans, with the ease of a born -jig-saw genius? Why shouldn’t he have to -make some rearrangement, consult someone -else’s convenience for <em>once</em> in his life? I would -just try to put my tiny little spoke in his wheel -here, to <em>see</em>.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Waters, would you mind making it -to-morrow instead?”</p> - -<p>“Much the same to me,” returned my employer -rather unexpectedly—still, I suppose he -<em>would</em> allow a twenty-four hours’ margin in -these arrangements, in case of accidents. “But -why wait?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, because”—No woman ever does -anything for <em>one</em> unadulterated motive; a thing -men won’t understand! So I had my second -choice of reasons quite ready, and it was quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span> -naturally, as well as truthfully (for I <em>was</em> thinking -of Smithie’s preparations for an outing), that I -suggested—“it would seem more ‘natural’ if -I were to have on a new—my best hat to go out -to lunch in instead of the little old cap I put on -because of this drizzle to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Very well,” said Mr. Waters, with -his succinct nod. He added, “I suppose that -sort of thing is what they mean when they -say—when <em>women</em> say—that women have a -much better eye to detail in business than -men have?”</p> - -<p>(I don’t <em>quite</em> know how he meant that. But -never mind, Mr. Cut-and-Dried. I <em>have</em> altered -your time-table by a day, at least!)</p> - -<p>“To-morrow, then,” said Mr. Waters, after -I had said “Is that all?” And I went.</p> - -<p class="tb">The next day was a regular “new-hat” day. -Just the sort of day to go out to lunch with a -“hovering” <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>—a real one!—I thought, as I -set off down the Embankment, leaving Cicely, -whose foot isn’t quite right even yet, at the -open sitting-room window with a novel.</p> - -<p>It was brightly sunny, but, although we’re -nearly in June now, there was a nip of cold in -the breeze; the smile of a flirt—of a “cold -coquette,” as Major Montresor described me -once. I wonder what <em>he’d</em> think if ever he met -me again? Probably that it was just like little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span> -Monica to “pull off” making a good match -with another froggy-natured person.</p> - -<p>I laughed at this as I was walking along to the -corner where I get the motor-bus. After all, -there’s nothing to do but laugh at it—at the -whole affair. Actually, it was a momentous -choice to have thrust upon any girl; and it -might have cruelly embarrassing side-issues. -But what’s the good of dwelling on momentous -and cruel aspects of subjects that <em>have</em> a comic -side to them? The only way is to look hard at -that comic side—to see the joke, the whole -joke, and, most important of all, <em>nothing but the -joke</em>.</p> - -<p>I felt satisfactorily strung up to the coming -“fun” of the situation when I got into the -typists’ dressing-room at the Near Oriental.</p> - -<p>Here I found Miss Holt listening to Miss -Smith, evidently a little headachy and nervous, -attempting to “stand up” to Miss Robinson -in some argument.</p> - -<p>“The matter with <em>you</em>,” she was saying -pettishly, “is that you’re setting up to be a -<em>man</em>-hater!”</p> - -<p>“Setting up? No such luck,” said Miss -Robinson, maddeningly good-tempered. “If <em>I</em> -could ever see a fellow I didn’t think was awful, -I’d begin thinking of setting up. But where -<em>are</em> all the men, good gracious? What does -a girl ever see, working in holes of offices?<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span> -Weeds! Indoor weeds, smelling of stale Virginians -and wearing Number Thirteen collars.”</p> - -<p>“Collars aren’t anything!” Miss Smith -flushed an angry pink.</p> - -<p>“No; but what they go round are. And I -must say I like to see a chap with a good, -thick, strong-looking one (that’s why all the -<em>nice</em> girls love a sailor, Smithie) with plenty of -sunburn and no spots on it, and—Hul-<em>lo</em>, Miss -Trant!”</p> - -<p>I had turned up at the right moment to -prevent a squabble—I and my brand-new hat -bought out of Chérisette’s window, no less! -and provided by the princely salary.</p> - -<p>“I say, Miss Trant, my child, you’re blossoming -out!” commented Miss Holt, all eyes and -envy. “How much did that roof cost you? -It’s a good one.”</p> - -<p>“It <em>is</em> rather a good one,” I admitted quietly. -“I’m so glad you like it.”</p> - -<p>But I said no more until the morning’s work -was over and we had trooped back into the -dressing-room to get ready for going out at one -o’clock. Then:</p> - -<p>“I can’t come to lunch to-day,” I said, drawing -on the deliciously “fresh”-feeling white -gloves I’d bought for myself at the same time -as the hat, and giving a glance round the dressing-room -to make sure that they all took in the next -announcement. “I’m going out.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> - -<p>“Who with?” seemed to burst, of its own -accord, from three pairs of lips at once.</p> - -<p>Drawing myself up to what there is of my full -height, I smothered an inclination to giggle -foolishly, and answered with starchy dignity, -“Since you <em>must</em> know, I’m going out to lunch -with Still Waters.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, my dear, give that old joke a rest,” -urged the most frequent user of “the old joke,” -Miss Smith, flushing anew with interest, “and -tell us who HE is! This is something quite -new, Miss Trant, isn’t it? Doesn’t she look -conscious, girls? Didn’t I know that hat meant -something? How exciting! I’m <em>so</em> glad, dear; -but, do tell us! Not his name, of course——”</p> - -<p>For in the code of these girls, it’s not fair to -ask for names.</p> - -<p>“—but just his <em>Christian</em> name!”</p> - -<p>“William,” I admitted, smiling as “coyly” -as I could.</p> - -<p>“William! Sounds a bit—stand-offish,” objected -Miss Holt. “D’you call him ‘<i>Billy</i>,’ -by any chance?”</p> - -<p>“Never,” I said solemnly, “not by any -chance.”</p> - -<p>“Of course not. ‘Billy’s’ no class,” said -Miss Robinson. “‘William? Ahem! <em>William!</em>’” -in a pompous bass voice. “Dark or -fair, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>“Fair.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span></p> - -<p>“M’m. Well, I suppose Miss Trant <em>would</em> -pick a fair one, her being such a reel brunette,” -commented Miss Holt, “but as for me, I never -could take to a fair man. Puts me in mind of -weak tea. About as fair ’s the Governor, Miss -Trant?”</p> - -<p>“Ye-es; just about.”</p> - -<p>“Anything for a bit of a change,” said Miss -Robinson satirically. “I should have thought -you’d have liked another colour to sit opposite -to at lunch, after having to have the same sort -of thing staring you in the face all the afternoon. -However!—no accounting for ’em!... I hope -he’s tall, though?”</p> - -<p>“Over six foot, I should think.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Well grown, William! Is the young -gentleman in the City, may I ask?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, he is.”</p> - -<p>“Isn’t she a good sort, answering all our -impertinent questions like this! One more, -Miss Trant, and we won’t bother you. Where -are you going to meet him?”</p> - -<p>I don’t think she expected that I <em>would</em> answer -this. But I said quite frankly, “I am to meet -him just outside the front entrance in Leadenhall -Street.” And I whisked out of the room -to the lift. I didn’t tell the girls “Look out of -that window on the other side of the landing -and you’ll see him.”</p> - -<p>I knew it wasn’t necessary.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> - -<p>In two minutes’ time I was being helped into -a taxi by the august hand of our Governor -himself.</p> - -<p>I lifted my head and looked straight up at -the landing window. Yes, there they were, all -three of them, flattening their noses against the -pane. I nodded and smiled with bravado. -My three colleagues were too utterly taken by -surprise to even smile back at me. The expression -on their three faces was even more -pronounced than as I had foreseen it. Miss -Holt was standing in front, and as we drove away -I saw her eyebrows rise to her netted hair, while -her mouth dropped open.</p> - -<p>I could almost <em>hear</em> the gasp that came from -it, of:</p> - -<p>“<em>Girls!</em> Did you <em>ever</em>? She really <em>is</em>!—with -Still Waters! Well! What <em>ever</em> next?”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST LUNCH TOGETHER</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“To the Carlton,” ordered Mr. Waters; -and off we drove.</p> - -<p>I hadn’t been inside the Carlton since the -days before the “smash”—the days when I -was a young lady of leisure, without an idea that -I should presently be toiling in the grimy typists’ -room at the Near Oriental from nine o’clock -until six, wearing home-made delaine shirts, -and trembling lest I might lose my hard-earned -twenty-five shillings a week!</p> - -<p>The last time I’d been taken there to tea, -after a matinée, by my brother Jack and Sydney -Vandeleur, who had ordered roses of a very -special pink to match the frock I’d worn then, -and had sent a message to the band to play my -favourite waltzes. Yes, as Jack said, Sydney -would do anything for me, always. I expect -Jack thought that the hundred pounds which -saved his name came, as he suggested, from the -Vandeleurs. Well, I couldn’t possibly “give<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span> -away” the truth about the anomalous position -his sister accepted in order to earn the -money!</p> - -<p>Thank goodness, the Vandeleurs were at the -other end of the world, and wouldn’t be home -for a year, thought I. By then my time would be -up, and they needn’t know of my make-believe -“engagement”—except that it was “broken -off”!</p> - -<p>“I telephoned for a table,” said Mr. Waters, -as we left the ordinary work-a-day world of -hurrying people and crowded, petrol-breathing -motor-buses in the Haymarket, and entered the -restaurant—warm, perfumed, bright with dainty -clothes and pretty faces that smiled above the -little tables.</p> - -<p>Ours was in a delightfully cosy corner, next -to an empty table reserved for three persons. -The decorations were of pink hothouse roses, -almost the same as Sydney’s! How very different -from that marble-topped table in the crowded -“Den of Lyons” above which Miss Robinson, -Smithie and little Miss Holt were probably -even now gossiping excitedly over this event; -but <em>how</em> much rather I would have been with -them!</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant, what do you prefer for -lunch?”</p> - -<p>(<em>My</em> only variation of lunch for the last year -having been from “Bovril and a baked apple”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span> -to “Poached-egg-on-toast, with a glass of hot -milk.”)</p> - -<p>“I don’t mind at all.”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll order.”</p> - -<p>And very delicious were the things he did -order. Apparently even a machine liked perfect -<i lang="fr">bisque de homard</i>, and crisp whitebait—his one -touch of nature, in fact.</p> - -<p>I longed for Cicely—who does love nice food, -poor child!—to be there to help me enjoy this. -In fact, I wished that Cicely and I could have had -the lunch to our two gossiping selves. How we -should have enjoyed all the luxuries, from the -pretty glass to the freedom to chat, softly but -unrestrainedly, about everyone we noticed in -the place. I have heard it said that “Women -would rather talk to other <em>women</em> than to <em>men</em>, -even when they would rather talk to a <em>man</em> than -to a <em>woman</em>.” I don’t think I’ve often met any -single man I’d rather talk to than to a fairly -amusing member of my own sex. You have to -say most things twice to men, and then they -don’t really understand....</p> - -<p>Still Waters, of course (as his typists explain -to each other at least four times in a morning), -isn’t what you could call a man. Somehow, in -surroundings that used to be more familiar to -me than offices and City streets, I lost a little -of that awe-struck nervousness of my employer. -For a time I could almost forget he was that.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> -He became—Well! he made me feel as I did -in the old days when I had got someone very -heavy-in-hand to take me in to dinner, or as if -I were sitting out a dance with some rather -hopeless partner. I mean that was about as -far as any conversation between us went—a -few stilted, distrait remarks, punctuating long -stretches of silence.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile, I glanced round the big place at -the other luncheon-parties, people laughing and -chatting together—out evidently for amusement, -not “business”!</p> - -<p>Several times I caught glances directed at -our own table. I wondered what the people -were thinking of us—of the enormously tall, -fair young man with “City” stamped all over -him, from his smooth head to his glossy boots, -and the small, dark-eyed girl in the black velours -hat which looked so very much more expensive -and stylish than her neatly-cut but ancient -serge costume would lead them to expect.</p> - -<p>Perhaps they thought that the big young man -with the face as expressionless as a fireproof -curtain was slightly bored by taking his country -cousin round the sights of London? Perhaps -they thought we were really engaged? It -didn’t matter. There was no one in the restaurant -who knew either of us. Idly I wondered -who would come in and take the “reserved” -table close to us.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span></p> - -<p>“Miss Trant, you took good care that the -other typists knew for a fact with whom you were -coming out?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes. They were all looking out of the -landing window as we drove off.”</p> - -<p>“Good!” said Still Waters.</p> - -<p>And again I almost fancied that I caught that -flash of something like humour in his granite-grey -eyes, as I’d fancied it before, when he spoke -about my “intelligence” and my work. But -again it was gone before I could make sure. I -was glad. One doesn’t want a machine to have -any sense of humour. And I shouldn’t find it -so easy and unembarrassing to be on terms of -“official fiancéedom” with anything but a -machine.</p> - -<p>“I shall take you out to lunch two or three -times this week,” he announced, in his orders-for-the-day -voice, “and perhaps to tea. On -Saturday I shall ask you to come with me to a -matinée that you can talk about, and so on, to -the others.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Mr. Waters,” I said meekly.</p> - -<p>“And now that we’ve led up to it in this way, -I see no point in waiting. So next week, Miss -Trant, the ‘engagement’ had better be -announced.”</p> - -<p>“Certainly,” I agreed, again picturing to -myself the stupefaction of everybody at the -Near Oriental, from Mr. Dundonald (a pity the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span> -shock can’t incapacitate him for life!) down to -Harold.</p> - -<p>At home there’d be Cicely. I’m fond of her, -but I dread this. She takes such an <em>exasperating</em> -interest in anything that can be called a -love-affair. I myself can’t see what there is -so thrilling about “Who is going to marry -whom, and why?”</p> - -<p>But Cicely positively “collects,” just as some -people collect book-plates, all she can find out -on this hackneyed subject. I know she’ll insist -on treating this arrangement between my employer -and myself as a real, romantic “<i lang="fr">affaire -de cœur</i>.” Well, I suppose I shall <em>have</em> to keep -from slapping her!</p> - -<p>Then there’ll be Mr. Waters’ friends, whoever -they are, to whom I shall have to be introduced -as the girl he’s going to marry. (Oh, <em>lor’!</em> as -Mrs. Skinner puts it.)</p> - -<p>“After which,” pursued the Governor, “I -think I shall have to ask you to——What is -it, Miss Trant? Just seen somebody you -know?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I managed to murmur; “I know the -lady who has just come in—at the next table.”</p> - -<p>For at the table which had been reserved for -three, two of the party had just turned up.</p> - -<p>One was a fair-haired young girl, expensively -frocked in blue velvet, but still looking like -school-room tea. The other—how well I knew<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span> -the slim, well-preserved silhouette of her figure, -the carefully-graded bloom of her face!</p> - -<p>It was Lady Vandeleur, whom I’d imagined -to be in Japan!</p> - -<p>She is a charming woman, but she has two -faults. One is that, with a son of thirty-two, -she insists on remaining twenty-five. The other -is that, unlike dear old Sydney, to whom the -downfall of the Trant fortunes made absolutely -no difference, she’s never really liked me since -the “smash.”</p> - -<p>Before that, she was quite eager to explain -that I was “already” like a young daughter -to her. But it’s two years since I heard the tone -of effusive affection with which Sydney’s mother -was speaking to the girl beside her.</p> - -<p>“My dear child, aren’t you <em>starving</em>? I vote -we begin. That naughty boy of mine is so late. -We really can’t wait for Sydney!”</p> - -<p>“For Sydney!” Goodness! Then presently -Sydney himself would join them. He would -take the chair that faced our table—to which -his mother sat with her back turned. He -would see me—he’d be sure to come across -and speak!</p> - -<p>My mind was in a whirl of wondering what -Sydney Vandeleur would think when he saw the -girl he admired lunching <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> at the -Carlton with that big, imperturbable stranger. -And then Sydney himself came in.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> - -<p>I was in the middle of a particularly ambrosial -<i lang="fr">pêche Melba</i>, and anyone would have thought I -didn’t raise my eyes from it. But thank goodness, -my eyelashes are long enough for the purpose -they’re given a girl—to be looked up -through, without a man seeing. In a flash I’d -taken in all of Sydney that one could see; his -general appearance of a Cavalier’s portrait; -his look at the girl, his mood, a slightly different -way he’d had his hair (longish) and his little -Vandyke beard trimmed since I saw him last, -the clothes he was wearing....</p> - -<p>Of course nine girls out of ten never notice -a man’s ordinary clothes. Evening-dress they -recognize; and, of course, flannels, because -those are white, and allow the man (especially -after a hard game) to look a decent shape if he -is one. Anything else is lost on them. But I’m -the tenth girl. As Major Montresor once said, -when he was huffy with me for telling him his -new Norfolk jacket was “too undergraduatey” -for him, “Little Monica notices like a valet!”</p> - -<p>Sydney’s clothes one couldn’t <em>help</em> noticing; -he’s so well-turned-out, but never in a stereotyped -style; in fact, he refuses to be dressed, as -he calls it, “through a stencil.” I’m sure he’d -rather put on a false nose and walk down St. -James’s Street in it than appear in that hideous -conventional “rig” of the Governor’s. To-day, -for the Carlton, Sydney wore grey of such an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span> -exquisite soft stuff that it was hard to believe it -came from any ordinary man’s tailor; the tie -below his bare throat was dove-colour shot with -heliotrope, and his silk socks and the line in his -shirt with its soft collar matched it exactly. -There was one dark Russian violet in his button-hole.</p> - -<p>All these details were familiar to me before -Sydney so much as cast a glance at our table. -Then, in a lull, when I refused coffee, he seemed -to prick up his ears. With a quick turn from the -girl in blue velvet, he looked straight across and -saw me at last.</p> - -<p>“<em>Monica——!</em>”</p> - -<p>I heard the quick, delighted, recognizing -exclamation break from my old admirer’s lips. -(I <em>know</em> he admires me, so why not say so?)</p> - -<p>For the life of me, I couldn’t help raising my -eyes and meeting his own fixed upon me.</p> - -<p>He half rose. Then his glance fell upon my -companion. Mr. Waters was then in the act -of putting money down upon the little tray the -waiter handed.</p> - -<p>And then I saw the expression of eager delight -on Sydney’s dark, rather dreamy-looking, face -give place to a hurt surprise, as he sat back again -in his chair.</p> - -<p>At the same moment Lady Vandeleur turned -quickly, fixing her own gaze upon our table.</p> - -<p>Immediately the gaze became a blank stare,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span> -while her exquisitely-pencilled eyebrows rose -almost to the edge of her costly “transformation.” -She’d recognized me, of course. But stony displeasure -and outraged convention gleamed in -the eyes that she instantly averted.</p> - -<p>You see, in her world a girl of my age is not -supposed to lunch at the Carlton without a -chaperon of some sort, and with an unspecified -young man.</p> - -<p>Up to this occasion I, Colonel Trant’s daughter, -had been of that world, of those conventions. -The Vandeleurs were evidently shocked at the -lapse.</p> - -<p>Dear old Sydney, old-fashionedly chivalrous -towards women, was also old-fashionedly strict; -and his mother—well! she was merely glad of -the excuse to cut me.</p> - -<p>Under the circumstances I need not have -minded. But one is not consistent. I minded -horribly the idea of what they might be thinking -about me—that I had become horrid, forward, -fast.</p> - -<p>Something that seemed as hard and hot as a -baked paving-stone seemed to settle between my -chest and my throat as I fumbled at the last -button of my long white gloves, and, in answer -to Mr. Waters’ business-like “Ready, Miss -Trant?” I rose to follow him out.</p> - -<p>Lady Vandeleur’s tortoiseshell-handled lorgnette -rose also. I saw her turn a searching<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span> -scrutiny upon my blond, glossily-groomed, well-to-do -looking escort.</p> - -<p>Again a horrible hint of what she might be -thinking of me passed through my mind. She -knew I worked now in the City; she would think—Sydney -would think—I had made it an excuse -for “picking up” the attentions of a wealthy -business-man, perhaps my employer. From -every point of view it is considered “bad form” -for the head of a firm to have anything to say to -his typist out of business-hours.</p> - -<p>All this she would say to Sydney, and to that -girl. No, I couldn’t stand that! There seemed -only one thing in the world for me to do. “I’m -forced into it,” I thought rapidly, “so here -goes.”</p> - -<p>I touched Mr. Waters’s sleeve, murmuring:</p> - -<p>“Please wait a moment.”</p> - -<p>He stopped, looking down at me inquiringly. -I turned, smiling, to that slim, expensively-gowned -figure of outraged propriety at the other -table. I accosted her as if I thought she had not -seen me.</p> - -<p>“Lady Vandeleur, don’t you know me?”</p> - -<p>My own voice sounded strangely artificial -in my ears, but, thank goodness, it was steady -enough, with every syllable distinct.</p> - -<p>“Will you allow me to introduce Mr. Waters, -my fiancé?”</p> - -<p>There! It was said!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span></p> - -<p>Transformation scene upon that carefully-preserved -face at the table! Gone, vanished, -was the icy displeasure. A radiant smile, a -gracious bow to the imperturbable Mr. Waters -met my announcement. An effusive clasp of -both my own hands.</p> - -<p>“My dear child, what surprising, what delightful -news! How glad I am for you,” cooed -Lady Vandeleur.</p> - -<p>How glad she was for herself—glad to think -that a hopelessly ineligible girl, for whom Sydney -had always displayed a regrettable weakness, -was now safely out of harm’s way—and his!</p> - -<p>Her gratification at this made her quite as -affectionate as she had been in the days when the -Trant family was still worth marrying into.</p> - -<p>“So long since we heard anything of you, you -naughty child! But this quite makes up. Yes, -we <em>were</em> away; but there were alterations in our -plans”—with a quick gesture, a quick glance, -towards the pretty débutante opposite to her, -evidently her latest “plan” for Sydney. “Now -we are back in town for the season. The old -address, you know, in Belgrave Square. Wednesday -is my afternoon. Now, promise you will -come and see us. A ‘soon’ Wednesday, mind! -Do bring your <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>!”</p> - -<p>“I shall be delighted.” It was the Governor’s -imperturbable voice that answered her. At -that moment I could not have spoken.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span></p> - -<p>For as Sydney was murmuring conventional -congratulations I had caught sight of the look -in his eyes. They are handsome eyes, deep and -brown and soft, like the eyes of some spaniels; -and just then they looked so bitterly hurt that I -felt as if I had been cruel to some nice dog or some -helpless child. Perhaps Sydney cared more than -I had ever imagined.</p> - -<p>I felt quite miserable when at last the purring -farewells and the “so very glad, dear childs” -were left behind us, and we passed out of the -restaurant, through the wheeling glass doors into -the Haymarket once more.</p> - -<p>As we walked up to Piccadilly Circus I turned -to the Governor with the apologies I felt I owed -him.</p> - -<p>“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Waters! There -seemed nothing else to be done. Those people—they -were old friends of my father’s; they -would have thought it so odd for me to be -lunching alone with you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, quite so, quite so!” put in the Governor, -matter-of-fact and reassuring. “I quite realized -the situation.”</p> - -<p>Did he?</p> - -<p>Not all of it! Poor Sydney! I have never -felt nearer the possibility of falling in love with -Sydney in my life. But the Governor was still -speaking.</p> - -<p>“In fact, I was not at all sorry that the occasion<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> -happened to come up. It means, of course, that -the announcement will have to be made rather -earlier.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” I agreed, with the usual sinking -of the heart.</p> - -<p>We had reached the Circus now, and before I -knew what he was going to do, Mr. Waters had -stepped quickly across to those sailor-hatted, -shawled flower-women, whose baskets make such -a gorgeous splash of colour against the stone -background of the fountain.</p> - -<p>Back he came with a cluster of great red, -fragrant carnations, which he handed to me.</p> - -<p>“Oh, but really you should not have——” -I was beginning, when I realized that this -also was part of the business—that never had -flowers been offered from man to maid under -quite such unromantic circumstances before, -and that I had better take Still Waters’ gift -as ostentatiously as I could.</p> - -<p>I tucked the sweet crimson blooms into the -breast of my blue serge coat.</p> - -<p>As we whizzed citywards in a taxi, the -Governor spoke again.</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant, there is another suggestion -I have to make to you,” he began. “To -begin with, if I may say so, I like the way you -dress.”</p> - -<p>Crisp, concise, business-like syllables; no girl -could have interpreted them into a <em>compliment</em>!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> - -<p>“I like the way you go to business—always -neat, always ladylike. No ear-rings, no dingle-dangles -and low necks like some of them; always -a very clean collar and a quiet tie, I notice—just -the thing for the office. But when I take you -out rather more, I suppose you will have to have -one or two rather special evening gowns and -afternoon frocks, and theatre-wraps, and so on. -I don’t know what they’re called. No doubt -you know the kind of thing to order. All part -of the arrangement, you understand. I’ll get -a friend of mine in the City, whose wife runs a -really first-class dressmaking business, to let -me have the address; and then you will go to -her—”</p> - -<p>All cut-and-dried, like all his other schemes! -But this was something different—very different -as well.</p> - -<p>—“have yourself fitted out with all that is -necessary, and send in the bills to me.”</p> - -<p>“Please, no. Not that,” I heard myself say -quickly.</p> - -<p>My employer turned upon me a face with some -of the imperturbability quite jerked out of it by -surprise.</p> - -<p>“What’s that?”</p> - -<p>“If you don’t mind, I can’t—I would rather -not do so as you suggest about that,” said I, -holding my head very high, but feeling myself -turn as crimson as the flowers in my coat, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span> -speaking rather shakily, for this was the first time -I had ever asserted my own feelings in even the -mildest way before him. “I—I know it seems -like straining at a gnat after all the camels that -I am preparing to swallow. Of course I will -<em>get</em> the frocks and things. Only—please, you -must allow me to pay for them out of my -allowance—my salary.”</p> - -<p>He looked at me doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“That seems scarcely fair—to you. It means -paying out your own money on things, that—well! -I thought that would obviously come out -as ‘<i>business expenses</i>.’”</p> - -<p>I said, feeling miserably uncomfortable, -“Don’t you see that I can’t possibly allow you -to pay for—to give me <em>frocks</em>?”</p> - -<p>“But—don’t you understand that—in the -way of business, you will have to allow me to -give you other things?”</p> - -<p>“Other things? What?”</p> - -<p>“Why, presents. I don’t know what, exactly. -You will probably have to come round the -shops with me yourself, and tell me. You are -the best judge of what a girl would like to -show, as gifts, keepsakes, what-nots, from the -man to whom she is, presumably, engaged. It -is part of this affair!” explained Mr. Waters, -a little impatiently, as the taxi was held up -at a crossing and waited panting for the signal -to get on. “It would ‘look odd,’ as you<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span> -yourself expressed it once, if I did <em>not</em> offer -you presents.”</p> - -<p>“Presents,” I said, feeling really indignant -with him for being so obtuse, “are very different. -For one thing, I should not have to keep -<em>them</em> always. They would go back to you at -the end of the year, as soon as that paper I -signed for you is torn up. But—girls don’t -take <em>clothes</em> as presents, <em>ever</em>!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why not,” he said obstinately. -“Besides—don’t they! A cousin of my own, -a girl” (fancy his having a girl-cousin!) -“who was staying with us last winter used -to wear a magnificent stole and a muff of -leopard-skin—the leopards had been shot by -her <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>.”</p> - -<p>“Those were <em>furs</em>,” I explained. “Furs are -different.”</p> - -<p>“A great many things would seem to be -‘different’ from what I imagined,” he said, in a -tone of voice that was almost petulant. I felt -inclined to say, “Yes! <em>You</em> imagined that -because you’re as infallible as a tape-machine -in business-hours, you can’t make mistakes -outside the office!”</p> - -<p>Whereas Sydney Vandeleur, who has no -“business” outside his amateur art criticism, -with an occasional design for hand-wrought -jewellery, would never have made the <i lang="fr">faux pas</i> -this man had done. It was so absurdly ignorant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> -and <i lang="fr">gauche</i> of him not to see it. And even now -he seemed inclined to dispute the point.</p> - -<p>“Feathers, now,” he said a little satirically. -“Might not a girl wear a couple of really good, -expensive ostrich plumes, or whatever you call -them—the things that hang down the back like -a sort of Niagara of fluff—if they were sent to -her by a man with facilities for buying direct -from South Africa?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” I said readily, feeling as if I were -an editress answering “<cite>Queries on Etiquette</cite>.” -“Feathers are <em>quite</em> as permissible as furs.”</p> - -<p>“Even supposing them to be very costly? -Worth as much, say, as five times the amount -of the rest of the lady’s wardrobe?”</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing to do with the cost,” I explained -patiently. “A twenty-guinea fox stole a girl -<em>might</em> accept from a man. A four-pound frock -she <em>couldn’t</em>.”</p> - -<p>“I confess I don’t understand these <i lang="fr">nuances</i>,” -said Mr. Waters, almost absent-mindedly.</p> - -<p>I said, “Any <em>girl</em> would.”</p> - -<p>“Possibly. I can’t help wondering what held -good instead of the fur-and-feathers edict in -the days when they composed——What I was -going to say,” he broke off quickly, “was that I -always imagined that young French girls were -brought up to be more strict in these matters -than English ones. Yet I know a French girl—”</p> - -<p>(Surprising! He knows a girl!)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p> - -<p>—“her father’s an old business acquaintance -of mine—”</p> - -<p>(Ah, that explains it.)</p> - -<p>—“and neither her father nor the young -lady seemed to find anything curious about the -matter, when, in payment of some bet made at -a flying-meeting, I bought her quite a large -boxful of pairs of gloves.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, gloves! Anybody can give gloves to -anybody,” I told him. “<em>Gloves</em> aren’t like -clothes.”</p> - -<p>“No, but I see some clothes about nowadays -that are uncommonly like gloves!”</p> - -<p><em>Could</em> it have been the Governor who muttered -this <i lang="it">sotto voce</i> to himself?</p> - -<p>No! It must have been the comment that -flashed through my own mind, and that I -imagined spoken aloud as the burly policeman -whose back I had been studying during this -interlude dropped his hand and allowed our -taxi to whizz forward into the writhing tangle -of traffic.</p> - -<p>There was no further stopping or talking until -at last we reached the imposing entrance of the -Near Oriental Shipping Agency offices.</p> - -<p>I noticed that the Governor’s level eyebrows -rose a trifle as he looked at the indicator of the -fares before paying the driver. Yes, I am sure -that many fifteen shillings’ worth of taxi-drive -haven’t seemed as long. I only hope this<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> -florin’s worth was as endless to him as it was to -me!</p> - -<p>Then, just as I was turning away, my employer -surprised me by saying brusquely but quite nicely, -“Miss Trant, you must do just as you like in the -matter of—of which we’ve been speaking. I -didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I am sorry -if I did—You understand that?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course,” I said, all meekness again.</p> - -<p>And then I set my teeth before I ran up the -stairs into the typists’ dressing-room and prepared -to face the eyes of my three friends, Miss -Robinson, Miss Holt and Miss Smith.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI<br /> -<span class="smaller">WHAT THEY SAID</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>In the dressing-room, where Miss Robinson -was rinsing out the sooty basin before washing -her hands in it, Miss Holt “smarming” her hair-net -down over her little brown chocolate of a -head, and Miss Smith tearing yet another leaf -out of the inevitable book of <i lang="fr">papiers poudrés</i>, -the silence that met me was quite as death-like -as if the girls had just been pulled up by Mr. -Dundonald’s “<em>Talk</em>-ing, ladies!”</p> - -<p>Talking? I didn’t need to be told that, -<em>from</em> the moment they’d seen, out of the landing -window, the last of that taxi in which the -Governor and his private clerk had driven off, -<em>to</em> the moment they had heard my returning -footstep on the stairs, they had done nothing -<em>but</em> talk about me and my incredible, my epic -lunch.</p> - -<p>As I drew the hat-pins from the admired new -hat, I prepared for a hurricane of comments and -questions.</p> - -<p>None came. Not one of the girls seemed to -have a word to say to me!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span></p> - -<p>Perhaps they thought they would hear more -by seeming not too eager. (That’s rather Miss -Robinson’s style of “drawing out” her -companions.)</p> - -<p>Perhaps they considered the subject too vast -for immediate discussion. Perhaps, for they -are all good-natured girls, they had come to the -conclusion that it wasn’t fair to “rag” me about -it—that I might be feeling too utterly nervous -and flurried over the unexpected (?) event.</p> - -<p>They didn’t even ask me whether I had enjoyed -myself! I even saw them, distinctly, -avoid looking at me.</p> - -<p>Only Miss Holt’s eyes seemed drawn, as if -in spite of herself, to the flowers I was taking -out of my coat to put in water in the grimy -jam-jar on the dressing-table that so often holds -Smithie’s bunch of violets; and it was Miss -Holt who breathed an involuntary—</p> - -<p>“I say, what lovely carnations!”</p> - -<p>“Do have some,” I said, as a matter of course, -dividing the cluster and holding out half to her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. I wouldn’t deprive you for the -world, Miss Trant,” murmured Miss Holt, -stiffly drawing back.</p> - -<p>I realized from her tone that she considered -I had made a mistake.</p> - -<p>Of course! Those flowers ought to have been -thought “too precious” to share with anybody. -Smithie would never think of giving one of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> -“boy’s” violets away. Dear me, I thought, -what an added bore, having to remember to keep -up the correctly sentimental attitude about every -trifle of this kind.... <em>Ah!</em></p> - -<p>I broke off what I was thinking at that moment -with quite a sudden start.</p> - -<p>For, just as she turned away, I had caught -Miss Smith’s glance at that cluster of fresh, -crimson carnations. It might have been a bunch -of withered wall-flowers that had been left too -long in water, for the disgusted wrinkle that -lifted the prettiest typist’s small, powdered nose.</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> wouldn’t touch them,” it seemed to say.</p> - -<p>“Not <em>those</em> flowers.” ...</p> - -<p>And at last I saw why.</p> - -<p>The reason my three colleagues had forborne -to question, or chaff, or even look at me when I -came in from that expedition with the Governor -was <em>not</em> because they were too considerate, -too puzzled, or too wily.</p> - -<p>It was merely because they were shocked—scandalized!</p> - -<p>They were thinking worse things of me than -I thought I saw behind Lady Vandeleur’s -lifted lorgnette. I found myself suspected—probably -more than suspected!—of having run -counter to the standards of a class which is -perhaps more innately virtuous than Lady -Vandeleur’s and my own and Cicely’s, and -certainly more rigid in its judgments. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> -remembered gossip about typists and their employers, -gossip from the days when I was taking -my training at Pitman’s. And out of this I -could imagine for myself the tone of the talk -about me that had passed across that marble-topped -table in the “Den of Lyons” at lunch-time.</p> - -<p>“Well, Still Waters have been running deep, -with a vengeance! This is the meaning of her -taking down his letters for a whole fortnight—<em>without -any complaints</em>, girls! We might have -seen there was something funny in that!”</p> - -<p>“She’s been pretty artful, too, not letting -on that there was anything at all, until to-day!—And -there must have been some sort of beginning. -A girl’s boss doesn’t take her out to -a swagger lunch, with flowers and a new hat and -all, without there’s been some sort of a leading -up to it!”</p> - -<p>Perhaps Miss Robinson might suggest—“Well, -I should never have thought she’d been that -kind of girl. Fact of the matter is, I suppose -she funked losing her job if she didn’t.”</p> - -<p>But Smithie and Miss Holt would chorus -vehemently, “She ought to have lost her job, -first! I would!—And chance it!”</p> - -<p>Yes; according to this jury of maidens, I was -already pronounced “<i>Guilty</i>.”</p> - -<p>And, innocent as I was of anything they -would have thought “mattered” in the least—for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span> -I don’t think the keeping-up of a false -engagement would have outraged their conventions -at all in comparison—I felt myself -turn hot and cold with shame over the false -position.</p> - -<p>I was even thankful not to have to stay in -the same room with these other girls that afternoon—thankful -to be able to beat a retreat to -the large, light office where I took down letters -from the Governor’s rapid dictation as if my -whole life depended on it—thankful that he -did make such claims on the whole of my attention -and capabilities; thankful that the boring -“dinner-partner,” who had allowed a glimpse of -a slightly more human personality in the cab -when he’d discussed the difference between -frocks and furs, had been entirely swallowed up -again in the business-employer.</p> - -<p class="tb">As he was leaving, he gave me the last of his -orders for the following day.</p> - -<p>“I should be glad if you would have lunch with -me again to-morrow.”</p> - -<p>“Very well, Mr. Waters.”</p> - -<p>That means another ordeal in the dressing-room, -where the ill-ventilated atmosphere will -again be set simmering with the unspoken—and -the unspeakable. I never did think that this -ten pounds a week was going to be exactly easy -to earn. But I hadn’t bargained for this—This<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> -is outrageous! It makes me hate everybody: -Mr. Waters, to begin with, for making -the proposal; Jack next, for making it necessary -for me to accept it; the girls at the office here, -for so hideously misconstruing the position!</p> - -<p>My ordinary work, which had for two or three -hours pushed my complicated “supernumerary -duties” to the back of my mind, has come to -an end, and the other thing looms well into the -foreground again. I’ve walked nearly all the -way back to Battersea, but that hasn’t worked -off my simmering indignation even yet.</p> - -<p>I shall spend the evening ironing out washing-ribbon -and oddments in our tiny kitchen; I -can’t stay with Cicely—I should only snap at -her, and she would wonder why.</p> - -<p>The one relief that I have been able to give -to my feelings was when, in crossing the bridge, -I tore those glorious crimson carnations (which -I wouldn’t leave at the Near Oriental!) out of -my coat again, and flung them far, far down into -the sluggish brown waters of the river below -me. How soon they were out of sight! How -I wish that I could put them and everything -connected with them, out of mind!</p> - -<p class="tb">To-day, the day of my second lunch with Mr. -Waters, has been one that I don’t think I shall -ever forget, even when I’m a white-haired -maiden-lady, with no one to lunch with but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span> -a parrot or a tabby-cat, and no man’s “appointments” -to consult but those of the individual -who has to pay me over my Old Age Pension!</p> - -<p>Silence—a silence that ought to have rejoiced -the heart of Mr. Dundonald, reigned throughout -the whole long morning. I knew that the girls -meant me to realize that Miss Trant, for outraging -the code of the self-respecting business-girl, -had been “sent to Coventry.”</p> - -<p>This was what helped me to that stiffness of -spine, that Suffragette-like defiance of eye, and -that unnatural clearness of diction which I -felt myself assuming at one o’clock in the -dressing-room as I announced, “I think it is -at the Savoy that I am lunching with Mr. -Waters to-day.” For I flung it down like -a gauntlet.</p> - -<p>It was Miss Robinson who accepted the -challenge with a particularly icy “Gracious!”</p> - -<p>The two others stared hard; while Miss -Robinson, clearing her throat, fixed her shrewd -eyes on me and plucked up courage to add what -Smithie and Miss Holt were probably thinking.</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant! D’you mind me asking you -if you’re going out with Mr. Waters because -you like it, or because you can’t say ‘No’?”</p> - -<p>“Who would say ‘No’”—I fenced flippantly—“to -a Savoy lunch?”</p> - -<p>“Some girls might,” murmured Miss Smith. -Miss Robinson, answering not my words, but my<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span> -tone, said, “Of course it’s none of my business—except -that while you’re here you are supposed -to be one of us. And I can’t say——”</p> - -<p>“Can’t say what?” I demanded, meeting -her shrewd eyes squarely with my defiant ones. -She flushed a little, and I was glad. But she -stuck to her guns.</p> - -<p>“I can’t say that it looks any too well! A -man in his position, and a girl in yours! Under -those circumstances——”</p> - -<p>“You know nothing,” I said, deliberately and -coldly, “about the circumstances.”</p> - -<p>Still more deliberately I tossed a glance into -the inevitably soap-splashed mirror at the set -of my hat. Then, without another word, I -turned out of the open door and walked to the -lift, humming a tune just loud enough for them -all to hear.</p> - -<p>This time I didn’t trouble to glance up from -the entrance, where my employer joined me, to -the landing window. The girls would not be -watching me off this time.</p> - -<p class="tb">“Savoy!”</p> - -<p>The taxi-driver touched his peaked cap with -a quite unusual suggestion of deference. I -suppose he had found Savoy luncheon-escorts -were generous tippers. I wondered if -he had ever before driven a couple in quite -these “circumstances.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span></p> - -<p>Miss Robinson’s sincerely-meant reproof, “<i>It -doesn’t look any too well! A girl in your position. -A man in his!</i>” echoed in my ears louder than -the whirring of the wheels and the noise of the -traffic. It rankled poisonously throughout the -drive, throughout the whole luncheon.</p> - -<p>We lunched outside, which Mr. Waters said -laconically would be “more amusing for me -than inside.” Personally I felt that nothing -would ever amuse me less than this duty-lunch -with its hateful obbligato-accompaniment of -what those other girls were thinking, what they -were saying.</p> - -<p>Oh, it’s all very well to quote that French -axiom—</p> - -<p>“<i>They say—What do they say?—Let them -say!</i>” The average person will always find -that a counsel of perfection.—Especially the -average girl. The impulse <em>not</em> to let them -“say” if we can help it is nearly as strong in -us as the instinct of self-preservation, and of -touching our hair when we pass a mirror. So -that there must be some really important basic -reason for it. I do wish I knew what would -happen if that suddenly crumbled away ...?</p> - -<p>But it isn’t “away” yet: it spoiled every -trace of amusement that I might otherwise -have enjoyed in the lunch and the people that -passed. I’ve merely a vague impression of cab-whistles, -of taxis whirling up beyond the trellis<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span> -of the low balustrade, of obviously American -figures appearing and disappearing among the -evergreens; of a small, unhappy-looking face -with dark eyes that stared resentfully at me out -of the bowls of spoons, and of a voice that said -half-absently, “I’m afraid you’ve made a very -poor lunch, Miss Trant.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not at all.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps you are tired?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, not in the least, thank you.”</p> - -<p>“Not too tired to come on somewhere? I -thought if you didn’t mind”—this always -preludes an order—“we’d drive to Gemmer’s -in Bond Street, and choose that ring for you.”</p> - -<p>“Ring?” I repeated vaguely, as I put on my -gloves.</p> - -<p>“You will have to have one, you know. An -engagement ring, as the outward and visible -sign of the new conditions,” he said nonchalantly, -as we rose. “Must have a ring to clinch the -effect!”</p> - -<p>Yes, I thought resentfully, that “clinches” -it—for him. He doesn’t think of my side of -the affair at all! He doesn’t see that his -accurately mapped-out time-table includes any -unpleasantness—just because <em>he</em> doesn’t choose -to admit it!</p> - -<p>I turned to him as we sat in the cab. I felt -like “the turning worm” as I pulled myself -together for what I meant to say.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII<br /> -<span class="smaller">CHOOSING THE RING</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“About that—engagement ring, Mr. -Waters——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?”</p> - -<p>“You want me to take to wearing it, as soon -as you have got it, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“That’s the idea,” he said, turning a little -to look at me while I stared straight at the big -white-and-blue buses lumbering up the Strand, -but saw, clearer than the traffic, the faces of -Miss Robinson, Miss Holt, and Smithie wearing -that partly contemptuous, but more angry, -expression with which I suppose a decent Trades-Unionist -on strike might be entitled to look -down upon a blackleg. “Yes, of course it’s -for you to wear at once. What else?”</p> - -<p>“And—to show the others?”</p> - -<p>“Of course!” He looked still more surprised; -a little impatient, too. I suppose he -felt that again an irritating spoke was being -thrust into the well-oiled wheel of his plan.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span></p> - -<p>“I am to show it to them and let them know, -in that way, that I am supposed to be engaged -to you?”</p> - -<p>He answered this with another question.</p> - -<p>“Tell me, Miss Trant, have you been having -any unpleasantness in the office about this—coming -out to lunch with me?”</p> - -<p>“N-no,” I said. “Of course,” I added more -quickly, “it’s been awkward! You could not -expect it <em>not</em> to have been awkward—at least, -for me!”</p> - -<p>“Ah? Made awkward for you by those -girls—what?”</p> - -<p>“No! Oh, no!” I fibbed swiftly. For -again I could conclude his comment with that -relentless “<i>Well, then, they can go!</i>” And I -couldn’t have the girls sacked, calmly as I felt -I could have seen them all three strangled -an hour before. “Only—a little difficult to -explain.”</p> - -<p>“This will explain it,” said my employer -coolly, as the taxi stopped outside the glass -door of the great jeweller’s. A page-boy in -green-and-silver swung it open for us. And -Mr. Waters made me precede him into the softly-carpeted -shop with the long glass counters and -the white velvet stands curved to the shape of -a woman’s neck, on which winked and flashed, -gleamed and glowed, diamonds—rubies—pearls—jewels -of every description.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> - -<p>“The sight of flowers soothes and softens a -woman’s mood. Jewels, on the other hand, -stimulate, excite and irritate her. Possibly -because they generally signify longings unattainable -combined with the knowledge that, given -<em>that</em> necklace, or gems like those, or <em>such</em> a pair -of ear-rings, and any beauty she has would be -tenfold increased.” ... That is how Sydney -Vandeleur explained it to me. He’s interested -in jewels ever since he won that Arts and Crafts -competition for the design of a girdle in silver, -mother-o’-pearl, and peridot. And Cicely, of -the red curls, once confessed that she would -marry an octogenarian if he could give her a -really lovely rope of black pearls!</p> - -<p>But that was in fun. This was business....</p> - -<p>A small, olive-faced shopman in a frock-coat -and with curls like a retriever’s back bowed -over the counter and flashed his teeth at us. -Mentally I nicknamed him Mr. Levi Smarm. -It would have taken all Miss Robinson’s powers -of mimicry to reproduce the suavity of his -“Sir? What may I have the pleasure?”</p> - -<p>“We want to see some rings,” said my -employer brusquely.</p> - -<p>“Engagement rings, sir, of course?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Waters, fixing a -cold granite-grey stare just above the retriever’s -back—or rather, the jeweller’s head. -“Now—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p> - -<p>I felt that he had nearly rapped out his usual -“Now, Miss Trant!” but checked himself -under the sympathetically intrusive eye of that -Jewish salesman as he turned to me—“what -stones do you prefer?”</p> - -<p>“I? Oh! What does it matter?—I mean, -I don’t mind in the least!”</p> - -<p>I was remembering things that various girl-friends -had told me, in the old days, of the -choosing of their engagement rings; of various -rings I had seen. One girl, whose <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> -had gipsy blood in his veins, had chosen a gipsy’s -silver wedding-ring. Another had a tiny enamel -circlet with the posy:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“<i>The Gift is Small</i></div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>But Love is All.</i>”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>If I <em>were</em> the falling-in-love type of girl, which -thank goodness I’m not, this scene at Gemmer’s, -so utterly opposed to all canons of Romance and -tradition, might have seemed a “desecration”—might -have got thoroughly on my nerves.</p> - -<p>But what <em>was</em> on my nerves, which actually -were jangled enough for the moment, was—first, -the attitude of the girls towards me ever since I -came back from the Carlton yesterday—and, -secondly, the Governor’s blind tactlessness, his -intention of turning me loose among them, so -to speak, alone, to flaunt his ring on my finger!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> - -<p>A positive rage against Still Waters boiled up -in me as suddenly as hot milk in the saucepan -when you don’t watch it. So, when he suggested, -casually, “Let us say diamonds, then, shall we?” -I heard myself retort quickly, almost before I -knew what I meant:</p> - -<p>“Yes, diamonds. Diamonds are always money -afterwards, you know!”</p> - -<p>As soon as it was out of my mouth I realized -that it was an appalling thing to say under any -circumstances. Mr. Levi Smarm, however, -seemed to consider it an extremely witty remark.</p> - -<p>He threw back his curly head and laughed -quite pleasantly as he suggested that surely the -young lady was not thinking of an “afterwards” -already?</p> - -<p>“It is always well to be provided for every -contingency,” put in Mr. Waters dryly. “I -should like to see those diamond rings in that -show-case over there, please.”</p> - -<p>“There” was at the other end of the shop—which -meant that our salesman had to turn his -frock-coated back upon us, and that he was out -of earshot of the next remarks between his -“newly-engaged” customers.</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant!”—the Governor spoke curtly -and hurriedly—“What was your meaning just -now when you said that ‘diamonds were always -money afterwards’?”</p> - -<p>“Well—I—I understood that they were!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> -Perhaps I ought not to have said it with the man -there. I meant that you would not lose anything -on it when I return that ring to you in a -year’s time from now!”</p> - -<p>“Who said anything about ‘returning’ the -ring when the so-called engagement is up?” -asked Mr. Waters, looking directly at me.</p> - -<p>I was aghast.</p> - -<p>“But ... naturally I send it back!”</p> - -<p>“I had not intended that at all. You will -have ... expenses connected with this affair—railway-journeys, -and so on, I mean.” He -<em>meant</em> clothes again, I suspect, but could not -say so. “I intended whatever value the ring -might have to stand for those.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” I said, nearly boiling up again. -“In that case I won’t have diamonds, please.”</p> - -<p>“This is a very pretty design, madam,” insinuated -the returning Mr. Smarm. “The -colour of these stones is very beautiful.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I don’t think I’m going to have -diamonds,” I persisted, feeling quite amazed -at my own boldness. I meant, however, to carry -my point. “I’d rather have pearls—or opals——”</p> - -<p>“Very seldom a young lady chooses opals for -her engagement ring,” smiled the shopman. -“That superstition against opals loses our firm -thousands of pounds’ business a year; the -majority of ladies considering them so unlucky.”</p> - -<p>“I am not superstitious,” I said. “I would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span> -like—I am going to have an opal ring, with very -small stones in it.”</p> - -<p>“We are going to have diamonds,” remarked -my employer quietly. “Fetch me some other -diamond rings to look at.”</p> - -<p>“I would rather not have them,” I urged, -in the temporary absence of the black curls and -white teeth.</p> - -<p>“And I would rather that you had,” ordered -my employer. “After all, diamonds are the -show-stones; everybody notices them. They -look so unmistakably <em>like</em> an engagement, don’t -you see?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—I see,” I said reluctantly, my nerves -feeling more jangled than ever. “But, Mr. -Waters, if I must have them, I shall insist upon -sending back that ring when——”</p> - -<p>“When the time comes we can discuss that,” -the Governor cut me short just as Mr. Levi -Smarm bent over us with his wave-offering of -jewels on a tray. “Yes. That’s a good one, -that big fellow with the stones going nearly all -round. Those seem a fine colour.”</p> - -<p>“A perfect colour, sir; perfectly matched. -I am sure that you will——”</p> - -<p>“Try it on,” said Mr. Waters, holding the -winking, flashing circlet out to me.</p> - -<p>I pulled off my left-hand glove, but here the -suave shopman, evidently accustomed to shopping -couples who showed more appreciation<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span> -of his sympathy and understanding, interposed -again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, pardon me, sir, but that will never do. -That would be most incorrect! No young lady -would keep on an engagement ring that had -not been first slipped on to her finger by her -<i lang="fr">fiancé</i> himself!”</p> - -<p>Mr. Waters’ glance of contempt at the shopman -would have shrivelled up the entire staff -at the Near Oriental. But several little things -had shown me already that the man who is a -Grand Mogul in his own offices can go down -several degrees in importance when he leaves -the City. Mr. Levi Smarm met that glance -with another flashing smile, and evidently -waited for us to take this last hint on bridal or -betrothal etiquette as it was meant.</p> - -<p>I believe Mr. Waters was going to do so. A -slight shrug of his broad, sloping shoulders -seemed to say, “We may as well have everything -<i lang="fr">en règle</i> while we’re about it,” as he turned to -me. But I wasn’t going to have any masquerading -“frills” about this business that -could possibly be avoided, and this particular -development in our “romance” <em>was</em> avoidable. -I said very quickly and decidedly, “Oh, but I -don’t believe in anything of <em>that</em> sort, you know.” -Then quietly I took the ring, before he knew -what I was about, out of my employer’s hand, and -slipped it on to my own “wedding-finger.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> - -<p>There was a faint purple smudge off a new ribbon -on my knuckle just above the ring. I couldn’t -help thinking how entirely characteristic of the -whole affair this was: the stain of my daily -labour, showing side by side with these wonderful -stones—that must also be worn as part of -the gaining of my daily bread.</p> - -<p>The ring fitted as if measured for me.</p> - -<p>“You wish me to keep this?” I said briskly -to the Governor.</p> - -<p>“Yes, I think that one will do perfectly,” -he replied; and he turned to the young jeweller -again.</p> - -<p>It was to ask the price, I knew. I was seized -with that ineradicable feeling of distress that -claims a woman under any circumstances whatsoever—when -mention is made of payment for -her, by another. She loves to be paid for—with -all thought of price ignored. So I rose and -turned to bend over another glass counter under -which gleamed pendants of pearls and emeralds—which -I scarcely saw, for another couple had -strayed into the shop—a plainish girl, simply and -rather dowdily dressed; a man like dozens of -others—and they interested me. Their two faces -were as radiant as if they had come into a fortune -sufficient to buy up the whole of Gemmer’s six -times over, but I heard the girl whisper, awe-struck -and ecstatic, “Oh, Harry, <em>no</em>! I <em>won’t</em> -let you! It’s <em>absurd</em>, for people like us.” ...</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span></p> - -<p>“People like us aren’t going to be married -every day! Considering I nearly wrecked my -constitution and made myself unspeakably ill-tempered -by giving up smoking for eight months,” -growled the young man, “just to save up enough -to <em>be</em> absurd, you won’t catch me wasting it on -being <em>sensible</em>.”</p> - -<p>“I’ll write you out the cheque now, and wait -while you ring up my bank, then,” the Governor’s -voice was saying; then came purrs from Mr. -Levi Smarm, of “Shall not detain you a moment, -sir ... Thank you, sir; perfectly all right. -Much obliged. <em>Good</em> afternoon, sir” (with a -bend to the waist). “Good <em>afternoon</em>, madam” -(with an even lower bend). Then he turned the -eyes and teeth and curls on the young couple -who had saved up to be “absurd.” I wondered -whether he would notice the difference -between them and—his last customers. Probably. -Ah, but he could hardly be expected to -know quite <em>what</em> it was!</p> - -<p>“I hope,” said Mr. Waters, civilly, on our way -back to the office, “that that little Hebrew -bounder didn’t annoy you. That sort of thing -is all part of his business, you understand.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I understand,” said I submissively.</p> - -<p>“I am glad you—didn’t mind it,” said Mr. -Waters.</p> - -<p>I longed to be able to retort, “<em>Mind?</em> Why<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span> -on earth should I? Please try to understand -that there’s no reason I need ‘mind,’ any more -than one of those curved white velvet stands -at Gemmer’s should mind whose hand clasps and -unclasps the necklace of amethysts and peridots -that it displays. I’m quite content to let my -finger be a ‘stand,’ to show off these diamonds, -for which—for some unexplained reason—you’ve -got to pay someone to be the ‘official’ wearer! -All I ‘mind’ is the way you do these things—it’s -clumsy beyond belief!”</p> - -<p>One comfort that remains to me is that I need -only wear this hateful ring of his while I <em>am</em> on -show—and not at other times.</p> - -<p>No tightly-corseted Victorian has ever so -longed to be alone in her bedroom again and undo -her torturing case of whalebone and coutil as -I shall long to get away, every time I’m wearing -this “engagement” ring—to the mere pleasure -of taking it off!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ENGAGEMENT IS ANNOUNCED!</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“Ten past three, by Jove; later than I -thought again,” muttered my employer -as we reached the office again. “And I’ve got -all those letters to get through yet.... Miss -Trant, I shall have to ask you to come straight -through to my room, please, and take these down -at once, as I’m off early this afternoon.”</p> - -<p>So, still in my hat and coat, I walked straight -through to Mr. Waters’ own office, sat down at -the clerk’s table, and stripped off my gloves to -the afternoon’s work. (It’s alarming to see how -“twice-on” white gloves become impossible in -London. I’m afraid quite a lot of my hard-earned -ten pounds a week will go on those items -alone, now that I’m constrained to lunch at these -haunts of the well-dressed!)</p> - -<p>All through the stress of following the -Governor’s top-speed dictation with my scurrying -shorthand, I was conscious of the bulge of that -newly-bought ring—heavy as a door-knob, it -seemed now!—on my engagement finger, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span> -shooting its arrogant glances of orange and -emerald and rose-colour over the dull pages of my -pad.</p> - -<p>I was glad that it had not had to be displayed -at once in the dressing-room; glad of the -respite of my hour’s toil. But that seemed to -come to an end before I had even begun to set -my teeth, mentally, to the next ordeal.</p> - -<p>—“<i>and beg to remain, gentlemen, yours, etc.</i>—Yes; -that’ll do, Miss Trant, thank you,” came -the Governor’s dismissal.</p> - -<p>I put back my chair and stood up. Now for -it! Now for the announcement of this engagement! -I supposed that I need not <em>begin</em> by -saying a word to those three other girls. I should -only have to walk over to my typing-table, sit -down and open my machine, and the flash of -the electric light on those marvellous stones above -the keyboard would draw three pair of eyes upon -me at once. Should I have to answer that -clamouring gaze, or would the girls put it into -questions of so many words?</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant?—Look, girls!—I say, tell us, -tell us? It’s not a joke? It’s an engagement -ring all right? You’re not trying to have us on, -now? Are you going to tell us——?”</p> - -<p>Whichever way it happened, it was going to -be perfectly awful. Never mind. It had got -to be. It was part of the price of that five hundred -pounds, of Jack’s salvation.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span></p> - -<p>“What’s the matter, Miss Trant?” asked the -Governor, with a quick glance up at me as I -passed his chair.</p> - -<p>“Nothing, thank you. I am going to let the -others know, now, about this”—I moved that -detested ring on my hand into another challenging -flash. “And I suppose you will require -me to-morrow at lunch again?”</p> - -<p>“No—yes—that is——About telling the others -of this engagement of ours,” took up Mr. Waters -unexpectedly. “Would you, by any chance, -prefer that I did that myself?”</p> - -<p><em>Would</em> I? I nearly gasped with relief! Why -couldn’t he have seen before what a difference -this would make to the situation? There isn’t -much dignity in it, goodness knows. But this -would save some appearance of it, at all events! -I said quietly, “If it is the same to you, I -certainly should prefer it.”</p> - -<p>“Then please wait here while I see them. -I won’t keep you a moment,” said Still Waters, -and he walked quickly out of the room.</p> - -<p>It seemed an hour to me, but I suppose the -minute-hand of the round-topped clock on the -broad marble mantelpiece had only moved on -two steps before the door opened again to admit -my employer.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right,” he told me, with his succinct -nod. “I have announced the ‘engagement’ -to the three other typists, and shall let Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span> -Dundonald and Mr. Alexander know before I -leave. I won’t keep you, Miss Trant. Good -afternoon.”</p> - -<p>“Good afternoon,” I said. “Thank you.”</p> - -<p>For the first time in my life I really felt like -thanking him. And yet he’d only done the -most ordinary thing that one would expect -the most ordinary man to take as a matter -of course. Only the custom-honoured practice -of the Near Oriental is to refuse to regard its -head as an ordinary man. Of course, he <em>isn’t</em>. -There are advantages in making a presupposition -of this kind, perfectly clear from the -very start!</p> - -<p>Feeling comparatively at ease and my own -mistress again, I entered the typists’ room with -my head as high as it had been when I marched -out to the lift at lunch-time after Miss Robinson’s -voicing of what they all thought of me.</p> - -<p>Miss Robinson, with her shrewd face startled -into the likeness of someone much younger and -less astute, broke away from the other two—they -had been all three chattering and knotted -up together in the corner by the cupboard where -the tea-things are kept—and came frankly towards -me.</p> - -<p>“Well, Miss Trant! <em>Here’s</em> some news we’ve -just had sprung on us,” said she, speaking as if -she found great difficulty in sorting out her -words. “I must say—well, really! Gracious!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span> -Are you going to shake hands and let us congratulate -you, as I suppose is the right thing, or -are you feeling wild with me about this morning? -We didn’t know, you know. We never -dreamed——! How was anyone to guess, after -all——!”</p> - -<p>“Of course you couldn’t,” I said, shaking hands -with one after the other. “And of course I’m -not feeling ‘wild!’” My revenge was to -hand if I wanted it. But somehow I didn’t -feel it would be worth it, now. Though, as a -matter of fact, the reminder of what I had felt -that morning had brought some of it surging -back over me again. And this feeling was not -improved by the wording of little Miss Holt’s -felicitations.</p> - -<p>“‘Wild?’ I should think Miss Trant was -ready to pat herself on the back for the next week, -eh? Who’d ’a thought of this, that day we were -all trying to buck her up at lunch when she was -afraid she was going to get the sack? Didn’t I -say then, though, that Miss Trant would do all -right because she’d got a taking way with men? -But—the Governor himself—that we never did -look upon as just a ‘man!’ Well, you never -can tell!”</p> - -<p>“I shall never try to, after <em>this</em> afternoon,” -announced Miss Robinson. “Not after his -marching in at that door there, and saying, in -quite a human sort of voice—not his own voice at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span> -all—that is, you’ll excuse me, Miss Trant! You -know what I mean!—saying, ‘<i>I have some news -to tell you ladies. Miss Trant and I are engaged -to be married!</i>’”</p> - -<p>“Married to the head of the firm—my hat!” -breathed Miss Holt, devouring me with her eyes, -as if she thought that by staring hard enough -she might discover the secret of how one achieved -this giddy height. “Too grand to speak to any -of us after this! Look at that ring of hers! -Think of all <em>that</em> means!”—</p> - -<p>Yes! If she only could!</p> - -<p>—“No more turning out to get to business every -morning, wet or dry, with the mud still stiff on -your skirt that you haven’t had time to brush! -No more lining up with the crowd to wait for -that beastly old workman’s tram at the ‘Elephant!’ -No more strap-hanging! No more -packed motor-buses with flower-women, and -goodness knows what, shoving their baskets into -you and trampling on your feet as they get in!” -She took breath, and then, for fear one of the -others should interrupt before she finished this -harangue upon the Dignity of Labour, she hurried -on—“No more having to keep on at it if you <em>are</em> -ready to drop and your eyes popping out of your -head—no more A.B.C. girls not taking the -slightest notice of your order and <em>then</em> giving you -sauce because you’ve waited half an hour for -your lunch—no more slaving from har’-past nine<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span> -to six for <em>her</em> any more!... I suppose you -know you’re <em>most awfully lucky</em>?”</p> - -<p>“In some ways,” murmured Miss Smith softly. -“But having stacks of money and never having -to work again isn’t <em>everything</em>!”</p> - -<p>And the dreamy look that came into her eyes -irritated me worse than the loudly-expressed -envy of the other girl. Miss Holt’s type of mind, -that cares only for the things that she can see -and handle and wear and eat and drink, <em>is</em> so -much easier to tackle than an <em>un</em>-practical person’s -point of view. I’m glad I’m rather like Miss -Holt, myself. These sentimental people are -too tiresome!</p> - -<p>I simply couldn’t help one snap at Miss Smith -as I turned to her.</p> - -<p>“I suppose <em>nothing’s</em> ‘everything’ except -wasting <em>years</em> waiting for Love in a flat? I -suppose you despise any hard-up girl who’s -sick of the struggle and who marries for comfort -and a home?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t despise anybody, Miss Trant, as it -happens!” protested Smithie, facing me with -the sudden defiance of a mild nature touched -in its tenderest spot. “<em>You</em> didn’t ought to -speak sarcastically to me, just because <em>you</em> can -get married at once instead of waiting—years—till -he can afford——”</p> - -<p>“Well, and you needn’t despise me for that -other reason, at all events,” I said, a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span> -mollified by the tears that were now welling up -in the dreamy eyes, “for, whatever else I may be -going to do, Miss Smith, I am not going to -marry Mr. Waters for his money!”</p> - -<p>I didn’t add that I shouldn’t ever marry him -at all, but that his money was quite good enough -to get engaged to him on. However, had I -openly announced this, I don’t think she could -have looked more surprised.</p> - -<p>“Not for his money—marry him for <em>love</em>, -then? <em>Him?</em>” screamed little Miss Holt before -she could stop herself. Then she clapped her -hand over her wide-open mouth, another involuntary -gesture, caused partly, I suppose, by -the impulse to keep back anything further that -might offend me, and partly by the appearance -at the door of Mr. Dundonald.</p> - -<p>It was to everybody’s amazement that this -was not immediately followed by the inevitable -“<em>Talk</em>-ing, ladies!” and the scowl.</p> - -<p>But an extensive smile creased Mr. Dundonald’s -shut fist of a face into unfamiliar lines -of benevolence; he beamed upon us all as he -announced in a voice as suavely unfamiliar as the -smile, “Miss Trant! I am sorry to interrupt -your conversation, but Mr. Waters would be -much obliged if you would go back to his room -again for a moment, as he wishes to say a few -words to you!”</p> - -<p>“Oh, certainly,” I said, wondering what in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span> -the world this additional “order” might be. -The girls didn’t “wonder.” I know they -thought it was for another good-bye—especially -Smithie, one-idea’d simpleton! I felt her -demure little smile in the small of my back as I -turned to the door. Mr. Dundonald—oh, unprecedented -occurrence!—held it open for me, -murmuring, as I passed out, “Miss Trant! -May I be permitted to proffer my very heartiest -good wishes on the occasion of this—this delightful -announcement?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Thank you so much,” I said pleasantly. -(“Worm!” I thought.)</p> - -<p>So the Governor had told Mr. Dundonald -while I was receiving the congratulations of -my colleagues....</p> - -<p>I saw in his eye—grey, fishy, and always looking -as if “the Main Chance” were plainly -visible just ahead of any person he addressed—that -already my personality had changed from -that of the twenty-five-shillings-a-week typist, -clad in her “all-I’ve-got” serge costume and -liable to dismissal at his hands, to that of young -Mrs. William Waters, who, gorgeous in silk, -satin and sables, would one of these days be -calling at the office to pick up the head of the -firm and to motor him home with her! Mr. -Dundonald’s new manner was a forecast of his -reception of me when that day should dawn!</p> - -<p>If <em>he</em> only knew!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span></p> - -<p>“Sorry to trouble you again,” said the -Governor as I presented myself before him once -more. “I forgot, in the middle of all that -other business”—this, I suppose, might have -applied to either the dictating of his letters, or -the choosing of his betrothal ring—“to tell -you that I intend to let my mother know, to-night, -about this engagement of ours.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p>“You will probably hear from her to-morrow, -inviting you to stay at our house—it’s near -Sevenoaks. You had better send in your formal -resignation to the office at once, and make -your arrangements to come on for a fortnight’s -visit or so, in a few days. Will that be convenient -to you?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, perfectly,” I said obediently, hoping -that I did not show any outward symptoms of -that sick feeling of panic that possessed me. To -stay at the Governor’s house? So soon? -Horrors! With the Governor’s mother? What -<em>will</em> she be like? Exactly like him, probably, -only far more forbidding; women can always -be more alarming than even the most terrifying -of men. An elderly feminine edition of Still -Waters! Ye gods! And she will hate me, -of course; look upon me as that designing -minx of a typist who had “got round” her son -in business-hours and prevented him from -“doing well for himself” in some other direction.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span> -People with money always want their children -to marry people with more! It will be Lady -Vandeleur over again, only worse. How appalling! -Perhaps she will make herself as disagreeable -to me as possible, in the hope of -inducing me to feel that I should never be able -to stand such a mother-in-law, and that I should -simply have to break it off!—which, under the -circumstances, I’m powerless to do!</p> - -<p>“And—er—that will be all, this afternoon, -thank you. You will hand your notes of my -letters to Mr. Alexander. If you have arrangements -to make, you can leave as early as you -choose to-day.”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, Mr. Waters.”</p> - -<p>Feeling that I couldn’t have stood another -minute of him and his “arrangements,” I -walked quickly out of the room and down the -passage.</p> - -<p>Round a corner, I heard the voice of our office -mimic, who had slipped out on some pretext, -in full flow of narrating to one of the telephone -girls the amazing news that I know was being -buzzed all over the Near Oriental offices.</p> - -<p>—“but, my dear, the little Trant gives out -she’s madly in love with him! She says”—here -a most successful imitation of my own -voice—“‘Whatever else I may be doing, I -am NOT marrying him for his money!’”</p> - -<p>“P’raps it’s for his kind heart and his charm<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span> -of manner, I don’t think,” suggested the telephone -girl. “Or his good looks, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing actually the matter with his looks, -my girl. Anyhow, he does always look as if he -went in for no end of cold water, and week-end -tramps, and golf, and the windows wide open, -and decent soap—cuticura, I’ve smelt it,” said -Miss Robinson. “And as if he could <em>heave</em> -things—which nobody else does, in this establishment. -And if you <em>can</em> get over the general -effect of ‘the stern-and-solemn-Nelson’s -column——’”</p> - -<p>“Well, I can’t. But she’s quite pretty if -she’d only make a little more <em>of</em> herself; p’raps -she will now,” said the telephone girl, who -wears long coral drop-earrings and pins brown-paper -cuffs over her sleeves in business-hours. -“What on earth do you suppose he said when -he proposed to her?”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Now, Miss Trant, when you have taken -down that Buenos Ayres order, there is something -I have to consult you about personally. Now, Miss -Trant, are you prepared to consider</i>——’”</p> - -<p>It was so exactly our employer’s voice that I, -standing there unnoticed, burst out laughing. -The girls, caught out, laughed too.</p> - -<p>“You didn’t know you were the talk of the -place, did you, Miss Trant? May as well make -up your mind to it,” said Miss Robinson. “And -do show Miss Harris your ring!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span></p> - -<p>“I could see it from here. I thought it was -something being done to the electric lights. -My! but they are sparklers! I shouldn’t half -swank, wearing jewellery like this. Did you -choose it to-day, Miss Trant? My word! -Some people do have all the luck. It’ll be a -very short engagement, I presume?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so,” said I, thinking of the -nearly twelve complicated and weary months -that stretched before me. “Some time yet.”</p> - -<p>“No doubt any time’ll seem long <em>na-ow</em>,” said -the telephone girl archly. “Can’t you tell -us <em>about</em> when it’s likely to be?”</p> - -<p>Oh, dear! It seemed to me as if I passed -through hours of this sort of thing before I -could break away and set out for Battersea and -our bachelor-girl flat.</p> - -<p>Wearily, and without any “spring” left in -me, I climbed the four flights of stone steps. -I felt positively dragged down by the thought -of that awful fortnight with the Governor’s -mother at their house near Sevenoaks. It had -clung to me all the way back. Only as I put my -key into the door did I remember something -else.</p> - -<p>There would be Cicely to break the news of -my engagement to, now!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE LOVER WHO CAME TOO LATE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>But here, in our flat, I found to my amazement -that someone had been before me -with the news.</p> - -<p>Cicely’s marigold-coloured hair and flushed -face reared themselves up excitedly from the -faded couch cushions as I came in.</p> - -<p>“I say! <em>Tots!</em> What’s all this?—Look here, -what <em>is</em> the meaning of it?” she cried breathlessly. -“What’s this wild story about you -being engaged to be married? Do say it isn’t -true;—it can’t be! is it?”</p> - -<p>“Who in the world,” I demanded, standing -by our rickety old table in the middle of the -room and staring at her as she sat up leaning -on her elbow, “told you anything about it?”</p> - -<p>“Well, who d’you suppose? Who would?”</p> - -<p>I glanced quickly at the tray on the table, -crowded with the <i lang="fr">débris</i> of what had been tea -for two, one saucer piled high with cigarette-ends -that told their own tale. Who had -been? One of Cicely’s Slade girls? But how<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span> -would <em>they</em> know? Whoever it was must have -stayed <em>hours</em>!</p> - -<p>“It was your friend”—Cicely announced this -even as the cork hurls itself from an unwired -bottle of champagne—“Mr. Sydney Vandeleur!”</p> - -<p>“Sydney—he’s been here?”</p> - -<p>“Well, of course!”</p> - -<p>“What on earth for?”</p> - -<p>“What <em>for</em>, Tots? Why, to see <em>you</em>! And, -I say! How awfully charming and clever and -delightful he is! And so handsome! Such -a real artist’s head, I call it! <em>Exactly</em> like a -Vandyke of Charles the First! Oh, my dear! -<em>Don’t</em> tell me you’ve gone and got engaged to -somebody else, when there’s such a really <em>wonderful</em> -person so desperately in love with you!”</p> - -<p>“Who says he’s in love with me?”</p> - -<p>“Why, he does, of course. Didn’t you -<em>know</em>? You must have. <em>Didn’t</em> you?”</p> - -<p>“N-no.”</p> - -<p>Slowly I dropped my gloves and umbrella -and vanity-bag and paper on to the table. Of -course I have “known,” at the back of my mind, -all the time about Sydney. But however -positive a girl may be that a man cares for her, -<em>until he’s told her so she’s never certain</em>. This -may sound Irish—to a man. Any <em>girl</em> understands....</p> - -<p>To hear the fact proclaimed by Cicely’s lips—which -really, I do believe, would blurt out<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span> -anything that came into her red head!—gave me -the same shock of surprise that it would have done -even if I’d never received little attentions from -Sydney, never heard his neatly-turned compliments, -never seen those handsome brown eyes of -his fixed upon me in unmistakable admiration, -or noticed the blank mask that had suddenly -fallen over them yesterday, when I broke to the -Vandeleurs the news of my so-called engagement. -Cicely went on with her tale, enjoying -it thoroughly.</p> - -<p>“My dear Tots, you must have known. -He’s wanted to marry you ever since you were -a slip of a schoolgirl with a little proud pearl of -a face and that lovely dark hair of yours in a -great mane down to your waist. Even then he -always meant to propose to you.”</p> - -<p>“And he tells <em>you</em> that? Not me?”</p> - -<p>Here I sat down suddenly in the elbow-chair -with the one arm “that’s always a-comin’ off, -drat it!” as Mrs. Skinner says.</p> - -<p>It came off now.</p> - -<p>“<em>Drat</em> it!” I quoted, through my teeth, and -hurled the broken arm into a corner with a -violence that did some—not much—good to -my feelings. “He never told me, Cicely.”</p> - -<p>“Because he was too tactful, too nice. He’d -too much fine feeling,” she explained eagerly. -“He couldn’t possibly ask you so soon after the -‘smash’ in your affairs, and after Colonel Trant’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span> -death, and all. It <em>would</em> have looked too much -as if he were taking advantage of that to rush -the position. He determined to wait until you—until -he—well, to wait,” said Cicely. “He -saw I was sympathetic; he didn’t mind telling -me all this. But he was going to ask you when -he and his mother came back from abroad. All -the time, he was simply longing to come and carry -you off bodily from that hateful typewriter -where he kept thinking of you chained, he said, -like Andromeda (who <em>was</em> she, exactly?) to her -rock. Only he just wouldn’t. Wasn’t it <em>sweet</em> -of him, Tots!”</p> - -<p>“To wait and tell all this to another girl?”</p> - -<p>“But it was you he was coming round to tell!”</p> - -<p>“He didn’t stop to see me.”</p> - -<p>“He <em>had</em> to get back to Belgrave Square and -dress for a theatre-party of his mother’s.”</p> - -<p>“What he came for at all, after yesterday, I -don’t see!”</p> - -<p>“It was <em>about</em> yesterday he came to see you, -Tots! You see, he says he met you, and you -seem to have made him understand that you were -engaged to be married.”</p> - -<p>“Well? Didn’t he believe me? Did he -come round here and sit here filling the place -with that abominable reek of Egyptian cigarettes—and, -yes! finishing <em>all</em> that nice peach jelly I -got in specially for you—to find out whether it -was true?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span></p> - -<p>“Is it true, then?” gasped Cicely.</p> - -<p>“<em>Yes!</em> I told him so. I told Lady Vandeleur -so. I am engaged.”</p> - -<p>“And not—to <em>him</em>!” Cicely seemed utterly -unable to grasp how this could be. “What? -After all he’s said—and <em>with</em> his photograph on -your dressing-table—not that it’s nearly good -enough for him! And after what I told him I -hoped——”</p> - -<p>“What DID you tell him?” I groaned -resignedly.</p> - -<p>Cicely twisted the long, slender figure, upon -which her equally slender salary as a mannequin -depends, into a more comfortable curve against -the cushions.</p> - -<p>“Well! <em>Poor</em> Mr. Vandeleur! When he -said he’d seen you lunching at the Carlton -alone with a young man, I told him it must be a -mistake. You never <em>did</em> lunch there, or with -young men. It was just what I admired you -for, when it’s <em>so</em> easy to get into the other way -of being rather nice to people just for the sake of -their giving you a good time and a change from -being at work all day! And even though you’re -not a bit stuffy with me because I sometimes -do it, you——”</p> - -<p>“Never mind me. What did he say?”</p> - -<p>“He said: ‘But how <em>could</em> there be a mistake? -She brought up this self-satisfied-looking -individual and introduced him to my mother<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span> -as her <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>. She let us congratulate him!’ -I said, ‘Well, but she hasn’t <em>got</em> a <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>—or I -should have known about it! I’ve never heard -a syllable. She didn’t even tell me she was going -out to lunch. She must have been taken out at a -moment’s notice—by a friend of Jack Trant’s, -perhaps. Or,’ I said, ‘it may have been someone -she absolutely had to meet, on business!’” she -continued vaguely—much she knows about business!—“‘Getting -a better post, or something -of that sort. And when she met you unexpectedly, -she was flurried, and didn’t know how to -explain. Is your mother rather particular, or -strait-laced?’ Mr. Vandeleur said, ‘Very, -I am afraid!’ So I said, ‘Well, that’s what must -have happened!—Tots, in her nervousness, and -not wishing your mother to be shocked, just -blurted out ‘<i lang="fr">fiancé</i>’——”</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” I muttered. “I didn’t know -<em>I</em> was a blurter-out!”</p> - -<p>“You mean <em>I</em> am! I daresay! Well, I -don’t care! I thought that <em>must</em> have been -it—I didn’t see what else it could have been! -And the poor man was so thirsting to hear -anything I could tell him about you, that I -should have been a brute not to!” declared -my chum, plaintively defiant. “So I just said -everything I could—about that photograph, -and all!”</p> - -<p>“What photograph?” I snapped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span></p> - -<p>“Why, that one of Mr. Vandeleur. I recognized -him from that, the moment Mrs. Skinner -let him in. And I told him that it was the one -and only portrait of a young man that you seemed -to possess, and that you always keep it in a silver -frame beside your looking-glass. Now, Tots, -you can’t say you don’t!”</p> - -<p>No; I couldn’t.</p> - -<p>“And that cheered him up so, poor fellow! -He said—Oh, <em>isn’t</em> it a tragedy?” interpolated -Cicely with zest—“that I’d given him fresh -hope to go away with!”</p> - -<p>“Fresh fiddlesticks,” I muttered, still more -savagely.</p> - -<p>“You mean there isn’t any?”</p> - -<p>“I mean,” I explained as patiently as I could, -“that a girl can’t be engaged to two men at -once.”</p> - -<p>“Then <em>who’s</em> this other, Tots, that you’ve never -said a word about? He can’t possibly be fit to -hold a candle to—I mean, who <em>is</em> it?”</p> - -<p>“It is the managing director and head of the -firm where I’ve been working,” I told her -bluntly. “His name is Mr. William Waters.”</p> - -<p>“<em>What?</em> Not the man you all call ‘<i>Still -Waters</i>’? The one you all detest, who’s so -impossible to please? Engaged to him? Oh, -now you’re pretending! Tell me, Tots. Of -course you are only joking, after all?”</p> - -<p>A nice idea of “joking” my chum has got!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span></p> - -<p>“<em>Does</em> this look like a joke?” I demanded -suddenly. The newly-bought diamonds flashed -under her widely-opened eyes. “Don’t you -admire my engagement ring, Cis?”</p> - -<p>Cicely Harradine’s soft bud of a face faded -from pink to pale, and her big eyes clouded dolefully. -She said nothing for a moment but “Oh, -Tots!” (she’s quite as hopeless as Miss Smith). -Then, in a tone of the timidest reproach, she -faltered, “Mr. Vandeleur <em>said</em> he was ‘big and -blonde and City-fied and extremely prosperous-looking.’ -I said I’d never seen any friend of -yours who was like that. No wonder! The head -of the firm! But—Tots!—I should—should -hate to think of you, of all girls, marrying anyone -because of his—money?”</p> - -<p>“Then don’t think it. You may do me that -justice!” I said sharply. She was nearly as -bad in her way as the typists at the Near -Oriental had been in theirs—and the same prevarication -had to be used to “head off” <em>her</em> -comments on a marriage for money. After which, -the accusation in my chum’s big eyes melted -suddenly into tears. Impulsively she flung her -slim arms round my neck—and I had to let her.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me, Tots. Dear old girl, but how -<em>was</em> I to know? It’s all so unexpected, and I -never met him, and you never gave me a hint! -I <em>didn’t</em> see how you could possibly prefer anyone -to Mr. Vandeleur, who <em>is</em> so wonderful! But<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span> -of course I know Love’s blind—I mean, you -can’t <em>make</em> yourself not care for this Mr. Waters, -just because another man wants so badly to -marry you! Oh, Tots, it’s all my fault, but I’m -afraid he’s going to write to you about that——”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Vandeleur is?” (This, too!)</p> - -<p>“Yes! It’s all because of what I said to him. -I have been putting my foot in it,” she admitted, -as if this were quite a new idea to me too, “but -<em>do</em> forgive me—Since you do really care for this -Mr. Waters I’m only too delighted, darling. Oh, -I’m so glad for your happiness, you can’t think! -When did it happen? He’s <em>madly</em> in love with -you, of course?”</p> - -<p>Here I thought grimly of Miss Robinson’s -version: “<i>My dears, the little Trant makes out -she’s madly in love with him!</i>” All this about -two people who, as far as I can make out, have -only one thing in common—both being absolutely -falling-in-love-<em>proof</em>!</p> - -<p>Poor, well-meaning, warm-hearted Cicely was -still effusing; eager to make up for her first -suspicion that I <em>wasn’t</em> engaged for the only -right reason.</p> - -<p>“I ought to have seen! Of course! It was -he who gave you this extra work about a fortnight -ago?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly!” (Extra work with a vengeance! -More than I’ve bargained for!)</p> - -<p>—“And that we were so thankful for, just<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span> -when I lost my own job and was ill, and there -were all those extra things to get.... It was -your ‘rise’ that got them all, I knew. Only I -didn’t know ... this other. It <em>began</em> then, I -suppose, Tots?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it began then.”</p> - -<p>“How romantic! Well! And I did notice -that you’ve been absent-minded and not saying -much these last few days, and I <em>ought</em> to have -known why it was. <em>Especially</em> yesterday. Did -HE take you out to lunch again to-day? Oh, -doesn’t it make the whole world different for -you?”</p> - -<p>“It makes the menu jolly different, anyhow,” -I admitted.</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes; you may pretend to be as flippant -as you like about it, but I know that’s ‘all put -on’ to hide what you’re really feeling!” declared -Cicely.</p> - -<p>Such a convenient conviction! I made up my -mind, then and there, that this was just the line -I should adopt with my chum. And laughing -merrily for her benefit, I fled to my own little -room.</p> - -<p class="tb">Here, left to my own thoughts at last, I -flung myself down on my creaky little camp -bedstead and raged as I reviewed this new -aspect of the situation. Put crudely, it is this: -It’s not <em>until</em> I tie myself up with this wretched<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span> -sham “engagement” to the Governor that I -have the chance of cutting everything to do -with him and his odious office, and becoming -safely, happily and <em>genuinely</em> engaged!</p> - -<p>Or, in the jargon of the Near Oriental, it’s -just after I’ve sold out at a loss that I get an -advantageous offer!</p> - -<p>Why on earth couldn’t Sydney Vandeleur -have said all that <em>before</em>? A year ago—even a -month ago—and, to <em>think</em> what it would have -saved! I shouldn’t have minded getting that -money for Jack—from his own brother-in-law! -Yes; if he’s cared for me all this time, why -couldn’t he have proposed to and married me -before I’d so much as seen that hateful Near -Oriental, with that “Andromeda’s rock” of a -typewriter, watched over by what Miss Holt -calls “that Gordian” of a Governor! Why -couldn’t Sydney have hurried up, for once in his -life, to play Perseus?</p> - -<p>“Too much tact!” Good gracious! Why -must men have this absurd code of ethics about -“the right thing” when there’s a <em>woman</em> in -the case? Why does a man who’s hard-up, -for instance, consider it so much more “honourable” -to “ride away” without a word to the -girl whose heart he knows is his, just because he -“feels he oughtn’t to propose before he’s in a -position to marry?”</p> - -<p>He “feels he ought not to stand in the girl’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span> -way of better offers.” ... But he <em>does</em> that, -more often than not, with her first sight of him! -Never mind. He’d <em>rather</em> leave her fretting her -heart out for life over the belief that he was only -flirting after all, or let her make a miserable -marriage with someone else—rather than be -“dishonourable” enough to own up that he -cares and wants her to wait perhaps three or four -years for him. He’s saved his precious “code,” -just as I suppose Sydney wished to save his.</p> - -<p>Oh, men’s “fine feelings,” men’s delicacy -and tact, men’s sense of honour! What infinitely -greater damage these do in the world -than all women’s lack of principle!</p> - -<p>That sounds sweeping, but <em>isn’t</em> this enough -to make a girl storm at the scruples—or whatever -they may call them—which have pretty well -messed up her own life for her?</p> - -<p>I ought to be safely and happily married, by -now, to Sydney Vandeleur. He’d make a -charming husband, I know; not a wish of his -wife’s that he wouldn’t immediately try to -gratify, from the pattern of the drawing-room -carpets to where she would wish to live most -of the time—Pont Street—Park Lane—or the -perfectly gorgeous, old-fashioned castle with all -modern conveniences that he owns in Ireland—Ballycool, -they call it. Oh, for the deep -sighing woods and the silver lakes over there—miles -and miles from anywhere else—scented<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span> -solitude, with all the drawbacks of solitude -removed by motors <i lang="la">ad lib.</i>—by big house-parties -of amusing people as often as one chose!—Yes, -I suppose I do share Miss Holt’s type of -mind, but then I never pretend to be romantic, -or to cherish illusions about being able to fall -in love.... I should be really, genuinely fond -of Sydney himself—I mean I <em>should</em> have been. -He’d be so devoted—how could one help feeling -pleased to have him about, approving of everything -one did and said and looked? He’s what -I’d call companionable; not too lofty and -masculine to take an interest in the details that -mean so much more to a woman than what this -country is coming to, by Gad, or what on earth -McKenna or Asquith or someone is driving at -when he says—(here yards, droned aloud, out -of the <cite>Times</cite>)—or whether Kent is going to do -any better this year; which is all the conversation -that any married women <em>I’ve</em> ever met -seem to get out of <em>their</em> husbands. Sydney -would always know what anyone had had on at -a party, including his wife. He’d be able to -help her think out her frocks—and what -heavenly frocks they would be! Then he’s so -undeniably good-looking himself. One wouldn’t -be able to help appreciating the fact that the -other women would always notice it with envy, -and would put it down as such a score to the -credit of the one he’d married! His dark,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span> -“interesting” face with the Vandyke beard -and the melancholy brown eyes seems watching -me now out of the big silver frame in which he -sent it to me. Yes; it certainly does hold the -place of honour on the narrow painted-pine -chest-of-drawers that has two handles missing, -but is still spread with ivory-topped brushes, -a monogrammed hand-mirror and long crystal -scent flagons—relics from the wreck of the -Trant fortunes!—the place of honour usually -reserved in a girl’s room for the portrait of -HIM—whoever “he” may be! Why did I -put it there? Partly for the sake of old times, -I suppose; I’ve tried to keep everything of that -sort which was in my room at home.... -Partly to remind myself, whenever I’ve felt -extra-downhearted, that there was at least one -eminently presentable young man who was -accustomed to say pretty things of the face and -hair that I saw reflected in the somewhat wavy -looking-glass near by.... Sentiment, vanity, -or a mixture of both, but <em>not</em> the motive with -which Cicely had credited me and which she’d -seen fit to impart to the original.</p> - -<p>That idiot of a Sydney! If I could hope -he’d feel it, I’d smash the glass of that frame -and run red-hot hat-pins into his portrait. -I have been furiously angry to-day, in turns -with the three typists, with Still Waters, and -with Cicely—but none of this counts, compared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span> -with my fury against the lover who has come -too late!</p> - -<p>It’s his fault. It’s all his fault—all that’s -just happened—all that will happen during the -mad “arrangement” of this next year. And -when that year’s up, where will it find me? -A little richer, perhaps, by what’s left of my -desperately-won salary, but back in the over-crowded -labour-market, the world of working-women -who lose looks and youth and spirits in -the struggle for daily bread. Oh, it’s all very -well to be plucky, and to treat everything as -a joke, and to live from one Saturday matinée -to another, making the most of life in London -as a bachelor-girl—while you’re twenty-one.</p> - -<p>What becomes of the “bachelor-girl” of -forty-five? And fifty?</p> - -<p>That, I suppose, I shall have to wait and -find out for myself, thanks to Mr. Sydney -Vandeleur!</p> - -<p>Why couldn’t he have left things as they were -at the Carlton?—</p> - -<p>But I’ve had enough of this. It has “done -me up” completely.</p> - -<p>I am going to bed.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>This morning I feel, if anything, angrier with -Sydney Vandeleur than I did before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p> - -<p>He’s done it now! He <em>has</em> written.</p> - -<p>His note lies before me on our wobbly little -breakfast-table with the metal coffee-pot and -the green Bruges crock full of lilac (bought out -of my “rise”!) screening me from Cicely’s -anxious eyes as I read:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<i>My dearest Monica</i>,</p> - -<p>“<i>I have never called you so before. That -was a mistake. Anything is a mistake that keeps -us two apart. Dear, I want to come and see -you at once, but cannot get out of some odious -‘arrangements’ of the Mamma’s for this -week-end.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>Let me come on Monday afternoon, and, -though I don’t deserve it, be kind to me -then.</i></p> - -<p class="center">“<i>Till then, and ever</i>,</p> - -<p class="right">“<i>Your devoted S. V.</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">Now <em>I</em> have written; and pretty quickly too.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“<i>My dear Sydney</i>,</p> - -<p>“<i>It was kind of you to write to me to -congratulate me again on my engagement to -Mr. Waters, which I suppose is the meaning -of your note. You suggest calling; is this -to congratulate me for the third time? If -so, I can only hope that my happiness will<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span> -keep pace with your good wishes for it! But -I am afraid that I shall not be able to receive -them in person on Monday, as it is the very -day that I hope to be going off to Sevenoaks, -on a visit to my fiancé’s mother.</i></p> - -<p>“<i>Please give my very kindest regards to -Lady Vandeleur, and believe me</i></p> - -<p class="center">“<i>Sincerely yours</i>,</p> - -<p class="right">“<i>Monica Trant</i>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p class="noindent">There!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X<br /> -<span class="smaller">“HIS” MOTHER’S INVITATION</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>The note of invitation from “my <i lang="fr">fiancé’s</i> -mother” is purely formal and absolutely -non-committal; in fact, exactly the note I -should have imagined that a Mrs. Waters would -write.</p> - -<p>I’ve got a perfectly clear mental image of -this mother of an animated tape-machine. -Handsome, in a regular-profiled, stately, mid-Victorian -style, with steely grey eyes that “corkscrew” -all the self-possession out of you, and—oh, -the manner! She won’t be openly disagreeable -after all, I’ve decided. Worse; she’ll be -rigidly, frigidly polite; clothing in irreproachable -civilities the obvious wonder whether -her son has taken leave of his senses, to propose -to one of his own employees.</p> - -<p>She writes that she looks forward (of course!) -with pleasure (<em>dis</em>-pleasure, she means) to making -my acquaintance (<em>will</em> she!) at The Lawn -(well, I suppose they can’t <em>call</em> their house The -Sarcophagus. But that’s what it ought to be. -A glorified edition of the Governor’s private<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span> -office. Marble halls and chilly statuary—brr!) -on Monday next. I expect she guesses that -“this Miss Trant,” or “that young woman,” -or “the horrid little typist-person,” or whatever -she calls me in her own mind, will be rather -overwhelmed by the prospect; and no doubt -Mrs. Waters means to see that I shall continue -being overwhelmed—“kept in my place,” -indeed—during the whole of the fortnight that -the Governor specified. But she can’t realize -the positive panic with which I anticipate the -meeting. And, if I can steel myself to help -it, she <em>shall not</em> realize it.</p> - -<p>“I should think you can hardly wait until -you get there, Tots,” said Cicely, watching me -pack new clothes in the new dress-basket bought -specially for the dread occasion, for I’ve spent -every minute of two days in shopping. “Aren’t -you <em>dying</em> to see what everything is going to -be like?”</p> - -<p>“I shall have to survive until to-morrow, -anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“‘His’ home! His father’s dead, you said. -Is there only his mother?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so. Quite enough too. <em>I</em> think -all engaged men ought to be orphans and only -children before they begin, for the sake of the -girl. ‘Only’ his mother, indeed!”</p> - -<p>“Well, she’s <em>bound</em> to be pleased with you, -Tots! You’re so pretty and ripping, especially<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span> -now you’ve got all these lovely new things. -What a mercy that you had that little windfall -of a legacy just in time to let you buy all fresh!”</p> - -<p>(This is how I’ve been obliged to account for -that.)</p> - -<p>“You could go and stay anywhere now, meet -anybody! He’ll be so proud of you. It must -be such a comfort for an engaged man when -he knows that his people and his friends <em>can see -what he means</em> when he shows off his <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> to -them for the first time, instead of their wondering -what on earth he finds to admire!”</p> - -<p>“Do you think Mrs. Waters will ‘see what -he means’ by his getting himself engaged to -his clerk?” I said, with a private giggle at my -own bitterness. “I wish <em>I</em> did!”</p> - -<p>“Now, Tots, don’t fish for any more compliments. -You know how people must admire -you. Why, as Mr. Vandel—I mean, it’s so -obvious! Don’t look so depressed, my dear. -Of course I suppose going to meet ‘his’ people -is always a fearful ordeal, but it ought to be less -so for you than for most engaged girls!”</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Perhaps—though Cicely doesn’t know why—<em>it -ought</em>!</p> - -<p>Anyhow, these encouraging words of my -chum’s were still echoing in my ears as a late -afternoon train bore me off from Victoria towards<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span> -Sevenoaks and that terrifying visit to my -(official) mother-in-law elect. For the first time -since the days when it was a matter of course -for me to do so, I travelled first class. It -wouldn’t do for me to alight at Sevenoaks station -under the eyes of some pompous Waters domestic, -all crumpled and dusty and warm from a -compartment crowded with market-baskets and -moist babies. I am taking this man’s money to -pose as his <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, and it’s only fair to him that -I should do him no discredit in any way.</p> - -<p>So I travelled down in expensive seclusion, -wearing for the first time one of my new costumes, -a real success in thick tobacco-brown silk, with -a duck of a little brown hat to match. Cicely -chose that out of a big boxful “on approval” -from Madame Chérisette’s.</p> - -<p>Even without Cicely’s gratifying gush on the -subject, I can’t help knowing that the smoky-cream -underlining and the trimming—a cream-coloured -feathery mount and a knot of dull-pink -buds—are delightfully becoming to a clear -brunette complexion and glossy black hair.</p> - -<p>Thanks to my being an easy-to-fit small “stock -size,” I’ve got a really charming little trousseau -together at very short notice. As it’s probably -the only trousseau of any sort that I shall ever -possess now (I wonder what Sydney Vandeleur -thought of my note?), I selected it with gusto, -and I mean to enjoy the wearing of every stitch<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span> -of it, from the fur-lined motor-wrap to those -American-pattern nighties that the girl in the shop -said were “so sweetly bridal-looking, Moddam.”</p> - -<p>It’s been such ages since I was able to choose and -arrange a kit with garments for separate occasions -and with a definite colour-scheme; it’s so long -I’ve been, not “dressed,” but “covered”—yes! -covered in patches with something in navy-blue -that I’ve managed to afford at one time; something -in brown that I’ve “had to have” at another -time; something black that I’ve just “had by me.”</p> - -<p>But now I shall be able to look “together” -once more in my favourite harmonies of soft -browns, creams and pinks. A dream of mine -on my way to the office has come true at last; -it’s a dream of a thick, clover-pink linen suit, -with touches of heavy creamy lace in just the -right places. In just the right places, too, it -fits or falls away from me; and I don’t think -even the feminine edition of Still Waters will -be able to help being <em>rather</em> impressed by it!</p> - -<p>As for Sydney Vandeleur, I know <em>he</em> would -have said——</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>I’ve been wondering whether after all I -need have sent that curt note to Sydney? Of -course, I <em>was</em> furious with him, first for coming -too late, and secondly for proposing at all after -I was powerless to accept him—he didn’t know -that; but what a position he put me into!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p> - -<p><em>Could</em> I have put an end to it? (My thoughts -raced on with the train.)</p> - -<p><em>Could</em> I have written that very evening to -Mr. Waters, cancelling that preposterous arrangement -with him, returning that lump sum of -salary, and saying——</p> - -<p>Impossible! A hundred pounds of that salary -had had to go, irrevocably, as soon as I got it. -And already I’d broken into that remaining four -hundred in the bank! I couldn’t make up even -that.</p> - -<p>How would it have been if when Sydney -proposed to me, I had replied:</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<i>I can’t see you. I can’t even tell you -anything more, yet. But wait a year, and -then ask me again</i>”?</p> - -</div> - -<p>Since he’s “waited” <em>so</em> long——!</p> - -<p>But no.</p> - -<p>That wouldn’t have done either. It wouldn’t -be keeping my bargain. It would be “giving -away” my compact with that other, that detestable -man, who trusts after all to my word—and -after all, Sydney <em>has</em> got himself to thank -for the fact that I haven’t been choosing a -trousseau to please <em>him</em>....</p> - -<p class="tb">Well! There’s nothing in <em>this</em> outfit, I -hope, that won’t pass the censorship of the most -critical glances in any big house—those of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span> -servants. Men-servants, I suspect, are almost -harder to “impress” than maid-servants.</p> - -<p>But it was no lordly groom or supercilious -chauffeur who met me at Sevenoaks Station as -I stepped out of the train.</p> - -<p>The tall, broad-shouldered figure that strode -towards me looked, in a big, grey, loose motor-coat, -so utterly different from the mind-picture -of the slimly-built, dark, Vandyke-bearded young -man that had travelled most of the way down -with me, so different, too, from the other apparition -I know only too well in immaculate “City” -get-up, that at first I didn’t recognize him.</p> - -<p>Then a cap was lifted. I saw the fair hair, -brushed sleek as satin, and the keen, blonde -face of my employer.</p> - -<p>Several people on the platform were glancing -at him as if he were almost as well known down -here in the country as in Leadenhall Street.</p> - -<p>Then eagerly inquisitive glances were turned -to me. I caught a whisper of “Mr. William -Waters’ young lady!” I wondered if the -speaker—a prosperous-looking sort of butcher—expected -to overhear some tender greeting? -How “sold” he’d have been!</p> - -<p>“Ah, there you are, Miss Trant!”—briskly -as ever. “Good afternoon. What luggage have -you? Porter, bring these things across to the -car. I’m motoring you up to the house myself,” -added Mr. Waters to me, as we left the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span> -station, “because there’s a little supplementary -detail I wanted to ‘put you on to,’ so to speak, -before you meet my people.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes?” I said inquiringly, and I mentally -reached for my pencil and pad.</p> - -<p>But as I sat beside him on the comfortably -padded seat with a lovely rug drawn up over my -knees, and with a thick glass screen keeping my -<i lang="fr">chic</i> little new hat from getting blown about, I -felt the pad-and-pencil side of my life slipping -away from me as swiftly and steadily as the green -hawthorn hedges that lined the road seemed -slipping past this gliding car.</p> - -<p>I had had a brute of a time just lately—now -came the reaction. I suppose it was partly -the entirely feminine sensation, thrilling every -scrap of my body, that it was once more decently -dressed! Partly, too, it was the influence of -skimming over a country road again, breathing -in untainted breezes under a blue sky with -rolling white cauliflower clouds; having a whole -smiling landscape to myself again!—for the -moment I lost count of <em>how</em> this had happened. -The thoughts of the last hour were left behind -with those of the last two years—with the mean -streets and the City smells and noises, and those -Battersea rooms, and that utter lack of space -and privacy, and that crushing sense of being -just one unit out of millions that didn’t -matter!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span></p> - -<p>Before I’d experienced these things, I’d lived -for nineteen years, another sort of life; and this -seemed almost like coming home to it. I felt -as if I were the fish that, having been left stranded -on the proverbial gravel path, has somehow -succeeded in flopping back to his native element.</p> - -<p>I gave myself up to the luxury of the feeling—to -the exhilarating rush through the clear air.</p> - -<p>And I’d practically forgotten who was driving -me, when his business-like voice sounded once -more in my ear.</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant! Your Christian name, as I -saw by your note to my mother, is Monica?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>I supposed he was now going to ask me if I -had any objection to his addressing me thus -as long as I was his mother’s guest. Why, of -course, he’d <em>have</em> to! Just as I should have to -bring myself to use his own name of “William.” -(“<em>Ahem!</em> <em>Wil</em>-liam!” as Miss Robinson pronounced -it pompously.) How queer to have -to be asked to accord one’s Christian name under -such terms! Really, he might have taken it -as a matter of course that he must, for the next -fortnight or so, call me “Monica.” Therefore -I was rather taken aback by his next remark.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to ask you if you would mind -very much, while you are staying at The Lawn, -being called ‘<i>Nancy</i>’?”</p> - -<p>“Nancy!” I echoed, opening my eyes. “Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span> -yes—no—I mean—anything you like; but why -<em>Nancy</em>?”</p> - -<p>Mr. Waters turned to me for a moment as the -car sped smoothly down a level, empty stretch -of the white highway.</p> - -<p>“I’d better explain to you ‘why Nancy,’” -he said dryly. In those keen grey eyes of his, -where some time before I had suspected a gleam -of humour, I now saw a quite unmistakable -twinkle of fun!</p> - -<p>There was even a twitch at the corner of those -tightly-fitted lips. But he went on still more -dryly. “When I informed my mother that -I was engaged to be married to a lady in the office, -she had a good many questions to put.”</p> - -<p>(Well, I should think so! The Longer Catechism, -in fact!) “Really?” I said meekly.</p> - -<p>“And almost the first thing she asked me -was what her Christian name was.”</p> - -<p>(M’m, “almost”—I wonder what the <em>very -first</em> thing was? What is it generally?)</p> - -<p>“Of course, I ought to have foreseen that——”</p> - -<p>(And <em>hadn’t</em> he? Good gracious! The -mapped-out scheme with <em>another</em> flaw in it!)</p> - -<p>—“but curiously enough, I’d overlooked it, -and wasn’t prepared for it. Now, I couldn’t -very well tell my mother the truth, namely, -that I did not know. I have never been able -to make out whether your usual initials were -‘M’ or ‘N.T.’ I had taken it for ‘N.’ So, on<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span> -the spur of the moment, I gave her the first girl’s -name that began with N that I could think of.”</p> - -<p>N or M! Yes! <em>Exactly</em> like the catechism!</p> - -<p>For the first time in my life in Still Waters’ -presence I laughed aloud. Surely the country -air and the rush through it in the car must have -gone to my head. Amazed at myself, but even -then laughing a little still, I pulled myself together -to inquire, “And what did you say to -Mrs. Waters when she received my note signed -by my real name?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!—I said—something or other about -‘Nancy’ being the usual abbreviation for -‘Monica’ in some places!”</p> - -<p>“How <em>quick</em> of you!” I retorted—while my -Near Oriental self sat back and gasped at my new -boldness. He <em>must</em> have wondered at it too; -thought it bravado, the recklessness of despair, -I suppose.</p> - -<p>“<em>Something</em> had to be said! And I am afraid, -Miss Trant, that, for the matter in hand, ‘<i>Nancy</i>’ -it will have to be. A sort of <i lang="fr">nom-de-guerre</i>, you -know—if you can call it ‘<i lang="fr">guerre</i>.’”</p> - -<p>He was actually laughing himself now. This -made his face look at least ten years younger, -changing him so that I felt him to be even more -of a stranger to me than the machine-like autocrat -who rapped out his “<i>Now, Miss Trant!</i>” -and his “<i>Take this down</i>” at the Near Oriental. -But in a moment he was serious again. He<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span> -seemed, for the first time, to feel something of -what <em>I’ve</em> been feeling ever since we’ve been—so -to speak, “engaged.”</p> - -<p>“It’s asking a good deal, but I have to trust -to you to meet all these awkwardnesses as well -as you can,” he said gravely. “And I’ll do all -in my power to avoid them, I assure you. A -good deal of the strangeness can be put down -to the—er—natural shyness of people who are—so—er—recently -engaged.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course,” I murmured, struggling not -to laugh any more.</p> - -<p>But I wondered what other wild fictions -about “<i>Nancy</i>” he’d had to improvise for his -mother. Supposing she’d wanted to know what -I was like to <em>look</em> at? Well, <em>he</em> wouldn’t know! -Dark or fair—short or tall? As likely as not -he’d tell her—as <em>something</em> had to be said—that -I was six foot high and a radiant blonde. And -what would she think of his not possessing a -single photograph of me to show her? Really, -he was almost benighted enough, since he’d -given me another girl’s name, to pass off as mine -another girl’s portrait!</p> - -<p>Even as I was laughing to myself again, the -car turned in at a stone-pillared entrance, and -its plumply-tyred wheels purred on a perfectly-gravelled -drive between tall laurel-hedges.</p> - -<p>Oh! we were nearly there, then. I didn’t want -to laugh any more. Now for it....</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI<br /> -<span class="smaller">MEETING “HIS” PEOPLE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>We skirted what seemed like an ocean of -green velvet turf. We swept round -another corner.</p> - -<p>“There’s the house,” announced Mr. Waters.</p> - -<p>“<em>That</em>——?”</p> - -<p>It was long and low and white and homely—yes! -<em>homely</em>-looking—overgrown with purple wistaria, -and swept at one end by a fountain of gold -from an immense laburnum-tree. A deep, shady -verandah was flung like a protecting arm about -the waist of the house.</p> - -<p>The late sunlight flashed on a scurry of something -all goldeny-white, as there rushed out of -the shade of this verandah what looked like a -mix-up of several dogs and flying skirts....</p> - -<p>“<em>Girls?</em>” I thought, as two slender, -white-clad figures came towards me. “Who are -<em>these</em>?”</p> - -<p>“My sisters, Theodora and Blanche,” said -the Governor quickly to me. “<em>Down</em>, Cariad! -Down, sir,” to the little dog—there was only -one of him, it appeared, when he stopped frisking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span> -for a moment about the man who was helping -me to alight.</p> - -<p>The taller of the two girls came forward first, -murmured timidly, “So glad you’ve come!” -held out both hands with an awkward, diffident -little smile that was quite charming, and bent -very shyly to kiss me. She was about eighteen, -with fair hair, and features very cleanly-cut and -something like her brother’s.</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> am Blanche,” she murmured. “This is -Theo.”</p> - -<p>“Theo,” seemed to be about fifteen. My -first impression of her showed me a pair of long -coltish legs and a round cowslip-bell of a head, -covered with short yellow curls. She said nothing, -but she <em>looked</em>, looked at me out of a pair -of the largest and brightest brown eyes that I -had ever met; they seemed almost the size of -the goggles in a diver’s helmet, and I felt them -following me devouringly as I was led into the -hall.</p> - -<p>“Here is Nancy, Mother,” called Mr. Waters.</p> - -<p>Another figure came forward to meet me. -This—his mother? A startling contrast indeed -to what I’d pictured her. She was dressed in -the soft, lacy, unshaped black that best suits an -elderly lady; and her soft, puffed-out hair was -grey all over. But that was as far as the “elderliness” -of the Governor’s mother went. Her -figure was as tall and seemed nearly as slender as<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span> -Blanche’s; she had the long-armed, free movements -that I’ve heard my father praise in Miss -Ellen Terry; her face was pink and irregular-featured -and mobile, her expression shy and -smiling. She seemed like some girl who had -fallen into a trance in the “Eighties,” from which -she had just woken up to find that her hair was -no longer brown, and that the world, which -puzzled her a little, had gone on without her. -Her voice was soft and hesitating, and full of -unexpected half-tones.</p> - -<p>“Oh, have you come? Nancy! You are -so welcome, my dear! I called you ‘Miss Trant’ -in my note, because I thought it was the right -thing when I hadn’t ever seen you. But I -needn’t go on being so stiff, need I? Billy said -he thought I needn’t.”</p> - -<p>The Governor had disappeared towards the -car again.</p> - -<p>“Your boxes have gone upstairs, dear, and you -might like to rest before it’s time to get ready for -dinner. <em>Blanche</em> will take you to your room,” -added Mrs. Waters, holding back Theo, whose -yellow head and whose long legs seemed just -about to precipitate themselves after me—for -that child to enjoy another good look, no doubt. -“<em>No</em>, Cariad, you can’t go either! <em>Come</em>, -Missis’s little dog”—the long white body was -frolicking about just ahead of me. “He <em>knows</em> -he never enters the house!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span></p> - -<p>And I knew the pet dogs who are supposed -to cherish these rules. Cariad flung himself -gleefully in front of the diffident, fair-haired -Blanche as she escorted me upstairs.</p> - -<p>We were on the landing when the sound of a -voice that I hadn’t heard before, clear as a bell -and distinct as a choir-boy’s solo, rang up to us -from below.</p> - -<p>“No <em>won</em>-der, Mother! Mother, I say, no -<em>won</em>-der! <em>Is</em>-n’t she pretty? Billy never <em>told</em> -us! He never——.”</p> - -<p>Here an abrupt full-stop.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I do hope you won’t mind Theo; she -<em>is</em> rather awful sometimes,” murmured Blanche -Waters, as apologetically scarlet as if she had done -something to offend me. “She will say things—and -so <em>loud</em>! It’s <em>only</em> because she’s so pleased—and -she’s only thirteen really—it’s awful being -so tall. People always expect you to be so much -more sensible, somehow! This is your room.” -She opened a white door. “Outside, Cariad! -(He <em>knows</em> he never comes upstairs.) Do let me -unpack for you, Nancy.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Thank you so much, but——”</p> - -<p>I felt I must, <em>must</em> be left to myself for the -present. At the risk of seeming ungracious, I -added hastily, “I can manage, really!”</p> - -<p>Even though I’m <em>not</em> fated to be a sister-in-law, -I should like this nice girl to like me. So I -smiled up at her, and she put out a long, rather<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span> -bony young finger, and just touched my coat-collar. -I realized that I needn’t have “fussed” -so over my “trousseau.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! I daresay you’re tired, too.”</p> - -<p>“I am, rather.” (Strictly speaking, I am -ready to drop, though not entirely with fatigue.)</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll send up some hot water presently, -Nancy. (<em>Come</em>, Cariad!)”</p> - -<p>And she left me to what I felt I must have or -perish—the solitude of my own room, leisure to -gasp over the series of additional shocks I had -just received.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>First and foremost, though it seems a funny -detail to push itself in front of all the other things, -there’s “<i>Billy!</i>”</p> - -<p>To think that Still Waters should be “Billy” -to anyone—even if it’s only to his mother!</p> - -<p>After Miss Holt’s “Do you ever call him <i>Billy</i>, -by any chance?” and my solemn “Never!” to -realize that the man who Miss Robinson vowed -“could never have been anything so human as -a little boy” does actually possess that characteristically -little-boyish pet-name! And I -suppose I shall be expected to call him that while -I’m here? My goodness! “William” I was -prepared for. “William,” with its touch of -stiffness—and—stateliness, I might manage. -But——Still, if I must, I must. In for a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span> -penny, in for a pound. (Only in this case it’s -meant being in for five hundred pounds!)</p> - -<p>And then that he should have that unexpected, -that utterly uncharacteristic, that un-Waters-like -sort of mother! Welcoming me like that! -All I can say is that he—the Governor—<em>must</em> -take after his father exactly!</p> - -<p>And the house! Not in the least like a sarcophagus—or -even the corner of the British -Museum with Near Oriental fittings, as <em>I’d</em> -pictured it!</p> - -<p>Looking round this bedroom they’ve put me -into, I see it’s exactly the sort that I’ve always -loved, particularly since my lot has been cast -in that poky little egg-box of a Battersea flat, -with one skimpy strip of bedroom window giving -on a view of grimy-grey back-yard, a kennel made -out of a packing-case, and lines of washing -hanging out to dry.</p> - -<p>Here, at The Lawn, my quarters do seem so -palatially big and airy! There’s <em>miles</em> of wardrobe -space for my new things, I see. And <em>what</em> -a lovely long mirror! That delicious scent of -lavender and pot-pourri comes from the big -china bowl on the window-ledge. There’s a -wide bay of casement-windows looking out on -to that wonderful lawn, sprays of feathery mauve -wistaria tap against the panes outside. Inside, -rose-peonies and giant tulips riot over the cream-and-red-and-pink-patterned -chintzes of hangings<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span> -and upholstery. The wallpaper is sprinkled -with bouquets of rosebuds caught up with -ribbons; and the bed-spread is of glowing rose-colour. -No trace anywhere of those “Art-muds” -and sad sage-greens that even well-off -people get into their rooms so often now. Why -can’t they realize that greens, to be successful, -must be kept out of doors? Green as an indoor -background, <em>no!</em> I’d have chosen just these -gay, dainty patterns and colours for my bedroom, -if——</p> - -<p>But <em>what’s</em> the use of thinking over the house I -might have had? I’m not going to. I ought -to be breathlessly thankful that this one where I -have to spend a fortnight is turning out to be so -much more congenial than I’d hoped, and that -“his” people are quite unlike “him!”</p> - -<p>How suddenly “right” my dear old silver-and-crystal -toilette things look against the setting -of the Sheraton dressing-table with the plate-glass -top! To think that one dismal wet day I -nearly packed them all up and sent them off by -Mrs. Skinner to be “put away,” and the price -thereof turned into new boots! “Boots a poor -typist must have,” I argued. “Silver-topped -bottles and luxuries of that sort she doesn’t -need any more.” How frightfully glad I am, now, -that I hadn’t the heart to do it after all, that I -sent my shoes to be re-soled instead—and that -all my own monogrammed brushes are mirrored<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span> -in the oval glass beside that lustre jar of rich, -mahogany-coloured wall-flowers that, next to -my own dark head and its moving reflections, -seem to give the deepest touch of colour in the -room. I suppose the girls put those there—Yes! -That’s another shock. The <em>sisters</em>! That -<em>he</em> should have sisters like——</p> - -<p>A tap at the door.</p> - -<p>“Come in!”</p> - -<p>Enter, explosively, the excited little white -dog, followed by a large and shiny copper can, -and the eyes—they seem to dominate everything -else about that child!—of Theodora.</p> - -<p>“Brought you some hot water”—in a meek -and muffled voice. “Dinner is—(Put those -<em>down</em>, Cariad! He <em>knows</em> people’s slippers aren’t -for him to eat!) Dinner is at eight. <em>I’m</em> not -supposed to come down.”</p> - -<p>Here the huge brown eyes turned ruefully -for a moment from me to the gleaming sheath -of the new frock that I’d just thrown over the -brass rail of the bed. I guessed the thought -behind them. They longed for another satisfying -stare at it—<em>on</em> me.</p> - -<p>Why shouldn’t I have this child fond of me?</p> - -<p>“Shall I say good-night now, then, Theo?” -I suggested. “Or—if you tell me which your -room is, shall I come in after I’m dressed?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Theo, bell-mouthed. -“<em>Gem!</em>” Then, carefully muffling the voice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span> -again, “That’s the school-room door opposite—between -the corridor window and the picture -of ‘Delia in Arcady.’ Thanks <em>awf’ly</em>, Nancy. -(<em>Come</em> along, Cariad!)”</p> - -<p>Not every engaged girl has such a walk-over -with “his” people! But I think Theo would -approve of me as a sister-in-law, if she were -going to have the chance! I shouldn’t mind -<em>her</em>!... On second thoughts, I don’t know -whether I am so pleased after all that these -people are so kind and welcoming and different -from what I had expected.</p> - -<p>Wouldn’t it be almost easier for me in some -ways if his mother and his sisters <em>were</em> the “collection -of frosty-faces” (as Miss Robinson expresses -it) whom I’d anticipated meeting? I -was prepared; I could have coped with <em>them</em>. -Why has he got sisters like these—just the kind -of girls I could imagine sisters of <em>mine</em>?</p> - -<p>Why <em>must</em> his mother be so sweet to me, -without a gleam of the “designing-little-minx-of-a-typist” -look in her eyes, without—I verily -believe—a thought of it in her heart? Ready -to take to her arms the stranger within her gates -whom she looks upon as her son’s lady-love—oh, -it’s too embarrassing!</p> - -<p>For the first time since this sham engagement -was arranged between my employer and myself, -I feel what I did not feel when I confronted -my fellow-typists, the Vandeleurs or Cicely<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span> -with the news that I was Mr. Waters’ <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>; -what I did not feel when I first slipped these -lying diamonds on to my finger; what I didn’t -feel when I cabled that money to Jack, or even -when I wrote to Sydney.</p> - -<p>I feel—there is no other word to express it—downright -<em>mean</em>!</p> - -<p>How am I going to stand a whole fortnight -of it? How <em>am</em> I to keep up this incessant pose -and pretence under the gentle, unsuspecting -eyes of Mrs. Waters?</p> - -<p>I believe I could have calmly invented fib after -fib for the benefit of Lady Vandeleur——</p> - -<p>Now, now! Thoughts beginning with -“Vandeleur” have got to be sternly suppressed -unless I mean to give myself a fit of the blues -and make some terrible <i lang="fr">faux pas</i> presently, at -dinner, in the bosom of the Governor’s family.</p> - -<p>So come, Monica Trant, my child—“Nancy,” -I mean, of course, <em>Nancy</em>! (How I hope I -shall remember to answer to that name when I -hear it, instead of forgetting who they mean -and imagining it’s the little white dog!) -You pull yourself together, Nancy, and dive -into the pretty new evening-frock—it will be -gorgeous to have proper lights and a real glass -to dress by once again!—then go and show it -off to that avid-eyed child in the school-room. -And then downstairs with you, to earn some more -of your five hundred pounds!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST DINNER</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Well! the first evening is over.</p> - -<p>It hasn’t been nearly as bad as it -might, though it certainly has produced several -more quite unexpected developments.</p> - -<p>We dined; for the first time for well over a year -I sat down at a luxuriously-appointed round -dinner-table with all its conventional daintiness -of perfect napery, silver and glass—instead of -the picnic-supper affair, with every single plate -and fork an “oddment,” cast by the hands of -Mrs. Skinner upon the rickety table at Marconi -Mansions. Instead of gossiping with Cicely -Harradine clad in the faded green Japanese -kimono that she finds “such a rest to slop into” -after all the fashionable dressing-up at Chérisette’s—for -Cicely is rather the type of girl -whom work demoralizes instead of bracing—I -was of a party of two other women and a man in -evening-dress.</p> - -<p>That dinner-jacket does make the Governor -look so much younger—it’s positively laughable!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span> -For another thing, it seems to take him right -out of his isolated Near Oriental niche, and to -put him in the same rank of human beings as -men who used to dine at our house when my -father was alive. Positively, I have begun to -look upon my once-dreaded employer as quite -an ordinary—though certainly <em>not</em> a likable—sort -of young man! Never again need <em>he</em> -expect to keep up, with me, the attitude of a -metallic species of Business-deity who disappears -after business-hours to some vague, chilly -and unknown Olympus, of which no glimpse -would ever be vouchsafed to any of us, his -grovelling subordinates. Oh, no!</p> - -<p>Not now that I’ve seen his people, the pretty -things out of which his mother has made such -a nest of a home for him; not after making the -acquaintance of Blanche and of that gift of -God, Theodora, and of Cariad. That little outdoor -dog spent the whole of dinner-time cosily -curled up under the table on his “Missis’s” -black satin skirt, and not all the flappings of the -Governor’s table-napkin or his curtest “Here! -Out of that, Cariad! Outside, sir!” had the -slightest effect in dislodging him. I would -have given at least five of my as yet unearned -five hundred pounds for Miss Robinson to have -been granted the sight of Still Waters cheerfully -defied by that small Sealyham! I can see her -“potting” the scene, with Miss Holt’s white<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span> -feather neck-ruffle commandeered to represent -the little dog who “<em>knows</em> that skirts aren’t -there for him to sit upon!” And <em>I’m</em> not -“there to be sat upon” any more, either! I’m -beginning to wonder how the Governor managed -to “take me in” for so long! Why, he is a -regular <em>fraud</em>! And a fraud found out is never -terrifying—even if it’s exasperating.</p> - -<p>If anyone is going to be alarmed now, it’s not -his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, but he himself; for he was—yes, -positively!—nervous and embarrassed at -dinner. If that had been the first time I’d met -him I should have thought that the big and -blonde and silent young man opposite was <em>deadly -shy of me</em>! Of <em>me</em>; after all that he had handed -out to me in the way of orders and commands -and arrangements during the past fortnight. -It is a good thing if, as he says, a good deal of -the “strangeness” will be put down to the -“natural awkwardness of people so recently -engaged”—but it’s a still better thing that I -contrived to be rather less “awkward” and -speechless than <em>he</em> was! To myself I seemed -to be sitting a little apart, watching another -Mon—Nancy, I mean—smiling and chatting -gaily with his mother and the younger girls.</p> - -<p>What dears they are! and how one sees their -feminine touch in everything about the room, -from the arrangement of the many and becoming -lights, to the graceful massing of sulphur-coloured<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span> -pansies and gypsophila in the centre of the round -table!</p> - -<p>At dinner it was chiefly, I think, of flowers -that we talked—such a nice, safe subject. It -seems that the Governor is actually interested -in gardening. <em>How</em> amazed the staff would be -if it were hinted that Still Waters took the -vaguest gleam of interest in anything outside -making money for the firm!</p> - -<p>After dinner, when he remained behind in -the dining-room to smoke, his mother slipped one -white hand into Blanche’s arm, the other into -mine; and the gesture, I know, was meant to -imply that she had “another daughter now.”</p> - -<p>We stepped together across the black-and-white-tiled -hall into the drawing-room, with its -ordered chaos of pretty, old-fashioned furniture -and dainty new things, and the unmistakable -atmosphere of a homey room that is lived in.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waters drew me down beside her on the -wide, shallow sofa, and I saw her eyes dwelling -on every line of my face, as if she were trying to -learn fresh knowledge of her son from the girl -who presumably was permitted to see him as his -own mother never sees a man.</p> - -<p>That brought a lump into my throat. I bent -my head over my work—a bit of Richelieu -embroidery with which I had taken care to provide -myself. I had remembered some axioms of Miss -Robinson at the office:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span></p> - -<p>“<i>Never you be without a hit of fancy-work, -girls, when you wish to impress. Men seem to -think a girl must be so sweet and womanly who -can sit for hours wagging a crochet-hook and a bit -of thread at them. As for the future mother-in-law, -she always imagines a girl is more likely -to turn out domesticated if she cannot keep her hands -still for ten minutes. Besides, a bit of drawn-thread -work, or whatever it is, gives you something -to look at when you don’t exactly know what -to say next.</i>”</p> - -<p>The last reason was mine. I certainly did -not know what to say when the Governor’s -mother remarked softly:</p> - -<p>“You know, Nancy, you are just what I hoped -you would be.”</p> - -<p>“Am I?”</p> - -<p>I felt an unutterable little <em>cad</em>.</p> - -<p>Yes, Mr. William Waters! And who forced -me into the position of feeling like this?</p> - -<p>“So pretty and gentle and quiet, and yet -you ‘see’ things with those brown eyes of yours,” -pronounced Mrs. Waters. “At first I feared -it was impossible that any girl who had only -met my boy just in business-hours, and wearing -that office-mask he has to put on, could grow to -care for him as we do; but I see you could understand. -You guessed that all that brusqueness -and peremptory manner were just the armour -for his sensitiveness; you would see that he has<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span> -to put on that manner to hide the awful truth -that at the bottom of his heart he is naturally -as shy and nervous as Blanche and I are. <em>I</em> -believe,” she laughed softly, “that that’s why he -<em>never</em> allows us to call at the office while we’re -in town! The staff <em>might</em> suspect, seeing <em>us</em>, -that he <em>has</em> another sort of manner than the -terrible one he speaks through the telephone -with! I dare say that even you were taken in -by it at first, weren’t you? Until he began to -reveal his real self to you, I expect you looked -upon him merely as a business-machine, didn’t -you, Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose I did,” I murmured, feeling more -uncomfortable at every word uttered by this -dear, innocent lady, who had created such an -idealized version of her son’s character.</p> - -<p>“And when did you begin to find out the -real Billy?”</p> - -<p><em>Here</em> was a nice question! Thank goodness -I was spared the answering of it!</p> - -<p>At that moment the drawing-room door -opened to admit the tallest of the admirable -parlour-maids, with the tray bearing a silver -coffee-machine and the dainty Dresden service.</p> - -<p>Blanche rose from the cushion where she had -been sitting at my feet, and went to the table -to officiate. In her simple white dinner-gown -she looked like a tall lily bending down.</p> - -<p>“Mother, plenty of hot milk and a little<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span> -sugar? Nancy, how do you like your -coffee?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t take it, thank you very much.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, then here’s Billy’s—black, with plenty -of sugar. Will he be coming in for it?”</p> - -<p>Her mother gave a little smile.</p> - -<p>“I think perhaps Nancy won’t mind taking -in Billy’s coffee to him. Will you, dear? He’s -in his ‘den’; the door just opposite, across the -hall.”</p> - -<p>Even without her gently mischievous glance -I should have realized what she meant. The -unsuspecting, sympathetic creature thought she -was being kind and tactful, making an opportunity -for me to have a little time alone with -my <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>.</p> - -<p>She imagined that we were longing for a -lovers’ <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i>, with all the fond, foolish talk -that one could guess at—beaming smiles at each -other, like Smithie’s—Ordinary love-making! -Yes, of course, people will have to be allowed to -think that there’s that between us, too. I -hadn’t wasted many thoughts on this aspect of -the case. But this “rubbed it in.”</p> - -<p>I felt a wave of scorching scarlet rush up my -face to the roots of my hair. However, that -didn’t matter: no doubt Mrs. Waters put it -down to the “natural shyness” of a girl in love. -She never guessed the <em>furious</em> mixture of feelings -that sent that blush into my cheeks.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span></p> - -<p>I kept my head up and my voice quite steady -as I replied: “Oh, certainly!”</p> - -<p>And I rose, taking up the green-garlanded -cup with the small gilt apostle-spoon in the -saucer, and left the drawing-room to face my -first official <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> with the Governor.</p> - -<p>Ever since he’s been the unconscious cause -of my having had to give up the chance of a -serene and happy future with the man who really -cares for me, I’ve looked upon my employer -with a mixture of resentment and dread. As I -say, the dread’s melted rapidly. But the resentment’s -growing!</p> - -<p>“<em>I’ll</em> make him pay, somehow,” thought I -revengefully, “for all this!” By “all this” -I meant not only for the loss of Sydney, and the -castle at Ballycool, and comfort and position, -but for making me look and feel so acutely foolish -before Mrs. Waters.</p> - -<p>“I’ll see if I can’t make him rather uncomfortable -over it himself,” I determined.</p> - -<p>I crossed the hall, forcing myself to feel as -if I were back in the office, where we typists -took it in turn to carry Mr. Dundonald’s cup -of afternoon tea into the inner sanctum, where -he glowered over his figures.</p> - -<p>(How cross he was if one of us shook the cup -so that some of the tea slopped over and soaked -the lump of sugar and the biscuit laid in the -saucer.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span></p> - -<p>Gingerly I carried the dainty cup of black -coffee across to the door of the “den.”</p> - -<p>There, deliberately, I tapped twice.</p> - -<p>The sound of my knock on the door reminded -me of another occasion—on which I’d presented -myself alone before the Governor, that afternoon -at the Near Oriental; that first interview -in his office.</p> - -<p>This <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i>—the first in his own home—was -going to be very different!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST TÊTE-À-TÊTE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>A rather surprised voice called “Come -in!”</p> - -<p>In I went—to find the Governor smoking a -cigarette and sitting on the wide red-leather-padded -club-fender of a room that was in -complete contrast to the feminine domain I -had left. Almost empty, but for its tall bookshelves, -a grandfather’s clock, a couple of solid, -“man-ny-looking” arm-chairs and a grand -piano.</p> - -<p>I dropped my voice into its meekest Near -Oriental tone as I announced:</p> - -<p>“Your coffee, Mr. Waters!”</p> - -<p>It was exactly the tone in which I’d so often -said, “Your tea, Mr. Dundonald!” and yet I -knew that the man before me would guess that -this deference was, under the circumstances, -only a subtle form of defiance.</p> - -<p>I handed him the cup. Then I stood there, -outwardly as mild as milk, before him. One -swift glance into the mirror over the mantelpiece -beyond his broad shoulder—his shoulders<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span> -are the best thing about him—had shown me -an attractive picture enough—a big, blonde man -faced by a <i lang="fr">petite</i>, graceful girl, with her night-black -hair swathed in a silky garland round her -head, and her white shoulders and neck emerging -from an admirably-cut dinner-gown of creamy -charmeuse and chiffon patterned by rose-pink -beadwork, whose colour echoed the soft flush -in her cheeks.</p> - -<p>Just before dinner, Theo, in the school-room, -with all her eyes and half the voice-power at -her command, had told me the dress was <em>divine</em>, -and that I looked a little <em>angel</em> in it!</p> - -<p>“Angel?” H’m. That wasn’t how I <em>felt</em>, -exactly. Still I know I looked my best; as -pretty as ever I’d looked in the dear old days -before I had anything else to do.</p> - -<p>Looking her best always keys a girl up to doing -her best.</p> - -<p>(Or her worst, as the case may be.)</p> - -<p>Besides, another glance at the Governor -had shown me that I’d been right in my suspicion -at dinner. He <em>was</em> embarrassed. He was—probably -for the first time in his life—<em>shy</em>!</p> - -<p>This put the finishing touch to my feeling -myself to be—also for the first time—mistress -of this situation.</p> - -<p>Therefore, I stood there, still waiting, looking -as if it were I who were paralysed with shyness, -deliberately waiting for <em>him</em> to speak.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p> - -<p>“Thank you,” he had murmured as he took -the cup from me. There was another pause, -which was—as I fully intended—the first of many. -Then he added, in a rather uncertain sort of -voice, “I suppose it was my mother’s—my -mother who sent you in here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes! Oh, yes,” I said hastily, as if -breathlessly flurried and meek beyond all words. -“She seemed to think—I didn’t know what -else to do—am I in your way?” (Here I -glanced up at him with scared, appealing eyes -as much as to say, “Is it my fault if I am?”)</p> - -<p>Pause.</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” said the Governor, rather as -if the words were forced from him, “that I -shall have to ask you to put with up this—er—incongruity -for the next half-hour or so. Won’t -you sit down, Miss Trant?” And he wheeled -forward one of those capacious arm-chairs, -placing it at a mercifully wide distance from the -fender-stool—where Mrs. Waters perhaps imagined -we were at that moment sitting—Oh -shade of everything that’s wildly impossible!—sitting -together like ordinary young engaged -people, hand in hand—or however they <em>do</em> -sit. My goodness!</p> - -<p>I sat down, dropping my eyes demurely, and -folding my hands in my lap.</p> - -<p>Another pause.</p> - -<p>“I—er——” said the Governor, then stopped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span> -and tried to look as if he hadn’t begun a -sentence.</p> - -<p>“Yes? Is there anything that I can—that -you think I ought to be able to do for you while -I am here, Mr. Waters?”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps it might be wiser if you stopped -calling me by that name”—dryly. He seemed -to have pulled himself together with a jerk, -for he was looking and speaking more like himself -at this. However, it had no effect on <em>me</em>.</p> - -<p>“Oh, of <em>course</em>,” I said obediently, “I shall -<em>always</em> remember to call you B——by your -Christian name (<em>that</em> is an abbreviation, too, -isn’t it?) when we are with the others.”</p> - -<p>“And then, if you use my other name when -we are alone, you may forget, and let it slip out -when the others are here,” he objected, looking -down on me from his perch on the fender-stool, -“and—and it’s more than likely that my sisters -might notice. Theodora notices everything.”</p> - -<p>“Yes”—gently—“so I gather.”</p> - -<p>“And always says out what she thinks,” her -brother informed me. “That’s why—if you -don’t mind—I am going to continue calling -you ‘Nancy’ even when we are alone.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, certainly,” I said softly. “And I -suppose I must practise trying not to feel afraid -of you.”</p> - -<p>He looked sharply at me, but I know there -was no expression in my face, and my eyes seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span> -fixed upon the hands in my lap, upon the ring -I was turning, idly, round my engagement-finger.</p> - -<p>“Afraid of me?” he took up. “You?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Waters—I <em>beg</em> your pardon, I didn’t -mean to use that name again. I was going to -say, you know that we are all terrified to death -of you—at the office.”</p> - -<p>I know he guessed that I meant “<i>but this is -not the office, and I’ve lost all the wholesome awe -that I still had of you only yesterday, and I’m no -more terrified of you than Cariad is, now!</i>” -Without looking directly at him, I saw his keen, -blonde face flush a little under its tan—this -City-fied young man is oddly sunburned—and -his firmly-fitted lips moved as if he were going -to say something but thought better of it. -After a pause he opened them again and asked:</p> - -<p>“Do you smoke—er—Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks very much,” I said primly.</p> - -<p>Silence fell.</p> - -<p>The Governor cleared his throat.</p> - -<p>I knew he literally couldn’t think what to -say next, and I exulted inwardly. I felt as if -I really were getting a little of my own back -now—not only for the awkwardness and unpleasantness -due to the “engagement,” but -for everything I’ve loathed while I’ve been at -the Near Oriental—the dreary journey there -morning after morning, the monotony, the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span> -irksomeness, the daily looming terror of “the -sack,” the hated hoverings round me of Mr. -Dundonald and his “<em>talk</em>-ing!”</p> - -<p><em>Oh</em>, how my employer was longing for me to -“talk” at <em>that</em> moment! to say something—anything!</p> - -<p>But I wouldn’t. I think I could have let -that lagging silence last for quite another five -minutes as far as I was concerned, only I was -afraid I might break into wild laughter unless -I spoke. So I gave it up, and suggested gravely -and helpfully:</p> - -<p>“I <em>have</em> got some fancy-work with me, but -I left it in the drawing-room. Shall I go back -and fetch it? Or—wouldn’t that quite <em>do</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Afraid not,” said the Governor grimly.</p> - -<p>“It seems so stupid to sit here doing nothing; -for you, too,” I added sympathetically. “If -you have brought any letters down here from -the office, you might, perhaps, care to dictate -them to me——”</p> - -<p>“Thank you, no,” said Mr. Waters firmly. “I -seldom do any business out of business-hours.”</p> - -<p>I turned my ring again ostentatiously. I -hope he knew I was pointing out to him how -<em>my</em> “business” had to go on all day long—the -woman’s work, in fact, being never done!</p> - -<p>My next mild suggestion was, “Do you play -picquet?”</p> - -<p>“Don’t know one card from another.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p> - -<p>I sighed, as if with mingled regret and boredom.</p> - -<p>It was a very insincere sigh! for, to begin -with, I loathe any form of card-playing myself; -<em>I</em> don’t believe the story that cards were invented -to please a mad king. I believe he was <em>driven</em> -mad by the card-games of the period! Secondly, -I wasn’t one bit bored. I was revelling in the -spectacle of this wretched young man—imagine -being able to employ such a phrase to the Grand -Panjandrum himself!—this <em>wretched</em> young man -looking so acutely uncomfortable and at such a -loss.</p> - -<p>Gleefully I allowed yet another long and awkward -pause to take place.</p> - -<p>Then, I put my hand—the left one—up to my -mouth as if to stifle a yawn. Then I glanced -at the ship in full sail that rocked to and fro on -the face of the grandfather’s clock, and murmured -resignedly: “Only twenty minutes past -nine?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid that clock is always kept ten -minutes fast,” said my host.</p> - -<p>I sighed again, more deeply.</p> - -<p>Then I allowed my eyes to wander, as if -vainly seeking the way of escape!—round the -comfortable, masculine-looking room. Actually, -my glance was caught by an odd-looking arrangement -of wires across the ceiling.</p> - -<p>“Oh, what are those for?” I asked. “Telegraphy?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p> - -<p>“No; I had those put there to improve the -acoustics of this room. It was otherwise so bad -to play and sing in.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I said, and wondering why Blanche -didn’t use the drawing-room to sing in, I glanced -at the somber shape of the piano at the other -end of the den.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if you would allow me to practise -in here sometimes—of course, only in the mornings?” -I requested meekly. “When I go back -to London, I shall want to see about a situation -as music-teacher or something of that kind. I -must have some definite work to do—besides -yours, I mean!—and I ought to furbish up my -playing.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, you play, do you?” said Mr. Waters, -in a tone of the deepest relief. “Good!”</p> - -<p>He got up, switched on some more lights, -and opened the piano.</p> - -<p>“I wonder if you have a rarer accomplishment -still. Can you accompany?”</p> - -<p>“I should be able to,” said I, with a little -bitter smile to myself.</p> - -<p>For I’ve certainly spent hours enough at the -piano with Sydney Vandeleur, practising or -transposing his lyrics. He has a gift for pretty, -tender melody-writing; he “sets” all his favourite -verses....</p> - -<p>“Will you try over a song with me, then?”</p> - -<p>(What! It was <em>he</em> who sang?)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span></p> - -<p>“Certainly!”</p> - -<p>This was not my subdued, Leadenhall Street -office “Certainly.” It was the way in which I -might have spoken to Sydney, or to Major Montresor, -or the Somervilles, or any of the men who -came to my father’s house in the old days, and for -whom I played in the evening.</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute. This gets in the way; -clicks on the keys,” said I, glancing at those -weighty diamonds that blazed on my finger. -And I drew off his ring, pushing it with a careless -little flick out of my way on the glassy black -top of the piano. He had put up before me -Schubert’s “<cite lang="de">Still wie die Nacht</cite>.”</p> - -<p>Appropriate enough, for Still Waters! “Still -as the night, deep as the sea——”</p> - -<p>I took up the first chords.</p> - -<p>Then came surprise again.</p> - -<p>I had expected him to possess a big, bull-dog -bass, full of sound and fury, and without a touch -of feeling in it. To my amazement, his voice -turned out to be a particularly sweet, true tenor. -Shut your eyes, and you could imagine that it -was the most sympathetic and delightful of men -who was singing, instead of <em>the Governor</em>!</p> - -<p>Can there be many more surprises about this -man? However, I flatter myself that I’ve given -him several. The crushed-looking, deferential -typist in the ready-made delaine blouse, and -with the carbon-stained fingers, that shook with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span> -nervousness when he rattled off his far-too-quick -dictation to them, was a distinct contrast to this -dainty, well-dressed young woman, who lays her -own plans for him to see that she is laughing at -him in her sleeve.</p> - -<p>And it’s his turn to use deference to me.</p> - -<p>“Thank you, so much—er—Nancy.” This -last word brought out with a jerk of resolution. -“It’s a treat to be accompanied by someone who -can do it so unusually well; it’s like waltzing with -a partner whose step just suits one’s own.”</p> - -<p>Good gracious! Where and when has this -man learned to dance?</p> - -<p>But he <em>can</em> sing. I quite enjoyed playing -for it. I think we went through quite half -a dozen songs—“Widdicombe Fair” was one of -them—before I remembered that this wasn’t -the form I meant <em>my</em> enjoyment to take.</p> - -<p>So, when he put up yet another—“Drake’s -Drum” this time—and said, “Shall we try this?” -I relapsed into my wickedly mild manner once -more, and replied hesitatingly: “Don’t you -think that would be enough—for Mrs. Waters? -I mean, that she would consider I had stayed the -right length of time? May—mayn’t I get -down, now?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Sorry if I have tired you,” said the -Governor quietly.</p> - -<p>He walked across the room to open the door -for me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span></p> - -<p>There, with his hand on the door-knob, my -employer paused and looked down at me almost -as if he were looking at me for the first time.</p> - -<p>It was a curious sort of stare, half-amused, -half-frowning. I should think it must have -lasted while one could count five. Was there -a sort of <em>threat</em> in it? Yes! I suppose it meant -that he wasn’t going to stand any more of my -masquerading impertinences, that somehow he -meant to overawe me, to keep the upper hand -over me still. But he won’t. Of course it’s -rather flurrying to be looked at like that, so hard -and unexpectedly.... But I wasn’t <em>really</em> -flurried——only a little glad when he opened the -door, said “Good night!” and shut it after me.</p> - -<p>I was turning towards the haven of the -drawing-room when, half-way across the hall, -I heard the door of the “den” open again, and -the Governor’s step behind me.</p> - -<p>“I think you forgot this, didn’t you?” he -said, holding out to me the ring I had left lying -on the top of the piano.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>thank</em> you,” I said apologetically. He -went back into the den. I slipped my “engagement” -ring on to my finger again.</p> - -<p>As a matter of fact I <em>hadn’t</em> “forgotten” it.</p> - -<p>And he needn’t imagine that he is ever going -to have <em>me</em> “quelled” again. I intend taking -it out of <em>him</em> all the time I am here!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST QUARREL</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>So far I have had things all my own way.</p> - -<p>During the three days that I have now -been staying at The Lawn, I have managed -to “keep up” without difficulty two utterly -distinct and different <em>manners</em>.</p> - -<p>“Manner A.”—assumed for the benefit of the -Governor’s family—the rather shy but charming -and devoted young <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>.</p> - -<p>“Manner B.”—well, to be frank, a perfect -little <em>cat</em>!</p> - -<p>But to begin with the first manner.</p> - -<p>I should be ashamed to act it as well as I do, -if it weren’t that I must keep the whip-hand -over the Governor, and that this is the only way, -for his mother and sisters are really too sweet -with me.</p> - -<p>Never, during all the palmy days of the Trant -family, have I had so many pretty and generous -things said about me as I’ve heard in these three -days from my employer’s unsuspecting mother.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span></p> - -<p>She told me yesterday, “When Billy was ten -I’d begun to wonder whether, somewhere, some -other mother was watching a pink-lined cot that -held something which was to become very -precious, later on, to my little son. And—twenty-one, -are you, dear?—it must have been -so, then. How glad I am it was you! Ten years -is such a nice difference in age, too; I was twenty-one——”</p> - -<p>And her soft grey eyes looked at me as if they -saw, through me, into the past.</p> - -<p>Her young daughter Blanche, on the other -hand, gazes at me as wistfully as though, through -me, she could look into the future. I feel as if -I were supposed to be standing beside a wall -which only I am tall enough (for once!) to see -over.</p> - -<p>“<i>Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?</i>” -That, of course, isn’t what she says.</p> - -<p>“Nancy, I suppose you knew almost at once -what you felt about Billy?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!” (Readily.)</p> - -<p>“You knew he was absolutely the one and -only? How lovely!” A pause. “I suppose -the way to find out is to imagine him among -seventeen other young men, all frightfully good-looking -and nice and good sorts, and the right -kind of voice, and all wanting to marry you at -once, and all that? Then, if you still feel you -could choose <em>him</em> out of all those——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span></p> - -<p>“But, Blanche, I should have <em>had</em> to,” I explained, -truthfully enough, as I thought of the -five hundred pounds. “Couldn’t help myself!”</p> - -<p>“I see,” sighed Blanche. “<em>Mustn’t</em> it be -glorious for you both?”</p> - -<p>And thirteen-year-old Theo, pouring upon her -“new sister” the wealth of superfluous adoration -which will some day be wasted, I suppose, -upon some quite ordinary young man, proclaims -at frequent intervals, “Isn’t it <em>ripping</em> having -her here?” and lives entirely in the present. -Theo, by the way, is the only one of them before -whom I feel I have to be careful not to over-do -Manner A.</p> - -<p>Manner B. is reserved for those hours which, -for the sake of appearances, his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> is -obliged to spend alone with Mr. Waters; going -for dull walks—that is, for me they’re kept from -being too deadly dull by the certainty that I am -making them so for him!—and sitting with him -in the den, where I will <em>not</em> play accompaniments -to his songs except as a last resource after I’ve -exhausted every possibility of the stilted remark, -the awkward pause, the resigned glance, and the -languor that stops short only at the visible yawn. -Since that first <i lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i> I have brought the -contrasting of Manners A. and B. to a fine art. -I’ve been revelling in the idea that for a whole -fortnight this is what my employer will be forced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span> -to put up with. After all, it’s what the whole -lives of some <em>married</em> men amount to! And, -according to the terms of the Governor’s own -agreement, there’s nothing in all this of which he -can openly complain!</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>He <em>has</em> complained!</p> - -<p>Really, I need not have been surprised when it -occurred, though I was scarcely expecting it.</p> - -<p>It began this (Saturday) morning, at breakfast. -Now, any outsider peeping into the sunny dining-room -might have considered that the group -round the breakfast-table made an ideal picture -of English family life.</p> - -<p>There was the gentle, grey-gowned mother -pouring out coffee. The big, blonde son of -the house, dressed for the City, sitting opposite -to his <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>—rather silent, but presumably -only out of devotion.</p> - -<p>The <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> herself, a small brunette in dull-pink -linen, looking, I think I may say, the picture -of girlish sweetness, and being made much of -by the two younger, taller, fair-haired sisters.</p> - -<p>For no outsider could have suspected that the -small, dark girl and the big, blonde man were -secretly at daggers drawn. Nor have the family -a notion that I’m anything less than “the ideal -wife for Billy.”</p> - -<p>I had come down last, to be greeted by the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span> -clarion voice of Theo, now no longer muffled in -my presence.</p> - -<p>“Nancy! <em>Here’s</em> news for you! Juno -what? Our celebrated Uncle Albert Waters -is coming down to inspect Billy’s sweetheart!”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I said smiling. I didn’t see then -why I shouldn’t smile. I hadn’t yet heard -anything about this other Mr. Waters.</p> - -<p>“It’s to be hoped that he will admire her as -much as we all do,” proclaimed Theodora; -“because, if he doesn’t, won’t it be a ghastly -week-end, Mother?”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense, dear! Don’t try and alarm poor -Nancy about the new relation she has to meet.”</p> - -<p>“But—fancy! Meeting Uncle Albert <em>for -the first time</em>! Golly!”</p> - -<p>“Theo-dora!”</p> - -<p>“I know. I did promise to chuck saying -‘Golly,’ but really it’s the only word that seems -at all <em>like</em> Uncle Albert,” declared the child. -“Uncle Albert’s a terror! Talk about me-ee! -Yes, talk about <em>me</em> saying everything that comes -into my head! Why, it’s from him that I -inherit that! Only, I’m not in it with him!”</p> - -<p>“It would be a good thing if you were, -Theo,” reproachfully from Mrs. Waters. “I -am sure your uncle has a heart of gold.”</p> - -<p>“Always means there’s something else the -matter with a person”—thus the irrepressible -Theo. “People with ‘hearts of gold’ are<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span> -either fearfully rude like old Miss Crabbe, and -never say ‘Thank you,’ or they don’t care a rap -what they do say, like Uncle Albert. If he -doesn’t happen to approve of Billy’s <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, he’ll -think nothing of telling Billy to break off——”</p> - -<p>“Break off yourself, young woman. You -talk a good deal too much,” put in her brother, -as he rose, big and well-groomed, from the -breakfast-table. “And keep Cariad, will you? -He knows he never follows anyone but his -mistress, but I’ve had to send the station-master’s -boy back with him three times this -week. Good-bye, all.”</p> - -<p>“Good-bye,” said I sweetly. “Give my love -to the Near Oriental, especially to the typists’ -room, will you? How stuffy it will be getting -there now! How thankful I am for anything -that keeps <em>me</em> out of it on a morning like this! -Still, I suppose one ought not to abuse the place -where we first met.”</p> - -<p>This with a glance at him, expressly for -Blanche’s benefit, from under my eyelashes. -For I am acquiring a taste for positively -“baiting” my employer. I’m not going to be -the one made to feel all the awkwardness of the -situation. Not I!</p> - -<p>Let <em>him</em> redden with embarrassment before -the guileless remarks or questions that I aim at -him before his mother and sisters. Serve him -right! As for my employer’s feelings towards<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span> -me, I have seen them ripening from obliviousness -of my presence, through indifference and dislike, -into positive <em>hatred</em>!</p> - -<p>I knew he’d felt the flick of my last remark. -I also knew how he would have liked to retaliate. -Any time since that first evening in the den I -have seen in his eye the yearning to take me by -the shoulders and shake me.</p> - -<p>But he said serenely: “It is a glorious morning, -certainly. Too fine not to walk down to -Sevenoaks, so I’m starting a little earlier.”</p> - -<p>Good! I thought. I always welcomed the -moment that saw the last, for the whole happy, -idle day, of the only inhabitant of The Lawn -with whom I’m not on excellent terms. Once -<em>he’s</em> out of the house, I can enjoy myself and -forget (almost) why I’m in it.</p> - -<p>So it was an annoying shock to me when he -stopped short on his way to the door and added:</p> - -<p>“Nancy, do you care to come part of the way -towards the station with me?”</p> - -<p>He had me there. I saw there was no -escape. For the first time this week he was -able to check me in having things all my own -way; and, mortified and irritated as I felt, I -could only smile up at him in Manner A, and -reply, all eager delight:</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’d love it! Give me two minutes to -put on my hat.”</p> - -<p>In five minutes—for I knew he’d loads of time<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span> -for his train, and it was still a further turning of -the tables to keep the Governor waiting—I -joined him outside the front door.</p> - -<p>Presently we were walking briskly together -down the drive between the green cliffs of -laurel; the air was sweet with the scent of sun-warmed -lilac, the sky was cloudless, the morning -all sunshine—everything, in fact, was as unlike -my own mood as might be.</p> - -<p>For I’d guessed that I was “in for” something. -And although I didn’t yet know what -this might be—although it seemed a whole -pre-existence since the day when the prospect of -a few words from the Head of the firm made -his trembling typist feel that the end of all -things was at hand!—I still felt, amongst other -emotions, a little <em>frightened</em>. Again I saw in -my mind that odd, half-amused, half-threatening -stare which the Governor had bent upon me -that first evening when I said good-night at -the door of his den. Supposing I wasn’t able -to keep the reins in my own hands after all? -A new nervousness mingled in me with an -utterly new form of resentment.</p> - -<p>I hadn’t long to wait for my few words from -the Governor.</p> - -<p>He began—rather to my surprise—without -his traditional “Now, Miss Trant,” but grimly -and stiffly as I don’t suppose Mrs. Waters knows -he can speak.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p> - -<p>“Now! There is something I wanted to -say to you. I am sorry to trouble you, but I -am afraid that I have to ask you to be a little -more careful in your manner to me.”</p> - -<p>Which of the two manners was he going to -fix upon? The one I reserved for him alone, -or the pretty one that I used to him before -his people?</p> - -<p>“My manner? Oh!” I turned a dismayed -face, the face of a typist caught out in some -careless mistake, up to his as we walked along. -“I am afraid I don’t quite know what you -mean.”</p> - -<p>“You do,” said his face.</p> - -<p>But he only said concisely: “I mean the -tone you sometimes feel called upon to adopt -towards me, as just now, at breakfast. Of -course when we are alone you must please yourself -entirely. But that will hardly do before -others.”</p> - -<p>Ah, it was for Manner A, then, that he’d -settled to take me to task. So none of it had -been lost upon him, then; none of the unearthly -sweetness hiding home-thrusts that only he was -able to recognize as such! None of the elaborate -ways in which I’ve been pretending to think of -little things to please him; quoting (in public) -bits of his songs that I call my favourites, -picking a sulphur-coloured pansy—that he daren’t -<em>not</em> wear!—for his button-hole, then making<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span> -him take it out to let me change it for a leaf -of scented geranium, because there were table -decorations of those at the Savoy “the day -we lunched there before you chose my ring; -do you remember?” I hope he’ll never cease -to remember <em>and to regret</em> “that day!”</p> - -<p>For the whole nature of the grudge I have -against him has changed in these few days. -The thoughts have gone into the background -of all that office drudgery and Near Oriental -unpleasantness. I’ve forgotten that I used to -hate him as part of a life of being ordered about -on a few shillings a week. But when, in accepting -this invitation to a house of luxury and leisure, -I had the feeling of “coming home” to my -old sort of life, I hadn’t realized how many of -the feelings belonging to that by-gone life -were going to wake up again inside me, indignantly -ashamed. I was my father’s daughter. -I was well accustomed to the ease and space and -comforts of such a house as The Lawn—the -Waters don’t suspect that, but I <em>was</em> born to -them. I wasn’t born, however, to taking up -the position in such a house which he has forced -upon me. Dully simmering in my mind, for -some time now, has been the thought of this -slight which he has put upon me, this insult.</p> - -<p>This was the thought that softened my voice -into the timid and suppressed “office” key, -which I felt I couldn’t keep up very much longer.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span></p> - -<p>“Have I been saying and doing the wrong -things before your people then? I am sorry!”</p> - -<p>I hoped my voice was not going to run away -with me, but I heard myself beginning to lose -control over that serviceable meekness as I -went on.</p> - -<p>“It is rather difficult for me, you know. -Still, I did think I <em>seemed</em> everything that your -<i lang="fr">fiancée</i> ought to be! I have been trying——”</p> - -<p>“You have,” admitted Mr. Waters grimly. -“Very.”</p> - -<p>“Do you mean I <em>haven’t</em> been a success, -then?” I heard myself demanding quickly. -“Oh! Because, if I don’t give satisfaction——”</p> - -<p>I stopped. It wasn’t my place to finish the -sentence with “I had better give notice!”</p> - -<p>“H’m,” said my employer curtly. “I see.”</p> - -<p>Did he “see,” I wondered? Did he realize -that, though I was bound hand and foot by that -absurd muddle of an agreement, he might break -it when he chose, and that I was longing, desperately, -for him to do so then and there?</p> - -<p>“It’s very hard,” I explained as evenly as I -could, hoping that this explanation would give -him his cue, “hard to manage to hit the right -note always, and to have to decide every minute -upon the way I should naturally behave if I -really <em>were</em> engaged; Of course <em>I’m</em> under -contract, but——”</p> - -<p>Here, very suddenly and unexpectedly, Still<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span> -Waters broke out into a tone I’d never heard -from him before. He positively “let himself -go” as he lashed out with his walking-stick at -an inoffensive dock-leaf in the hedge-row we -were passing, and exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“By Jove! I’d pity any man who was -‘really engaged’ to <em>you</em>!”</p> - -<p>Ah! So I had got him to speak his mind at -last, his own mind that he would have given -anything not to have revealed to any employee! -More than that, I’d driven him into being -inexcusably rude to a woman. His face, where -the tan had deepened to a sullen red, his lips, -compressed into what seemed like a thin, pen-drawn -line, showed me that <em>he</em> had realized -this. <em>I</em> don’t mean him to forget what he said. -I said nothing. The most awkward of all the -many awkward pauses so far, elapsed between -us as we walked along, and before he spoke again. -When he did, I saw that it cost him more than -he liked me to notice.</p> - -<p>“Yes. You see—I ought not to have said -that. I beg your pardon.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Please don’t! I didn’t mind it at -all,” said I, better able to speak very sweetly -now that I felt I had regained some of my -ascendancy. But all the fun of “scoring” off -him had gone, though I must not let him see -that. “Of course you’ve every right to say -exactly what you think, just as Theo does.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span></p> - -<p>For his face, still flushed, ruffled, and without -a trace of the “office-mask,” wore a fleeting -but quite laughable likeness to his youngest -sister’s. I have heard it said of some girl, “She -isn’t pretty exactly, but she has pretty looks,” -and positively, if I didn’t dislike him so intensely, -I should say that the Governor, though never -handsome, has “handsome looks” himself.</p> - -<p>I went on, still mildly: “Only, you know, -Theo and Blanche and your mother don’t -happen to think—what you’ve just said. They -seem to consider that—well! that the man I -was engaged to isn’t—wouldn’t be at all to be -<em>pitied</em>!”</p> - -<p>“I know. You needn’t tell me that. You -have contrived to make all three of them ridic—extremely -fond of you!” This resentfully, -realizing it as part of my insolence to him. -“My mother and the girls don’t see through -it, when you are—are covertly reminding me, -in a hundred small ways, of what I don’t need -to be reminded of. <em>That</em> would be all right, -therefore—only——Other people who came -to the house might not be so unsuspecting -<em>They</em> might chance to notice that there was -something odd—unusual—unnatural in your -attitude to me.”</p> - -<p>“But—but you said any strangeness would -be put down to the awkwardness of a girl so -recently engaged?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span></p> - -<p>“No one would give <em>you</em> much credit for -being ‘awkward!’” Still more resentfully. -“And something might come out. That is -why I am obliged to ask you to be a little more -guarded.”</p> - -<p>“‘More guarded,’” I repeated meekly, like -a child who is learning by heart. “Yes. I -must. I must try harder to make it seem less -‘unnatural’ that we two should be engaged.”</p> - -<p>Again the look, instantly banished, that meant -he pined to shake me.</p> - -<p>“Thank you,” he said.</p> - -<p>“And by the ‘other people,’ I suppose you -mean this other—outspoken Mr. Waters who -is coming over to ‘inspect’ me? Do you -think—are you afraid that <em>he</em> will be sorry for -the man who is supposed to be engaged to me?”</p> - -<p>Under his breath Mr. William Waters muttered -what <em>sounded</em>, at least, like the one word, “IMP!”</p> - -<p>I heard him.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was only the first syllable of the -word “Impertinence!”</p> - -<p>At all events, I heard that distinctly. And -though it meant I <em>had</em> scored another point -and made His Imperturbability forget himself -yet again, I couldn’t enjoy the triumph of it, -nor even laugh to myself. There had been too -much of all this.... I was suddenly tired. -Tears, of fatigue, I suppose, rushed unexpectedly -into my eyes, and I was obliged to turn my head<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span> -and glare over the hedge at a may-tree in full -bloom that became a dancing blur of pink.</p> - -<p><em>He</em> was pretending that he hadn’t begun to -speak at all. He began again, stiffly:</p> - -<p>“My uncle and another man are coming -over to-night. This uncle of mine is eccentric -in some ways, but extremely shrewd; and no—er—two-edged -sort of remark would be lost -on him.”</p> - -<p>“I see,” I said, blinking angrily at the next -may-tree, but still controlling my voice. “I -had better not make <em>any</em> sort of remark at all -then, before him. I could be too shy to open -my lips. In fact, just as I am—used to be, at -the office. Would that be better?”</p> - -<p>“Distinctly better than—er—recent methods,” -said the Governor dryly. “This other man is -merely a business acquaintance with whom I -hope to have dealings. So——”</p> - -<p>“You want him to be favourably impressed,” -I concluded intelligently, “with your <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> -and all your other belongings.”</p> - -<p>“If you choose to put it so. But——”</p> - -<p>A pause.</p> - -<p>“Above all,” said the Governor, “I don’t, on -this particular occasion, don’t want to be made -to look a <em>fool</em>!”</p> - -<p>It came out quite boyishly and slangily, and -for a moment I could almost have liked Still -Waters for that. Then—yes! I thought,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span> -savagely, he mustn’t be allowed to look a fool -even for once, but I may go on looking a fool -and worse, for the next year! And then I saw -that he was inwardly rating himself for having, -as he considered, played into the enemy’s hands—having -allowed me to see exactly when and where -I could get the better of him next.</p> - -<p>He didn’t trust me.</p> - -<p>“I will do my best,” I said, softly and bitterly. -Let him suppose, if he chose, that I meant doing -my best to let him look a fool before his uncle -and his pompous fine business acquaintance, -indeed. What would he amount to, I wondered, -this acquaintance of the Governor’s for -whom I, Monica Trant, was to be on my best -behaviour? Probably someone Father wouldn’t -have had in the house!</p> - -<p>We reached the turning to the station and I -stopped.</p> - -<p>“Was there anything else that you wished to -speak to me about?”</p> - -<p>“No, thank you,” said my employer at his -curtest. “That was all. Good-morning!”</p> - -<p>He lifted his hat; his face beneath it was -set with temper. Good! Let him vent it on -Mr. Dundonald at the office!</p> - -<p>“Good-morning,” I said, and turned away. -I was glad that there had been no one in the lane -to see that parting; to anyone who had watched, -knowing who that tall, blonde, savage-looking<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span> -man was who had said good-morning so frigidly -to that small girl with her head held in a very -straight line with her back, it would have looked -so ludicrously like the last thing in the world -that it really was—a lover’s quarrel!</p> - -<p>How furiously he had marched off! I turned -round, after walking on a few yards, to catch -another glimpse of that stampede.</p> - -<p>Then I was sorry.</p> - -<p>For at that very moment he had elected to -turn round and see me!</p> - -<p>It just shows that people are quite right to -teach children <em>never</em> to turn round on the road.</p> - -<p>I wish I hadn’t!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV<br /> -<span class="smaller">“THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS”</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“Nancy! I say, Nancy! Here’s Billy and -this new man of his turned up <em>hours</em> -before we expected them, and mother’s out -calling somewhere, and Blanche is in the middle -of washing her hair, and just look at the awful -rip I’ve made in my frock; <em>I</em> can’t come!” -announced Theo in a voice subdued almost to -a stage whisper when I met her on the stairs -this afternoon. “So <em>you</em> be a saint and go in -and talk pretty to the visitor till tea, will you?”</p> - -<p>“All right,” I laughed; and passed on to the -drawing-room.</p> - -<p>It was cool and dim in there after the sunshine -of the garden, where I had been lazing over a -book and forgetting this morning’s stress, and -for a moment my eyes could scarcely make out -the two figures that stood with their backs to -the white-curtained French windows.</p> - -<p>Then, beside the Governor’s tall bulk, I saw -a small, dapper, masculine silhouette with a -rather too abrupt “pinch-in” at the waist of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span> -its coat, and a perky, quick turn of the head; -the general effect of Mr. Cyril Maude in some -military part that I had once seen. Was it -this that seemed so familiar, I wondered?</p> - -<p>A monocle fell with a click against a waistcoat-button; -then, as I came forward, a voice, also -vaguely familiar, cried in amazement:</p> - -<p>“Monica Trant! Little Monica! Well, <em>I</em> -am blessed!”</p> - -<p>Who in the world was this that knew my name? -I looked harder at him. Surely it—Was -it?—yes! it <em>was</em> one of father’s old friends, -Major Montresor. So <em>this</em> was my employer’s -“business acquaintance.” I felt myself trying -not to stare. The Governor, I know, was staring -undisguisedly at the pair of us.</p> - -<p>“Why, bless my soul, Monica! Who’d have -expected to see <em>you</em> coming in like this?”</p> - -<p>“Or you, Major Montresor?” I retorted, -obliged to smile at him as I held out my hand -to his always tenacious clasp.</p> - -<p>To be frank, I can’t say I was at all pleased -that the Governor’s visitor had turned out to -be someone who’d seen me so often in the old -days. I don’t want those days to be mixed up -with these. Already a ghost or so out of those -days had seemed inclined to come and haunt -the lovely garden and the big, comfortable rooms -at The Lawn! And now I seemed to see -a regular Richard-the-Third-like procession of<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span> -those ghosts rising up behind the little Major’s -trimly-waisted figure—people with whom I’d -associated last time he’d seen me—standing in -judgment, echoing his “Who’d have expected -to see <em>you</em>?”—adding their phantom stares to -those of the two men whose eyes were actually -upon me. It was tiresome; might mean all -sorts of adaptations; even the assumption of -a “Manner C” for the benefit of Major Montresor! -As for him, he’s a rather amusing, -tactless, talkative, would-be-man-of-the-world -sort of person, who’d been quite ready to get up -what Kipling calls the “You’re-only-a-little-girl -type of flirtation” with me when I was -seventeen or so. I hadn’t met him since, nor -had I wanted to; though I had been distinctly -interested, five years ago, to find that someone -who possessed medals and a moustache cared to -talk to me while I was still in the school-room. -He’d got to look ever so much older since then, -balder, stiffer of movement in his slim boots and -his stays—I beg his pardon, I expect he called -it his belt—and, apparently, more flirtatious -than ever!</p> - -<p>Now, any <em>woman</em> over thirty-five has to be -fairly attractive before she’s allowed to flirt on -without fear of ridicule. But a <em>man</em> at fifty, -or fifty-five, seems to claim the right to monopolize -the prettiest and youngest girl he meets. -It doesn’t matter if he hasn’t a hair on his head<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span> -or a tooth of his own in it. As long as he’s single -and wears trousers, he’s an eligible bachelor—or -so he thinks. A mercy he doesn’t hear the -ideas of the favoured girl on this subject!</p> - -<p>So, quite unsuspectingly, Major Montresor -beamed upon me, and declared at least three -times that this was a most <em>delightful</em> surprise, -upon his word!—seeming almost to forget -his host, who stood a little aside, looking utterly -disconcerted, as far as I could see without turning -my eyes, to discover that this “business acquaintance” -knew his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> better than -her employer ever could!</p> - -<p>Christian names, too!</p> - -<p>“Monica—Bless my soul, what’s this?”</p> - -<p>“This” was an interruption that precipitated -itself through the unlatched French window; -a small white dog that bore in his mouth a large -bone, noisome-smelling and of the earth, earthy, -which he dumped upon the Major’s japanned -boot.</p> - -<p>“<em>Cariad!</em>” growled the Governor, more -angrily than I’d ever heard him speak except to -me, “what do you <em>mean</em>? Here, sir.” He -grabbed him by the collar, kicking the bone -violently over the shallow sill in front of him. -“Sorry, I shall have to get the little brute locked -up.” And he dragged the cheerfully resigned -Cariad out and along the gravel to the back of -the house.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span></p> - -<p>“Decent sort of young fellow, Waters; -very clever business-man; useful to know; -quite a nice chap, too,” commented the little -Major, lowering his voice as he turned to me. -“But, my dear child”—he always used the word -“child” to excuse his gesture while he patted my -shoulder, or smoothed my lace collar, or played -with my silver chain—“my child, how <em>did</em> you -come to be here?”</p> - -<p>“I am staying with Mrs. Waters”—demurely.</p> - -<p>“Well, well! So you knew them! Your -poor father didn’t, did he? You were at school -with the girls of the house, perhaps?”</p> - -<p>“No. I met Mr. Waters”—still more demurely—“in -business.”</p> - -<p>“Business? Upon my word! Glad you’ve -got such a business-adviser. Glad you’re in the -position to need one, Monica. I heard rumours -of your poor father having left you not very well -off. Odd how these untrue bits of gossip get -about!”—with an experienced eye upon the -expensive new afternoon frock of my preferred -pink, with its creamy ruffle, black velvet bow, and -small paste buckle. “You look the picture of -prosperity and health and good looks, if you’ll -allow an old friend to say so?”</p> - -<p>Well, one simply <em>has</em> to “allow” things to -people who call themselves “old.” But for -that, how many “old friends” would have -received the order of “Paws off!” or “No<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span> -patting, please,” or a more politely expressed -equivalent from the girls who can’t be rude to -their father’s contemporaries?</p> - -<p>I was only just about to draw my hand away -from another long and tender squeeze of Major -Montresor’s, when his host came back to us. -Through the French window, as the Governor -pushed it open, a ray of sunlight caught and blazed -on the magnificent diamonds of the ring which -had been bought at Gemmer’s for me to wear.</p> - -<p>Instantly Major Montresor pounced on that -other hand.</p> - -<p>“Hal-lo! What’s this? It isn’t——?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said I, sedately.</p> - -<p>“Little Monica engaged?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Come, not really, what? No! You don’t -say so, really?”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid I must, Major Montresor.”</p> - -<p>“By—Jove! And I never heard! Here’s -a blow!” He sighed tempestuously. “Well! -Youth will be served! Fortunate youth!” he -prattled on without a break. “I’m sure he’s to -be congratulated, the dog. Always hanging -round you in the old days, I remember. Yes! -Cultured sort of young Johnny with a beard—what -was his name, now? Ah, I have it—Vandeleur, -of course, young Sydney Vandeleur!”</p> - -<p>Pleasant for me, wasn’t it? To have this -voice from the Past blurting out—less tactful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span> -even than Cicely!—the name of the lover I had -lost. In a flash I saw my employer’s slight movement—saw -by the passing look on his face that -his “business-man’s memory,” which never forgets -a name, had instantly associated that of -“Vandeleur” with those people at the Carlton -to whom I’d first introduced my “<i lang="fr">fiancé</i>.” -What must he imagine? Still, that wasn’t the -point. The point was that he should explain -to this gossiping little Major, as quickly as -possible, how things really—I mean officially, -stood! To my horror he didn’t speak. There -was an agonizing pause. I shot a glance at the -Governor.... Heavens! He, of all people, -seemed utterly at a loss—fidgeting like a schoolboy; -he who could “break the news” to his -staff at the office without turning a hair, was -leaving it all, here, apparently to <em>me</em>!</p> - -<p>Well!</p> - -<p>Hurriedly I was beginning:</p> - -<p>“But, Major Montresor——” when the drawing-room -door opened to the entrance of Mrs. -Waters, in her soft grey satin wrap and black -picture hat; Cariad, liberated and tail-wagging, -in her wake.</p> - -<p>Greetings were exchanged—what talk followed -I scarcely heard, until the gentle voice of the -Governor’s mother exclaimed:</p> - -<p>“Oh! Then you had met my son’s <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>?”</p> - -<p>“<i lang="fr">Fiancée?</i>” echoed Major Montresor. His<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span> -monocle dropped again, so did his jaw. I never -saw a man so utterly, so comically taken aback. -He wheeled abruptly, to stare from me to the -Governor, then back to his hostess again. -“Your son’s? Am I to understand that it is -<em>he</em> who is engaged to Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>Here at last the Governor did find his tongue.</p> - -<p>“I have that honour,” he said, clearing his -throat, taking a step forward, and looking down -at the little Major just as some tawny Great -Dane might have looked at Cariad—but no! -No big dog can ever look as utterly silly—there’s -no other word for it—as a man who doesn’t -know what to say next. And he who had, it -appeared, particularly wished to avoid being made -to look a fool on this occasion—Well! He must -admit that it was none of <em>my</em> doing that he stood -there looking like that!</p> - -<p>“Well, well, well! I suppose I shall have to -grin and bear it and congratulate you, Waters,” -rattled off Major Montresor. “I certainly <em>do</em> -congratulate you!”</p> - -<p>“Doesn’t feel <em>sorry</em> for you,” I added mentally, -hoping the unspoken comment showed in the -one glance I allowed myself to steal at my employer -as I crossed over to sit on the low chintz -couch beside his mother, while the visitor talked -on.</p> - -<p>“Still, you might have prepared me for this, -my dear fellow. You might have given your<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span> -heart-broken rival some warning. Let me down -a bit gently, eh? about how you were robbing -me of the one girl I’d hoped might solace my -declining years. Met Miss Trant, Mrs. Waters? -Bless my life, rather! Used to billet myself for -months at Colonel Trant’s house in the old days—ripping -old place it was, too; gorgeous beech -avenue; lawn something like your own here, -but sweeping away down to the river—oh, ripping! -What’s become of the place now, Miss -Monica; let, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“Sold,” I said, shortly.</p> - -<p>Without looking up from the patch of carpet -on which Missis’s little dog slumbered with his -muzzle resting against my shoe, I could feel the -change that came into my employer’s grey -glance—the half-disconcerted “M’m. News to -<em>me</em>, all this!” expression that just flicked across -his face. His mother’s hand made a little movement -towards mine—and for some reason I felt -that she was a little sorry.... I was furious! -Why on earth couldn’t this little he-gossip—though -why they should understand by the -word “gossip” an old woman, I never <em>shall</em> know—why -couldn’t he allow these people to go on -thinking that the typist her employer had chosen -to honour had never been before inside any sort -of house but one of a row of seventy or eighty, all -with the same sort of pot-plants hiding what lay -beyond the Nottingham lace curtained windows,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span> -with the same neat front door, and the same -metaphorical wolf crouched grimly in front of it! -Desperately I wished that something might -suddenly deprive Major Montresor of the power -of speech, only I suppose nothing ever could -do <em>that</em>!</p> - -<p>Evidently he wasn’t going to spare me anything. -I was to stand full in the limelight of -other days.</p> - -<p>“Hope the new tenants will keep it up as they -should, then, that’s all”—genially. “They took -on the fishing with it, I suppose? ‘Everything -went together.’ What? I see. Hope they’ll -take as much pride as your poor father did in -those magnificent hot-houses of his. Ah, I’ve -never tasted peaches like those, anywhere else! -Remember how you used to race me down to -get the finest peach before breakfast, Monica? -Yes, hang it all, I think I shall have to ask your -leave to go on calling her that, Waters. Loved -her from childhood’s hour, y’see. Her childhood’s, -not mine, of course!”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” murmured the Governor.</p> - -<p>Miss Robinson would have been kept in high -spirits for the next week by that “Oh.”</p> - -<p>It didn’t amuse <em>me</em> much as I sat there, carrying -out to the letter my promise to say nothing and -look shy. I was feeling at least as embarrassed -as I looked by the time tea was brought in and -the girls made their appearance; Blanche with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span> -her fair hair unmanageably soft from its washing; -Theo, as usual, all eyes for the visitor. I hoped -they might distract his attention from me—they’re -quite young enough!—but no! All -the time he was sipping his tea and munching -slice after slice of cake, the little Major continued -to pour out comment after embarrassing comment -upon my affairs, addressing himself chiefly now -to the Governor.</p> - -<p><em>He</em> sat looking still more hopelessly uncomfortable -and bigger than ever in contrast to the -frail china tea-cup and the slice of wafer-like -bread-and-butter in his clutch. Why do people -allow men in at drawing-room teas? Why -couldn’t those two have been having theirs in -the billiard-room—the garage—<em>anywhere</em>—where -I could have been saved from Major Montresor’s -relentless flow of conversation?</p> - -<p>“And to think I should have known you all -these months without suspecting that your gain -was to be my loss—no, no, I don’t mean the business -part of it, my boy. I mean this engagement -of yours, ha, ha! And then—funny thing! -to be congratulating the wrong man.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>were</em> you?” burst suddenly, irrepressibly, -from Theo, unable to check the following -“Who?”</p> - -<p>“Theo-<em>dora</em>, dear!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, never mind, never mind!” took up the -little Major, turning quickly to the child and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span> -smiling from her to me. “I don’t tell tales out -of school, young lady. But brown eyes”—with -another monocled glance at those wide -search-lights under the yellow curls—“brown -eyes always stand for fickleness! There must -have been a dozen at least of us that you treated -disgracefully, Monica, eh? One comfort is -I’m not the <em>only</em> sufferer!”</p> - -<p>He was not!</p> - -<p>My heart sank lower and lower at the thought -that this garrulous little blunderer was to stay -for dinner. And the other expected guest, the -outspoken uncle, was to be here for the whole -week-end! What would <em>he</em> be like? Not worse -than Major Montresor—that was the single ray -of comfort. Nothing <em>could</em> be worse! Still, -the two together—what a prospect!</p> - -<p>Even as I was shuddering over it, the sound of -some confused commotion was borne in to us -from the hall; and then a loud, bluff, breezy -voice positively shouted:</p> - -<p>“Name? My good woman, you’re pretty -new to this house, or you’d know my name. -Same as your master’s. No! Don’t announce -me. I’ll announce myself.” (As if this were -necessary!) “Where are they all? Tea? -Good! Young lady there too? Excellent!”</p> - -<p>The door, this time, burst open, and in -<em>avalanched</em> (it’s the only word) Uncle Albert -Waters.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE ORDEAL BY INSPECTION</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>In looks, Uncle Albert Waters was just like -the John Bull of the cartoons, minus the hat. -In voice, he was Theo through a megaphone. -In manner, a genial form of hurricane.</p> - -<p>“Now then, now then! How’s everybody?” -he blared. “Mary! Blanche! Theo!” (An -explosive kiss to each.) “Ha! Billy, my -boy!” (A violent blow on the shoulder.) -“Major Montresor, glad to see you again—how -are you? Still defying the enemy? -Splendid!” (A pump-handle shake of the -hand.) “Now, Billy!” turning again to my -employer. “You needn’t introduce <em>me</em> to your -sweetheart. She knows who I am, and what -I’ve come for. What I want is to have a good -look at <em>her</em>. Young lady,” to me, “will you be -kind enough to oblige an old man whose eyesight’s -not quite what it was, by turning full -to the light?”</p> - -<p>I did. What else could I do?</p> - -<p>I sat, facing the low flood of late afternoon<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span> -sunshine, and feeling without seeing that all -the others turned a little away from me, while -Uncle Albert fixed his prominent, honest grey -eyes upon my face and stared at it without -reserve for—well! it seemed several of the -longest minutes I’d ever known. Then judgment -was pronounced.</p> - -<p>“Well done, Billy!” Here there would -have been another of those heavy blows upon -the Governor’s broad shoulder, but he had -edged away. “You’ve chosen well, boy. A -bonnie girl, and a well-bred one, and one to do -you credit. Now, Mary, I’m ready for that tea. -And, you, my dear”—meaning me—“pass me -the bread and butter. What’s your name, -now?”</p> - -<p>“My full name is Monica,” I said for the -benefit of Major Montresor who had fixed the -monocle with something like mild indignation -upon the last comer. “They call me Nancy, -here.”</p> - -<p>“Nancy. A pretty name for a pretty girl, -appropriate, too. ‘<i>All my fancy dwells upon -Nancy</i>’—eh, William? You used to sing that -song once upon a time, dare say you haven’t -forgotten it, now?”</p> - -<p>And so on, and so forth. I really don’t know -how much more of it there was before the -dreadful old man had finished his ample tea and -was carried off to his room by the Governor in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span> -much the same humour, I thought, as he had -dragged Cariad and his bone to the back of -the house.</p> - -<p>A pity Uncle Albert Waters couldn’t be -locked up in the tool-house!</p> - -<p>I felt like murder when I reached my pretty -room at last. What a day it had been! It -had seemed forty-eight hours long at least. -Beginning with that horrible walk to the station -with the Governor—Then there had been the -unwelcome appearance of Major Montresor and -his clumsy blunderings, first about Sydney and -secondly about the old times at home—and -now this terrible old Uncle turning up to -inspect and blare out his embarrassing verdict -upon my looks and suitability; oh, it’s the last -straw!</p> - -<p>It’s the worst that’s happened yet! There -<em>can</em> be nothing to beat the Governor’s Uncle -at tea, even though the evening isn’t yet over. -I feel as if it were long past bed-time, and there’s -only half an hour or so before dressing for -dinner! Even half an hour alone——</p> - -<p>But I haven’t been allowed a minute of it -alone.</p> - -<p>The girls fluttered into my room almost as -soon as I came up; brimful of sympathy, but -not sympathetic enough to keep themselves from -laughter.</p> - -<p>“Poor dear Nancy! Wasn’t it awful?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span></p> - -<p>“Didn’t I tell you Uncle Albert was a terror? -But you don’t think he really <em>talks</em> like me, -Nancy, do you? Billy <em>will</em> say he <em>does</em>!”</p> - -<p>“Theo! He can <em>easily</em> hear you from his -room, and the window’s open. Oh, I do hope -that when I’m engaged my young man won’t -have <em>quite</em> such loud relations!”</p> - -<p>“Better than having deceitful whispery voices -and saying horrid things in them about you -behind your back,” retorted Theo. “And -anyhow, Uncle Albert did <em>like</em> her!”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” said Blanche, deprecatingly, “but -isn’t it nearly as terrible as if he disapproved?”</p> - -<p>“It’s <em>worse</em>,” I decided to myself as I dressed -for dinner, in my white, to please Theo, who -apparently has some mysterious child’s reason -for wanting me to wear that particular frock -to-night. “Even if one were madly in love, -a relation like that would be quite enough to -make one wonder if it were worth it! Yes! -Even if one were <em>really</em> engaged to be married -to a man—the man Mr. Waters would ‘pity,’ -one would break it off rather than put up with -such an uncle-in-law. Well! Thank goodness -I’m spared <em>that</em> at all events! I hope -Uncle Albert won’t pay many of his visits of -inspection during the next year. One or two -ought to be enough for him, and I’ve taken the -plunge now,” thought I, “and got it over. He -can’t go on being much more awful at dinner!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THEO SITS UP</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Yes! It was all of a piece with the fiascoes -of the day that my little watch gained -ten minutes, hurrying me through my dressing -and down, before I’d any need for such haste, -into the drawing-room.</p> - -<p>Here, big and black-and-white against the -giant pink roses of the chintz couch, I found -(as I needn’t have hoped not to find, on this -day of <i lang="fr">contretemps</i>!) my employer alone.</p> - -<p>He sprang to his feet, of course, and wheeled -forward a chair for me (looking as if he wished -he could have pushed it and me through the -French windows and out of the house for ever!—Goodness -knows I reciprocated that wish!) -and I sat down.</p> - -<p>Then ensued what I’m beginning to call to -myself “one of our pauses.”</p> - -<p>But I felt that this evening my nerves wouldn’t -stand silence—that nothing could float me over -these quicksands of awkwardness but an unceasing -ripple of small-talk. If <em>he</em> wouldn’t,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span> -I must say something; anything! The first -thing that came into my head!</p> - -<p>“H—how close it is! Do you think there -will be thunder to-night?”</p> - -<p>There was suppressed thunder enough on his -face as he answered politely: “It is getting -rather stifling. Perhaps you would like the -window open?” and he rose and walked across -to it.</p> - -<p>Then, from under the chintz valance of the -couch where he’d been sitting, there emerged at -small and cringing form with an enormous -white satin bow tied to his collar.</p> - -<p>“Poor Cariad!” I went on, patting the -unusually subdued little dog, “you <em>have</em> got a -smart new tie! Don’t you like it?”</p> - -<p>A one-sided conversation didn’t meet the -case, so the “dumb animal” (as they call it) -gave me the cue for my next remark to the -almost equally dumb human being.</p> - -<p>“I’ve always wanted to know where he got -his rather curious name,” I said. “What <em>does</em> -it mean?”</p> - -<p>“It’s Welsh,” explained my employer -abruptly, still standing by the open window. -“It means ‘Sweetheart’”—if you must know, -his tone concluded.</p> - -<p>“Oh.... Is he a Welsh terrier?”</p> - -<p>“We got him from Wales. From a little -place in Anglesey where my people sometimes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span> -go for the summer holidays,” my employer -vouchsafed, with an effort. “Porth Cariad -the name of it is—‘Port Sweetheart.’”</p> - -<p>“Fancy calling a <em>place</em> that!” I took up, -with the one idea of keeping this conversation -from coming to a dead stop. “But some people -call <em>anything</em> that!” (I was wondering inwardly -what this last remark could possibly mean -even as I went on.) “Is it by the sea?”</p> - -<p>“Er—I think so.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; ports generally are, of course.... -Is it—is it a <em>pretty</em> place at all?”</p> - -<p>“Quite. It hasn’t been spoilt yet. Charming -little bay. The usual sort of thing.” (Pause.)</p> - -<p>“Yes—? <em>Do</em> tell me about it!”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I don’t know—There are about -two cottages. No end of gorse—heather.”</p> - -<p>“How lovely!” Then, scenting another -pause, I hurried on—“Isn’t there anything <em>else</em> -there?”</p> - -<p>“Well—There’s a sort of woman.”</p> - -<p>“A woman? Really? How interesting! -What sort of a woman?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, a <em>wooden</em> one,” returned the Governor, -who was too obviously thinking about something -else. A wooden woman! What <em>could</em> he mean -by it? But before I could begin my next -question the door opened; the Governor turned -quickly, then, seeing who came in, he exclaimed -in accents of concentrated disgust:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span></p> - -<p>“Theo! Isn’t it time you were in bed?”</p> - -<p>“No! Because I’m not going! I’m going -to sit up for dinner, just for this once!” announced -the child, triumphantly advancing upon -us in a Prize-Day “effect” of let-down white -skirts and long, cream-silk-stockinged legs. “I -asked Mother, and that nice old man” (Poor -Major Montresor!) “begged her to let me, and -I may! So there! Nancy, <em>don’t</em> you like the -way I’ve done my hair for it?”</p> - -<p>She had tied a fillet of white satin—a bit of -the same ribbon which was disconcerting Cariad—about -her short curls.</p> - -<p>“What’s that for? To keep your brains -from bursting through?” demanded her brother -crossly. But Theodora only tossed that yellow -posy of a head of hers, retorting that Major -Montresor thought she was sixteen, and was -going to sit next her, and that there would be a -<em>surprise</em> at dinner!</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The surprise—or the series of surprises—didn’t -dawn upon me in its full hideousness all -at once.</p> - -<p>In the dim-shaded dining-room, where the -tall maids flitted noiselessly to and from the -hatch at one end, the round table about which -the seven of us sat down seemed, with its -many candles in the curving arms of Sheffield<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span> -candlesticks, its gleaming white porcelain, and -its winking, patterned array of silver and cut -glass, like some great oasis of softly-radiant -light. Upon it, as table-centre, there was set -the silver-bordered pool of an oval mirror, -reflecting a large silver goblet, round which I -could read part of the inscription:</p> - -<p class="center">1896<br /> -FIFTY YARDS SWIM——<br /> -SECS. 6——<br /> -W. WAT——</p> - -<p class="noindent">that upheld a pyramid of creamy, perfumed -blossom, softened with sprays of feathery white. -Budding spikes of the same blossom were massed -about the pedestals of four little winged Loves, -offering baskets that held tiny bouquets of the -white sprays, mingled with chocolates wrapped -up in silver-foil. Gradually but surely I realized -the effect of all this decoration; it was indescribably, -unmistakably, blatantly—<em>bridal</em>!</p> - -<p>And then I realized who was responsible for -it. That gift of Heaven, Theodora, was beaming -upon her handiwork.</p> - -<p>It must have been her innocent hands, too, -that had tied up each table-napkin with a white -bow and a spray of buds; had cut silver-paper -out of a chocolate-box into the miniature -horseshoes that lay strewn negligently but<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span> -broadcast all over the tablecloth; and had -encircled the place where I sat with a wreath -of crystallized rose-leaves in the shape of a heart.</p> - -<p>With one frantic sweep of my hand I brushed -these last into the table-napkin on my lap. I -must pretend I’d noticed nothing, and then -(though I knew that thunder-cloud was deepening -every moment on the Governor’s brow) -perhaps the others really <em>wouldn’t</em> notice!</p> - -<p>Vain hope!</p> - -<p>It was dashed even before the two usually -so sedate maids, who seemed, this evening, to -emanate some subtle atmosphere of sympathy -and giggle, had finished handing round the soup.</p> - -<p>“Dear me! Who arranged the flowers like -this?” murmured Mrs. Waters, with a mildly -bewildered glance at this white-and-silver -display. “I thought Blanche was going to -have just the little crystal tubs with the pink -Maman Cochets and some maidenhair fern?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mumsie, I was. But Theo <em>would</em> put -white heather and syringa!”</p> - -<p>“Because—Oh, can’t you see <em>why?</em>” broke -in the cornet voice of the youngest of the family, -who sat between me and the Major.</p> - -<p>And before anyone could answer or check -her, this appalling child went on to give chapter -and verse for each of her enormities.</p> - -<p>“It’s because, you see, syringa’s so awfully -like orange-blossoms!—They call it ‘mock<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span> -orange!’ And I meant it for Billy and -Nancy!”</p> - -<p>She paused for breath (so did everybody else), -then she hurried on.</p> - -<p>“Yes! I did the table, because I wanted it -to be appropriate! So I took away those -everyday bon-bon dishes and fetched out these -little china Cupids to hold the choc’lates -instead! <em>Aren’t</em> they ducky?”</p> - -<p>No one responded, but every eye was upon -Theo, who took it all for approval and beamed -again, enlarging upon her arrangements.</p> - -<p>“And that’s why I got Nancy to put on her -white satin”—</p> - -<p>(<em>Ah!</em>)</p> - -<p>—“with those lace lilies round her front, so’s -she could look more like a <em>bride</em>!”</p> - -<p>(What I did look like at that moment I don’t -know. But the Governor couldn’t have looked -more like the executioner in a cloak-and-dagger -film drama.)</p> - -<p>“And <em>do</em> you see the confetti, of those teeny -silver horseshoes, and the pink rose-leaves -strewn over—Oh, Nancy!”—reproachfully—“<em>Look</em> -what’s happened to the Heart! And -that was supposed to be Billy’s!”</p> - -<p>Here I saw the mouth of Uncle Albert, who -was sitting facing me at Mrs. Waters’ right -hand, open in readiness for that approving -bellow of his. “Never mind, I’ll make another.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span> -I <em>wanted</em> to do it all like this the first evening -she came down,” explained Theo further. -“Only, of course, we weren’t quite sure then -whether she’d like it—”</p> - -<p>(<em>Like</em> it!)</p> - -<p>—“but it <em>was</em> all my idea!”</p> - -<p><em>Then</em> came the bellow of laughter, and—“A -jolly good idea too, Kiddie!” from the other of -my employer’s “loud relations,” his odious -uncle. “Very pretty, Theo!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I thought it would be rather sweet! -Doesn’t <em>Billy</em>?” said the child, with a half-defiant -look towards the Head of the House, -who looked—there is no denying it—as if he -were longing to kick someone. He <em>did</em> kick—a -smothered yelp from under the table told me -what. He had vented some of his feelings upon -the little dog whose name meant “Sweetheart” -in Welsh—who came from that port—one of -those by the sea! where there are two cottages -and a wooden woman—whatever that meant! -The taller of the parlour-maids, handing lobster -<i lang="fr">soufflé</i> to her master, wasn’t wooden enough, -nor quick enough in repressing her smile.</p> - -<p>A glare of reproof was her portion as he -refused the dish, and a peremptory, “Move that—er—thing. -It’s in the way!” with a jerk -towards the silver pot that held the spraying -conservatory plant.</p> - -<p>“<em>Oh</em>, what a shame!” protested Theo loudly,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span> -as this emblem was borne away. “And I’d -specially <em>put</em> it so that it <em>shouldn’t</em> be in his way -when he wanted to look at Nancy!”</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Comes there much more of it?</i>’” I quoted -to myself, but I caught Major Montresor’s eye; -he was looking puzzled, almost sorry for me! -And that nerved me up to laughing (I flatter -myself, quite naturally!) as I murmured to Theo -that she was a sentimental little goose!</p> - -<p>“Sentimental? A good thing if she is!” -took up Theo’s irrepressible uncle. “I like it. -In these highly-educated days it’s a good sign! -Yes, I like to see the young folks still taking -an interest in watching a real Romance, instead -of stuffing up their heads with nothing but -mixed hockey and hunger-strikes and rubbish -of that sort! That never brought a girl a sweetheart -yet, <em>did</em> it, Mary? <em>Does</em> it, Nancy? -And that’s all a girl’s there for, when you get -down to bedrock. I may be a bit behind the -times——”</p> - -<p>As he was the only person talking at the -table, he was considerably “behind” with his -dinner. Unheeding, he discoursed on all through -the <i lang="fr">entrée</i> and the saddle of mutton.</p> - -<p>“Yes! I may be hackneyed and old-fashioned, -but that’s what I feel. What do you say, -Major?”</p> - -<p>What chance had the Major of saying -anything? The whole conversation had been<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span> -pretty equally divided between the two <i lang="fr">enfants -terribles</i>—the girl of thirteen and the man of -sixty.</p> - -<p>“Plenty of Romance in our young days! -All over for us now! Still, we enjoy seeing -the rising generation keep it up! Good luck to -’em. White heather for luck, eh? Yes, yes! -Must have one of those little sprigs in my button-hole—memento -of a very happy occasion!—Bless -my soul, everybody finished except me? -I talk too much, ha-ha!—must get on.”</p> - -<p>He went on eating very quickly, talking -between mouthfuls.</p> - -<p>“‘Mock-orange,’ eh? Capital! Hope it -won’t be long before we all see <em>real</em> orange-blossom, -a wreath of it, round the pretty head of -a certain young lady in white! Yes! dash it -all, Mary, I must drink that in champagne.”</p> - -<p>He took champagne.</p> - -<p>So did I. I felt I was going to need it!</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waters let it foam and sizzle into her -glass; Blanche, though murmuring that the -horrid stuff always reminded her of seltzer-water -that the knives had been washed in, sipped at it -for the sake of the “occasion.” Major Montresor -took it—reverting afterwards to his -invariable whisky and soda.</p> - -<p>The only “grown-up” who didn’t take it was -my employer. Still Waters refused his usual -peg and drank plain water.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span></p> - -<p>Every now and then he seemed to be making -spasmodic efforts to remember that he had -guests under his roof; but they weren’t successful! -This added to my discomfort! I saw his -mother glance at him, but only once, and with -a half-humorous little smile! Didn’t she <em>mind</em> -the fact of the host remaining well over the -verge of unmitigated sulks? Apparently not! -Possibly she’s seen him in his tantrums before -now—even though she didn’t know the reason -of these! I was feeling almost thankful that -one of the guests was such a host in himself; -thankful, up to a point, for Theo’s gusto! For -the child who was “sitting-up” grew more -excited as each course was handed round. With -her rose-flushed cheeks, her tossed curls from -which the white fillet had slipped crookedly -down over one eyebrow, her roving brown -gaze, and her giggling spirits that raced higher -and higher with the bubbles in the glasses -(of the others), she was the model of an infant -Bacchante. “Sitting-up!” It was her -wretched brother whom she was causing to sit -up, and his still more wretched official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>! -The only thing to do was for both of us to rise -to the situation. Only he wouldn’t—or couldn’t. -So, once more <em>I</em> had to.</p> - -<p>There is after all a certain relief in feeling -you’ve reached the climax of all things, and that -Fate <em>cannot</em> have anything worse in store!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span></p> - -<p>And this I <em>did</em> feel when Uncle Albert, -having tossed off his toast, expressed a wish to -know what sort of place the young folks fancied -for their honeymoon.</p> - -<p>“Oh, the Riviera!” was what I rushed into -the breach with here. “It would be so glorious -to see palms and flowering oleanders, and casinos, -and scent all growing wild!—I mean the Parma -violets for it—against a brilliant blue sea—such -a treat to see a really bright blue bay and golden -sunshine in the middle of winter——”</p> - -<p>“Winter?” put in Uncle Albert quite indignantly. -“But my dear, we’re well on into -June now; you aren’t going to keep this poor -Billy of yours”—with a wave of the hand -towards the head of the table—“waiting for -his wedding till November or December, -<em>surely</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Oh—er—why not?—we thought so.”</p> - -<p>“We thought—that is, Miss—er—<em>she</em> said,” -blurted out the Governor desperately, “that -a year’s engagement was——”</p> - -<p>“Far too long, my boy!” interrupted his -uncle peremptorily, “far too long! Don’t you -give in to her about that! Why wait, Billy? -What the dickens is there to wait <em>for</em>? (What’s -this—ice? No, thanks.) Why, when I was -a fine young fellow of your age, if I’d got a bonnie -girl like that to look kindly at me, and enough -money to keep her in style, I’d not have rested<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span> -until I’d clapped a plain gold ring on the top of -those diamonds on her finger. Nothing like -settling down happily as soon as you’ve got the -chance. Like that picture—what is it—oh, you -know! Finest picture that ever was painted, -I consider—in the Royal Academy years ago—prints -of it in every shop-window—what’s the -name of the thing?”</p> - -<p>“‘<cite>My friend Mr. White</cite>’?” suggested the -Major.</p> - -<p>“No, no; <em>what</em> the dickens is it? A really -beautiful thing, now, if I could only remember——”</p> - -<p>“‘<cite>Hope</cite>,’ by G. F. Watts?” put in the -Governor’s mother softly.</p> - -<p>“No!”</p> - -<p>“‘<cite>Harmony</cite>’?” suggested Blanche.</p> - -<p>“‘<cite>Simple Aveu</cite>’—no—‘<cite>The Soul’s Awakening</cite>,’ -Uncle Albert?” fortissimo from Theo.</p> - -<p>“No—none o’ those. You all know it, -though. I shall think of the name in a minute. -Anyhow, I shall give these two young people -the best print to be got of it, to hang up in their -hall.”</p> - -<p>And his prominent grey eyes seemed to be -staring over my head at some imaginary plan of -this entrance!</p> - -<p>“Only, they must hurry up, mind! No more -of this nonsense about their waiting a twelve-month -and courting all the love away! Happy’s<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span> -the wooing that’s not long a-doing: isn’t that -right, Major?”</p> - -<p>“Quite, quite!” Major Montresor got his -word in edge-ways at last. “To my sorrow” -(old humbug!) “be it spoken! You see, -Waters, the longer you play your fish, the more -likely he—that is, <em>she</em>—is to get away! You’ve -got to put on all the strain your tackle will bear -at <em>once</em>!”</p> - -<p>“Hear that, Bill?” (The Governor was -looking as if <em>he</em> would not be able to stand much -more strain of this kind.) “Put it all on at -once—excellent advice! And where are you -going to have the wedding, Mary? Here, I -daresay?”</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> had hoped so,” said Mrs. Waters, with her -pretty smile at me.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes; <em>here</em>, Uncle Albert!” cried -Blanche, who, I know, would regard this wedding -as a dress-rehearsal of her own. And then she -and Theo began to enlarge, in a kind of two-part -pæon, on this function that will never be.</p> - -<p>“A big tent on the lawn——”</p> - -<p>“Red carpet across the gravel——”</p> - -<p>“A <em>huge</em> wedding-cake just in that very -place”—with a bacchanalian gesture towards -the mirrored table-centre. “All the lovely -presents put out in the den——”</p> - -<p>“Too small, Blanche! I know Uncle Albert -will want to give them <em>all</em> his furniture.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span></p> - -<p>“In mother’s bedroom, then! We could -easily get it to look like not that at all!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and Billy and Nancy standing up in -the drawing-room together for all the people -to look at and shake hands with, and kiss——”</p> - -<p>(Here a sound as of the word “Pup-chick!” -from the other parlourmaid, who was disposing -the finger-glasses.)</p> - -<p>“Yes, and showers of confetti dropping out -of everybody’s hat for weeks afterwards——”</p> - -<p>“And the band playing like anything all the -time—<em>all</em> the wedding-marches and glides and -rag time and all the waltzes that make you feel -you <em>must</em> dance——”</p> - -<p>“And a white satin slipper tied on to the back -of the motor when they go away——”</p> - -<p>“Yes! One of mine, so’s you can see it! -Oh, won’t it be a gorgeous day!” trumpeted -Theo, bounding up and down as if wire springs -only held her to her chair. “Oh, <em>why</em> isn’t it -going to be next week? Still, even this evening -is <em>almost</em> as good as a sort of wedding-breakfast! -Don’t you think so, everybody? With Nancy -looking so sweet in that dress, and the way I’ve -done the table, and the champagne, and everything? -Only, in one way”—crescendo—“it’s -<em>better</em>! Because, if it were the <em>real</em> wedding, -the bride and bridegroom would be leaving us -to-night! And as it is, they’re staying on,” -concluded Theodora, with a peal of rapturous<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span> -laughter, “and there’ll be <em>no</em> horrid good-byes -to say, and <em>no</em> crying!”</p> - -<p>“<em>Won’t</em> there!” came from the straight lips -of her brother, in a grimmer and more deadly -tone than even I had ever heard. “<em>You’ll</em> be -crying, miss, before the evening’s over.”</p> - -<p>And, to anticipate a little, she <em>was</em>.</p> - -<p>In half an hour or so, the easily-wounded heart -of thirteen was being sobbed out on her pillow. -For when, after the gratifications of a “quite -grown-up bow” from Major Montresor and a -prophecy from Uncle Albert that it wouldn’t -be many years now before Theo had a wedding-breakfast-table -of her own to decorate, the -child had turned a glowing face up to her -brother’s, she had received only the curtest of -“good nights” dropped over his shoulder.</p> - -<p class="tb">To me the thought of that farewell glimpse -of him was nothing less than a reprieve.</p> - -<p>“Thank goodness that, as he’s got two men-guests -to attend to, it’ll be the last of him that -I shall be obliged to put up with this evening!” -thought I, as I rose to follow Mrs. Waters. “He’ll -have to disappear into the den or the billiard-room -with <em>them</em>. <em>I</em> shall have an evening off. -Yes! a regular ‘evening off,’ like the maids! -Only, I suppose, a housemaid uses those evenings -to <em>see</em> her young man. With me, it’s just the -other way round. ‘No followers allowed’<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span> -indeed! ‘Nothing BUT following’ has been my -trouble. So hurray for a nice peaceful evening -in the drawing-room with his mother and Blanche. -After that <em>ghastly</em> meal, how I shall enjoy the -rest!”</p> - -<p>Even as I was congratulating myself upon it, -my hopes were again dashed to the ground—this -time, of course, by the hand of Uncle Albert.</p> - -<p>“No, no, Billy. The Major and I are too old -not to let you have your bit of time to yourselves -now, aren’t we, Montresor?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Rather!</em>” with hollow geniality from the -Major.</p> - -<p>Apparently it’s one thing for a man to mention -his “declining years” and add about fifteen of -them to his age. It’s quite another to find -himself claimed as a contemporary by a man -who’s ten years older than he is!</p> - -<p>“We two old fogies can look after ourselves, -my boy. We’re not going to keep you in here, -away from your girl. Not a word!—that’s quite -all right—quite understood! Been young ourselves -once, though you may not believe it—off -with you!”</p> - -<p>And, to my unspeakable fury, he closed the -dining-room door upon what he’s pleased to -call “these young people.” The door of the -drawing-room had already been shut upon Mrs. -Waters and Blanche!</p> - -<p>Was there to be <em>no</em> respite, then, after the awful<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span> -meal I had just sat through? A nice evening -it had been—this dinner which I suppose had -been meant to be so jolly for all of us, as well -as for the two guests! Well! at the end of it -all here was Major Montresor piqued; Theo in -tears; the parlour-maids glared at, and Cariad -kicked! Even Uncle Albert hadn’t been able -to remember the name of the horrible picture, -whatever it was, that he meant to give “us.”</p> - -<p>And now here was I, left stranded once more -face to face with my fuming employer; only, -this time, with the memory of that child’s light-hearted -mockery of stage-management between -us!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST KISS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“Well! I suppose there is nothing for -it but to go in here,” I said, marching, -with my head well up, to the door of the -den.</p> - -<p>The Governor was only just in time to open -it for me. Without a look at him I walked in, -making straight for the piano-stool.</p> - -<p>I sat down. I planted my foot firmly upon -the loud pedal. My fingers clutched at the first -chords of a spirited war-song as if it were a life-buoy.</p> - -<p>“Do sing!” I heard myself fling almost imperiously -at my employer.</p> - -<p>He sang—not well.</p> - -<p>“And please keep on singing,” I said, into the -last chords of the song. “<em>Loud</em> ones, please.”</p> - -<p>Without any further conversation, we went -doggedly through “<cite>Drake’s Drum</cite>” and “<cite>The -Two Grenadiers</cite>.”</p> - -<p>I simply wasn’t going to let Uncle Albert -Waters, left in the dining-room with Major<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span> -Montresor, imagine that his nephew and I had -gone into the den to—to make anything but—music -for one single instant that evening. Let -them hear for themselves that we were busy at -the piano the whole time!</p> - -<p>They could hear well enough through the -wall of the dining-room——</p> - -<p>No! Apparently they couldn’t hear well -enough. For no sooner had we come to the -end of those bars of the “<cite>Marseillaise</cite>” that conclude -the Grenadier song, than the door of the -den was thrown open and in walked those two -other men.</p> - -<p>Uncle Albert, of course in advance, pranced -up to the piano, thumped his fist into the open -palm of the other hand, leaned over the piano -towards us, then, in a solemn, confidential, -impressive tone of voice, he brought out—one -word. It was the word:</p> - -<p>“<em>Wedded!</em>”</p> - -<p>“What?” rapped out the Governor, sharply -wheeling round. And I couldn’t help gasping, -wondering if this old gentleman had suddenly -come under some hallucination about our being -more, even, than merely “engaged.”</p> - -<p>“Yes. ‘Wedded,’” repeated Uncle Albert, -raising his voice again to its normal blare. “You -know!—The fellow and the girl! That first-rate -picture by Millais or Holman Hunt or -one of ’em. Anyhow, you know it. She’s got<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span> -her head resting right back against the young -chap’s shoulder, like this”—</p> - -<p>(Unsuccessful imitation of the pose of Leighton’s -model by Uncle Albert against the piano.)</p> - -<p>—“And he’s lifting her hand to his mouth—<em>you</em> -know. That’s the one. That’s the name I -was puzzling over half through dinner, and it -only just dawned upon me just as I finished my -cigar. I had to come in and tell you. And, if -we’re not <i lang="fr">de trop</i>,” added that appalling old -man, settling down like a big collapsible toy -in one of the huge arm-chairs, “we’d like to -hear just one tune in here. ‘If he’s only <em>singing</em>,’ -as I said to the Major, ‘he might just as well -have company by as not, and I’m fond of a good -song after dinner!’ So now, Billy, what have -you got there? D’you know that A 1 thing—ah, -what is it? What a man I am for forgetting -names! Something bandy—not Bandy-legs——”</p> - -<p>“Ha!” Major Montresor, from the other -big chair, came to the rescue. “‘<cite>The Bando-lero</cite>’!”</p> - -<p>“That’s it! Know it, William? ‘I <em>am</em> -the Bando-lero!’” vociferated Uncle Albert, -“‘the—something—Bando-lero——’”</p> - -<p>“I know it,” said my employer, with restraint, -“but I haven’t got it in the house!”</p> - -<p>It was my turn to suppress a smile as I remembered -how, in my nursery-days, I’d defined -“<i>a bandolero</i>” as “<i>a person with a very loud<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span> -voice</i>,” just as naturally as I used to think that -“<i>a Radical</i>” meant “<i>a dreadfully wicked -man</i>.” It was the very song that I could imagine -Uncle Albert enjoying singing himself. A pity -his nephew didn’t happen to have it in the -house!</p> - -<p>“You have this, though,” I suggested helpfully, -as I turned to the rack and took out “<cite>The -Storm-Fiend</cite>,” with a look at the Governor -meaning, “Don’t dare to say you loathe this -thing!” (It was because he did, by the way, -that the song had been ordered for him in a burst -of unsisterliness by Theo.)</p> - -<p>“Yes! <em>You</em> can look soft nothings at the -girl, my boy!” was Uncle Albert’s interpretation -of that glance of the Governor’s as I spoke, -“but she’s got to keep those pretty dark eyes of -hers for the music!”</p> - -<p>(—And I wonder the sheet of music didn’t -shrivel up under the gaze of the eyes thus -praised!)</p> - -<p>We then proceeded to dash through “<cite>The -Storm-Fiend</cite>.” I wondered whether the -Governor found in the loud singing of it as -much of a safety-valve as I found in the playing -of the artillery-like accompaniment!</p> - -<p>“Bravo! Very good! Stirring song, that!” -Uncle Albert’s bellow swelled the echoes of the -last chord. “Capital song—very well sung. -I like that tune—‘<i>I chuckle and laugh, ho, ho!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span> -I chuckle and laugh, ho, ho!</i>’” he persisted (to -some tune quite of his own). “‘<cite>The Storm-Fiend -is the Lord—of—Woe!</cite>’ Very good! Still, -not very appropriate for to-night, Billy? Not -much Woe about this evening, my dear, eh?” -(to me). “Supposing we have a bit of sentiment -now. What was that other song, now? I was -talking about it only at tea-time here—something -tally-ho-ish that we could all join in the chorus -of.”</p> - -<p>But here I felt I simply must nip in the -bud a request for the one about—</p> - -<p>“<i>All my Fancy dwells upon Nancy.</i>”</p> - -<p>“Nancy” had had <em>enough</em>!</p> - -<p>So I rose, saying gently, “If you will excuse -me, I am rather tired”—</p> - -<p>This was no fib!</p> - -<p>—“and I think I will go to bed early. Good -night, Mr. Waters,” politely to that awful -Uncle Albert. “Good-bye, Major Montresor; -so nice to have seen you again like this.... -Good-night,” with a little nod to my official -<i lang="fr">fiancé</i>.</p> - -<p>“‘<i>Be the day weary, be the day long</i>....’” -I thought. But we hadn’t <em>even yet</em> come to the -end of it.</p> - -<p>For Uncle Albert Waters had bounded up -again from the deep chair like a large india-rubber -ball, with yet another protest to his -nephew.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span></p> - -<p>“What’s that? what’s that? Ah, but that’ll -never do. Never!” reverberated through -the den. “You’re never going to let the girl -go off like that, Billy?—Just a word and a nod?”</p> - -<p>Good heavens—what could he mean?</p> - -<p>“Why! She’d never think anything of you -again, lad! Never mind two old has-beens like -us. We don’t count, do we, Major? Don’t -you take any notice of us. You kiss your sweetheart -good night, like a sensible youngster!” -And before I could escape, before either of us -had fully realized what this terrible, bellowing, -stout, red-faced, eyes-on-stalked, cigar-scented, -coarse, <em>horrid</em> old man would take it into his -head to say or do next, he had literally pushed -us into each other’s arms.</p> - -<p>I don’t know whether it was for a minute or -for half a second that I was given over to feeling -the true horror of this position; to wondering -what on earth my make-believe <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> meant me -to do about it—what <em>he</em> meant to do.</p> - -<p>Then he—the Governor—decided the matter -for me.</p> - -<p>With the suddenest of movements he ducked -swiftly forward and bent, without further look -or word, to kiss me. I was too petrified to -draw back even the fraction of an inch from the -touch of his lips; it brushed by, scarcely stirring -on my cheek, to fall almost roughly on the ripple -of dark hair above my ear.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span></p> - -<p>Then he bolted to the door and held it open -for my headlong exit from the den.</p> - -<p>To the sound of an explosive “<em>That’s</em> more -like it!” from Uncle Waters. “You surely -never——” (Slam! from the door) I tore across -the hall. I didn’t pause for any more good -nights in the drawing-room. I rushed upstairs -to my bedroom.</p> - -<p>Here I flung myself down into one of the rosy-chintz -chairs by the open window and gasped -while I tried to collect my whirling wits.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>What <em>had</em> happened? What was he—that -young man—doing to <em>allow</em> anything to happen? -His “official” <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>? Was this what he -meant by “official”—it wasn’t what <em>I</em> meant, -and I would let him know that. I was furious -with him—His uncle’s fault?—Yes! But he -ought to have managed so that <em>That</em> wasn’t -thrust upon me like this.</p> - -<p>I <em>was</em> angry!</p> - -<p>Then I couldn’t help laughing a little at the -mad incongruity of it.</p> - -<p>Kissed, by Still Waters!</p> - -<p>What could he think I thought of it? What -was <em>he</em> thinking about it all now, downstairs -there with those other two horrible men? -What was his Uncle Albert thinking? Chuckling -and laughing, ho, ho! I expected....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span></p> - -<p>That ghastly moment!</p> - -<p>That ghastly, <em>ghastly</em> moment!...</p> - -<p>Thank goodness that the Governor did at -least end it as soon as was humanly possible. -And, after all, that quick gesture of his hardly -counts as a kiss. I’ve seen the love-scenes in -private theatricals carried out just like that by -bashful amateurs. A stage-kiss; a sham one; -in fact, no kiss at all.</p> - -<p>Well, that, anyhow, was decent of Still -Waters....</p> - -<p>But <em>was</em> it? Was he thinking of <em>my</em> feelings? -I don’t believe he was.</p> - -<p>I believe—at least, a month ago I might have -believed—with the rest of the girls at the office, -that that would be his only conception of kissing -a girl. I can’t believe that now—not of a -brother of Theo’s and Blanche’s—not of a son of -Mrs. Waters’s! His father, Blanche said, was -so devoted to her ... their boy would have -inherited some sort of idea of the real thing! -Besides, a young man who’s already surprised me -by being able to sing like that, and to be keen -on dancing, and to win swimming competitions, -and to look, sometimes, quite <em>human</em>! Oh, no!</p> - -<p>It was <em>meant</em> for being decent.</p> - -<p>He’d scarcely touched me—except just on the -hair.</p> - -<p>Then I felt furious again.</p> - -<p>My hair—my pet vanity—the prettiest thing<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span> -about me! Once Sydney Vandeleur begged -me for a piece of it to keep—that piece with the -ripple—as if I’d cut it! If I had, it wouldn’t -have got kissed....</p> - -<p>Hateful, clumsy, blundering, or <em>something</em> -young man! He <em>needn’t</em> have kissed me at all! -He <em>could</em> have got out of it—in spite of his -detestable old uncle.</p> - -<p>Couldn’t he have seemed to think that I was -too shy to let him in public, and allowed me to -slip away? Or couldn’t he have followed me -into the hall and shut the door and <em>pretended</em>?</p> - -<p>Or couldn’t he have hatched up some joke on -the spur of the moment and announced -cheerfully—</p> - -<p>“Oh, we don’t say our good nights in here, -Uncle; outside in the veranda is where we say -good night”—or something like that?</p> - -<p>Easily.</p> - -<p>Then what did he mean by it?</p> - -<p>Was it that this excruciating evening, with -its countless trials, had worn his patience absolutely -through, and that he felt he must vent -his fury on something besides Cariad? Was -that kiss a kind of “let-fly” at <em>me</em>?</p> - -<p>How frightfully unfair! As if I’d done anything -but rush into breaches and make the best -of things for him! Good gracious! I shall -tell him exactly what I think of it all to-morrow!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span></p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>But the evening held one last trial for me -before I was able to slip into that springy snowdrift -of a bed and lie tossing, indignantly -awake, for quite an hour after I’d heard the -motor puff off, taking Major Montresor to -catch his last train up to town.</p> - -<p>This trial was heralded by a tap at my door.</p> - -<p>Enter Blanche in her <i lang="fr">débutante’s</i> dinner-gown.</p> - -<p>“How early you’re going to bed, Nancy! -We thought you were still with Billy, but Uncle -Albert’s taken him on at billiards—he says he’s -playing worse than anyone he’s ever seen. Is -anything the matter, dear?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no—nothing; why?”</p> - -<p>“You look so flushed—I thought you might -have a headache.”</p> - -<p>A headache—ah! valuable antique feminine -excuse for everything! “Yes—perhaps I have, -a little.”</p> - -<p>“Poor darling! Everybody <em>did</em> seem to be -talking at once at dinner, and Uncle Albert <em>is</em> -such a fog-horn, enough to go through anybody’s -head. Let me brush your hair for you, will -you?”</p> - -<p>I had to let her.</p> - -<p>“It’ll be better with all these pins and clips -out,” said Blanche, unfastening and shaking -loose. “Goodness, what lots you’ve got! It’s -like yards and yards of black skein-silk. And -<em>how</em> lovely and soft.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p> - -<p>And here, in the looking-glass, I saw the girl’s -face, blonde and clear-featured as her brother’s, -pressed for a moment to the ripple of dark hair -above my ear.</p> - -<p>It must have looked something like that just -now to those two other men in the den....</p> - -<p>Then I saw my own face turn scarlet.</p> - -<p>Blanche Waters saw that too.</p> - -<p>“Oh, sorry,” she murmured, with a little -“understanding” smile. “Mustn’t I?”</p> - -<p>She might just as well have <em>said</em>, “Mustn’t -anybody except Billy kiss you just there?”</p> - -<p>—Which did, as my brother Jack would say, -put the lid on it!</p> - -<p>Well! to-morrow I am going to put my foot -down, very firmly, on anything more of <em>this</em> -sort!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST HANDSHAKE</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>This morning I was just finishing dressing -when I heard a blackbird’s whistle, two -or three times repeated, just outside my window.</p> - -<p>It interrupted my meditations on a rather -interesting subject.</p> - -<p>Namely: What was my employer going to -say to me to-day about that episode last night?</p> - -<p>How—in what spirit, in what words, would -he make his apology?</p> - -<p>Of course I know that for the offence of having -kissed a girl who is nothing to him there <em>is</em> no -apology a man can make. The mere suggestion -of apologizing for that is adding insult to injury. -The only possible excuse is to say: “<i>I don’t -expect you to forgive me, but I couldn’t help myself</i>”—allowing -an unspoken—“<i>and I’d do it -again if I had the chance</i>” to be interpreted by -the tone in which it was spoken.</p> - -<p>However, <em>that</em> was quite out of the question -here, seeing that there had been no kiss of -that sort in the affair. The offence, however,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span> -was just as inexcusable; more so. To have kissed -me on the hair—why, even as I took up my -brushes before the glass this morning I saw the -reflection of another angry wave of scarlet in -my face brought there by the memory which -can’t be just brushed away.</p> - -<p>It might not have been so infuriating if it -hadn’t been the first time....</p> - -<p>For I’d never before allowed any man to attempt -such a thing. I’ve always known that one -ought to stick to what Lady Mary Wortley-Montague -says in that little poem:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“He <em>comes too near</em> who <em>comes to be denied</em>!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I remembered that last night, as I lay -awake; remembered quoting it to Cicely Harradine. -She had laughed and turned rather pink—this -was after some dance we’d both been to at -the Slade—and had said, “Yes, Tots dear; -that is so sweet—and so awfully true, of course; -only—it <em>was</em> in the eighteenth century, dear, -wasn’t it? and isn’t it <em>rather</em> what you call ‘a -Counsel of Perfection?’”</p> - -<p>It oughtn’t to be so—it needn’t have been so -for me, but now—that’s all been spoilt—and -by <em>him</em>!</p> - -<p>What can he say about it?</p> - -<p>“Nothing else for it—my uncle’s doing.”—Yes, -but I’ve got all my answers for <em>that</em> excuse.</p> - -<p>“I was goaded into it by having had such an<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span> -awful evening; felt I must do something outrageous.” -Yes, but not <em>that</em>! I had had an -awful evening too! And <em>I</em> hadn’t wanted to -kiss anybody!</p> - -<p>“Hadn’t time to think of anything else.”</p> - -<p>Nonsense! A business man with his wits -sharpened by daily interviews with other sharp-witted -people for whose benefit he has to think -out, even while he’s speaking, excuses, schemes, -promises, goodness knows what! Oh, he’d have -to say something more convincing than that to me!</p> - -<p>Again I heard the whistle—a monotonous -note for a blackbird’s! Then came a sharp tap -at my opened, latticed, wistaria-garlanded casement. -A pebble had been flung up against it.</p> - -<p>This gave me quite a little jump; it brought -back old days at home; when Sydney, staying -in the house, had wanted to bring me out for a -stroll before breakfast.</p> - -<p>“Must be Theo,” I said aloud to myself. -But something told me it wasn’t. I looked out. -Yes. There on the gravel beneath, in a blue -serge suit that seemed to make his sleek head shine -quite golden in the morning sunshine, stood my -employer, looking up.</p> - -<p>Waiting for me to come out? Throwing -stones up to catch my attention? Who taught -him that?</p> - -<p>“Good morning,” he said quietly. “Will -you come down when you are ready?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span></p> - -<p>I nodded as ungraciously as I could, and drew -back at once. I was quite ready, but I stopped -dead-still by the wardrobe glass for a long moment, -letting him wait. Then I turned to the door.</p> - -<p>Then I came back again.</p> - -<p>I took the shadiest hat I’ve got out of its drawer -and pulled it down firmly over my hair, stabbing -it on with my swastika hatpin, my hand-wrought -silver one that Sydney designed for me, my two -mounted regimental buttons of father’s, and my -little pearl-headed one. I daresay my head did -look all bristling with spikes, like the Statue of -Liberty’s. But if I’d had more pins I’d have -stuck them <em>all</em> in! And even if I do, like Blanche -and Theo, usually go about hatless in the gardens, -I was going to use all the “cover” I could to -meet the Governor’s apology, whatever it might -be. For <em>now</em> he was going to have his work -cut out for him! And whatever he began to say -about last night’s brusque, snatched kiss, I -wasn’t going to help him out by one syllable. -I could wait. Let him explain; floundering -about for words, probably, as he hasn’t floundered -yet! Feeling most satisfactorily composed -myself, I came down the stairs. One of the -maids, in china-blue print, moved aside a dust-pan -for me to pass.</p> - -<p>Then I saw something that ruffled me again.</p> - -<p>In that dust-pan there was a handful of pink, -crystallized rose-leaves and a couple of tiny silver<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span> -horseshoes—Theodora’s “confetti!” It must -have dropped out of the draping of my skirt as -I rushed upstairs—was there no getting away -from last night?—and I know that there was -something more than well-trained civility in that -girl’s smiling “Good morning, Miss Nancy!”</p> - -<p>Why can’t they say “Miss Trant”? Do they -consider it isn’t worth while for so short a time, -as they think?—<em>Hateful</em> household!</p> - -<p>I had only just unruffled myself again as I -faced the Governor in the sunshine outside.</p> - -<p>“Come in here, won’t you?” he said, holding -open the little white gate under the rambler -arch of the rose-garden.</p> - -<p>It was just then a bouquet of warm, scented -colour, shading down from the deepest damask -of the bed of Jeune Amours, through the rosy, -straggling Baroness von Ulks and the faintly-flushed -Cuisses des Nymphes to the dead-white -Frau Karl Druschkis—such a rose-garden, such -an earthly paradise for a before-breakfast stroll—<em>alone</em>!</p> - -<p>Side by side we paced slowly down to the end -of the box-bordered path between the pink -Maman Cochets (another echo of last night!) -before another word was said.</p> - -<p>Then he began. “I wanted to have this opportunity -of saying something to you.”</p> - -<p>His tone was conciliatory, quiet. The expression -of his face was—well, not in the least<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span> -his mask of office-hours, nor the scowling barricade -he put up at last night’s dinner-table; but -guarded and absolutely non-committal.</p> - -<p>So was mine, I hope.</p> - -<p>I waited for him to go on.</p> - -<p>“I may tell you,” he went on, “that I’ve been -regretting—”</p> - -<p>Last night, I supposed? A curious way of -<em>putting</em> it!</p> - -<p>—“regretting for some time that it was you -I asked to take on this—this situation for me.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>We turned and walked back again.</p> - -<p>“I mean,” he added quietly, “that I regret -having dragged a girl of your kind, more sensitive -and spirited than I had imagined—”</p> - -<p>What <em>had</em> he imagined, then?</p> - -<p>—“into this affair.”</p> - -<p>“Oh.”</p> - -<p>“I—I suppose I ought to have known better -than to ask—<em>you</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Oh,” I said, for the third time, and I meant -to stop there. But somehow I couldn’t help -going on rather acidly, “And which of your -other employees do you wish you had asked -instead? Miss Robinson?”</p> - -<p>(Who would have been provided with material -for impersonations of the family Waters for the -rest of her life.)</p> - -<p>—“Or Miss Holt?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span></p> - -<p>(<em>She</em>, I know, would have screamed aloud when -he inflicted that extraordinary kiss upon her!)</p> - -<p>“Miss Smith, of course, has her affections -otherwise engaged——”</p> - -<p>“Ah? And so that would have been a barrier, -would it? Even to this kind of an affair?” -retorted the Governor, very quickly and looking -hard at me.</p> - -<p>I knew what he meant. He was thinking of -the Major’s clumsy bringing-up, yesterday, of -the name of Sydney Vandeleur.</p> - -<p>So I lifted my eyes, which had been idly studying -the grey pattern of shadow flung by a trellised -rose-arch upon my creamy skirt, and I -looked the Governor firmly in the face as I said -quietly:</p> - -<p>“I imagine so.”</p> - -<p>Then <em>he</em> said, “Oh.”</p> - -<p>And then there was another pause.</p> - -<p>Surely Mr. Waters could not break it by anything -else, now, than by coming to the point—saying -whatever it was he meant to say about his -behaviour at the door of the den? But nothing -of the kind.</p> - -<p>“You quite understand, then, that I am sorry—for -bringing you into all this?” he began -again. “Right. Now, I suppose I ought to -offer to release you from the arrangement.”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” I looked up again quickly, -hopefully.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p> - -<p>“Only, you see, I can’t,” my employer concluded, -slowly. “I can’t do that. The—er—my—the -reason which forced me into it is—still -there.”</p> - -<p>“Oh.”</p> - -<p>Another turn. This time towards the pergola.</p> - -<p>“Another thing,” he went on—and this time -I really did think I knew what was coming next. -“About last night.”</p> - -<p>I didn’t say, “Oh”—I simply waited for -whatever apology he thought fit to make.</p> - -<p>“Last night, in the drawing-room before -dinner. I’m afraid I was rather rude.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Before</em> dinner?” I echoed, forgetting what -could have happened then.</p> - -<p>“Yes; when you were asking me about that -place in Wales, Porth Cariad,” he said. “I -told you, rather off-handedly, I’m afraid, that -there was ‘a wooden woman’ there.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes!”</p> - -<p>“Well, there is. It’s the figure-head of a -ship, some vessel that was wrecked in the -bay, years ago,” explained the Governor quite -simply. “They’ve put it up beyond the two -cottages there, on the cliff. I ought to have -explained that at the time.”</p> - -<p>Well! And wasn’t there anything else he had -to explain? With all these “Oh’s” and pauses, -he was a long, long time in coming to that -unjustifiable kiss—and yet something convinced<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span> -me that his mind was full of it even while he -mentioned these other things first.</p> - -<p>“Besides that,” he went on deliberately, -“there’s something I was thinking over last -night, for quite a time before I went to sleep.”</p> - -<p>Ah! At last!</p> - -<p>“I wanted to suggest——” he was saying, -when, from behind the leafy screen of the pergola -there came a booming cry of:</p> - -<p>“Aha! Here they are! here they are! -Might have known what they were at! Love -among the roses, eh?”</p> - -<p>And in another moment there hove into view -the rotund, white-waistcoated form and the -rosy John Bull face, smiling under the light -grey, dented felt hat, of Uncle Albert Waters.</p> - -<p>Beaming and rubbing his hands, he advanced -upon us.</p> - -<p>“Now, young people, young people! Breakfast’s -ready! Didn’t hear the gong, eh? No, -of course not. Something better to listen to, -as I said. <em>I</em> heard you, Billy! I heard you -whistling under her window half an hour ago! -Something worth while being an early bird for -now, what? But come along.”</p> - -<p>He slipped one arm into his nephew’s, the -other into mine, and wheeled us round towards -the house.</p> - -<p>“I told your mother I’d come out myself -and fetch you in!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p> - -<p>Perfectly unconscious that if wishes could have -killed he must have fallen down shrivelled to a -cinder on the garden path, he rolled on happily -between us towards the French windows of the -dining-room, prattling robustiously all the way.</p> - -<p>“Nothing comes up to that nine-o’clock-in-the-morning -smell of bacon and coffee, does it? -Smells far better than it tastes, they say! Which -reminds me that I once heard a young lady, -Nancy, my dear—only she was a cynical young -person, not nearly so pretty—I heard her say -that the best part of frizzling bacon was like -Love—all in the anticipation! Never tasted -as good as it promised to, so to speak! Of -course you don’t agree with her?”</p> - -<p>“No, oh, <em>no</em>!” I cried hastily, partly because -I felt I must disagree with somebody, partly -because I realized that the inevitable effect of -this detestable old man upon his nephew was to -strike him dumb when he ought to have spoken!</p> - -<p>“Ah, quite right, quite right!” responded -Uncle Albert, with an affectionate pressure of -my arm in his. “<em>That’s</em> the attitude! I don’t -believe in this modern plan of analysing -everything down to nothing, do you?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Hate</em> it,” I said viciously—meaning that I -hated having my arm squeezed by horrible -relations-in-law never-to-be.</p> - -<p>“I see you do! Good! My dear, I’m delighted -to find that Billy’s sweetheart sees eye<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span> -to eye with Billy’s uncle on so many points. -That’s why I’m taking you out this morning—Oh, -yes! you too, my boy! Not going to -separate the turtle-doves!—going to take you -both out if you can beg mother off from church. -I’m going to motor you over—not a hundred -miles away, and show you something—Aha! -Something that I fancy you will approve of as -much as I do!”</p> - -<p>“Heavens! What will this new horror turn -out to be?” thought I; catching the same -question in the Governor’s eye as we entered the -dining-room, where the family, including Cariad, -was already at breakfast, and sat down to the -coffee and bacon of old Mr. Waters’ disgusting -metaphor. We weren’t long spared the answer -to that question.</p> - -<p>“Now, Mary! I’ve just been telling our -two young people here,” began Uncle Albert -almost at once, “that they’re going over in the -car with me this fine morning to look at something -I particularly want them to see. Now, I’ll give -you three guesses what it is—No, I won’t—”</p> - -<p>(Interrupting Theo, who had leapt up in her -chair with a shriek of “Wedding presents! -That picture!”)</p> - -<p>“—I want the pleasure of telling you myself. -Picture? No, child. Something to put the -picture in—to <em>be</em> the picture in, ho, ho! It’s -a house to let!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p> - -<p>“A <em>house</em>!” murmured Blanche, clasping -her hands, and obviously seeing herself helping -to arrange the flowers in it.</p> - -<p>“A charming house, only fifteen miles from -here. Just the place for Billy and his Nancy -to settle down in when they get married,” enlarged -the elderly <i lang="fr">enfant terrible</i>. “In fact, -once they’ve seen it, they’ll want to motor on -and order that special licence at once, I shouldn’t -wonder!”</p> - -<p>Mercy! I turned my eyes to Mrs. Waters, as -if imploring her help to change the conversation; -she only nodded and smiled and murmured: -“Pretty blouse—I always like you in lacy -white things, Nancy!”</p> - -<p>There was no checking Uncle Albert; on he -went:</p> - -<p>“I was looking at the place only last week, -and it’s still going! There’s a rose-garden, my -dear, almost as prettily arranged as the one here -that you were billing and cooing in just now. -And a splendid vegetable garden for the more -practical side of life. South aspect!—Very excellent -fish-curry, Mary—Nice, airy bedrooms! -<em>And</em>”—his voice took on an impressive rallentando—“Now, -what do you think? A -little—a little white wicket-gate at the top -of the stairs! That’s the crowning touch, -eh?”</p> - -<p>Yes. It was.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span></p> - -<p>“That was what took <em>my</em> fancy, you know! -I immediately said to myself——”</p> - -<p>At all costs, I felt, must Uncle Albert be kept -from repeating what he had said to himself.</p> - -<p>“Yes—But, Mr. Waters,” I interrupted -wildly, “I’m so afraid that that house wouldn’t—couldn’t -do for <em>us</em>!”</p> - -<p>“What, my dear! Why not? If you only -see it, you’ll say as I did——”</p> - -<p>“I’m sure it’s perfectly lovely,” I burst in; -“but the fact of the matter is that we—we have -arranged to live in London”—“and in separate -houses for ever,” I might have added. I went on -improvising rapidly. “You see, we shall have a -town house for most of the year, and for the -summer we’re looking round for a sort of—of -farmhouse, with two cottages by the sea, you -know! In—in Anglesey, I think. I am so -fond of—of that part of the country, so—Those -were our plans, aren’t they?” I concluded, -with one reckless “Say so, <em>do</em>!” glance -at the Governor.</p> - -<p>“Yes—rather! That’s what <em>we’d</em> thought of!” -he returned, with a glance back at me which -betrayed something very like pure gratitude.</p> - -<p>As well it might!</p> - -<p>For again, just before I spoke, my employer -had been at such an utter loss that—for the first -time since I’d seen him, I felt positively <em>sorry</em> -for him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span></p> - -<p>And I answered his glance with the tiniest -nod of encouragement.</p> - -<p>They were the first friendly signals that had -ever passed between us.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>“Look here. I must speak to you.”</p> - -<p>This was my employer, hurriedly to me after -breakfast, in the veranda. Now, as that deep, -shady veranda is built all the way round the house, -as every one of the windows gives on to it, and -as all the windows are always wide open, I couldn’t -help giving a look round it as much as to say, -“Here?”</p> - -<p>“Not here,” he muttered, still more hurriedly. -“This seems to be the deuce of a house to talk -in—never saw such a place. And there’s no -time now. My uncle was going to take us along -in the car——”</p> - -<p>“<em>Must</em> we go?” I asked, softly and ruefully, -with my back to one of the pillars.</p> - -<p>“No. I’ve knocked that on the head—I’m -going to take him off by myself to play golf. -I said you’d really rather go to church with my -mother and the girls.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, thanks so much,” I said fervently. -“I certainly would!”</p> - -<p>“So I thought. Well, then, we shall be -lunching at the Club House—or, anyhow, getting -lunch somewhere out—not coming back here.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span></p> - -<p>I nearly said, “Thanks, so much!” once more.</p> - -<p>I also nearly smiled to think that anyone else, -catching sight of the two of us talking so quickly, -so quietly, and so close together under the soft -mauve fringe of wistaria-blossom that drooped -from the glazed roof, might easily have imagined -that our conspiracy was how to spend most of -this glorious Sunday <em>together</em>, instead of <em>apart</em>!</p> - -<p>“We might not even be back for tea,” said the -Governor.</p> - -<p>“And when is——” I paused and turned -my eyes towards the house, “<em>going</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Six o’clock train back to town this evening,” -said the Governor, looking steadily at me.</p> - -<p>A “Thank goodness!” remained unuttered -on the tip of my tongue, as I felt obliged to say, -“I hope he didn’t think it odd of me not to want -to see”—I brought it out with a jerk—“that -house.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no! He seemed rather bucked, really, -to hear that—well, that we were so far on -in our plans. Anglesey, you know, and so on,” -said the Governor, in an expressionless voice as -I turned quickly away.</p> - -<p>For I’d caught the heralding whiff of a cigar -round the corner! Also, I wanted to be safely -in my own room, getting ready for church, just -at the time that those two men would be setting -out for the links.</p> - -<p>My employer took one step after me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span></p> - -<p>“This evening, then?—I mean, for what I -was going to say to you.”</p> - -<p>Ah. That interrupted apology weighed on -his mind.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” I said. “Good-bye.”</p> - -<p>And I drew a breath of relief to think of the -whole blessed Day of Rest before me.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Even Church, however, wasn’t without its -slight reminder of the situation.</p> - -<p>I was feeling rested, soothed, lulled—and, I am -afraid, not strictly attentive—when my attention -was caught, first by Theo’s moist palm being -thrust into mine, much as Cariad thrusts his -nose, and then by a phrase in the voice of the -officiating curate:</p> - -<p>“<i>I publish the banns of marriage between</i>——”</p> - -<p>Banns, of course! Of course they must needs -publish banns on this particular Sunday and -in this particular church! thought I, rather -pettishly. Well, I supposed it wasn’t really -the Governor’s fault! and that there <em>are</em> banns -read every week! The next words I heard were:</p> - -<p>“<i>Also of Leonard Harris, bachelor</i>—”</p> - -<p>Ah! I knew his name; it was the young man -from the Waters’ butcher, who, as I had already -been told, was to marry the prettiest of the maids -at The Lawn, the one who was sweeping the -stairs this morning.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p> - -<p>—“<i>and Ethel Mary Bell, spinster, both of this -parish.</i>”</p> - -<p>Both absurdly happy, probably, in a -“Smithie” kind of way. I wondered if “he” -were red and greasy, like so many butchers? -Whether he’d leave “her” at home while he -went and sat all the evening in the “Spotted -Dog”?</p> - -<p>My young man—I suppose to some people -the Governor <em>would</em> be my “young man”—isn’t -that sort. Not that it need make the -slightest difference to <em>me</em> if he were! I needn’t -worry about the sort of husband he’ll make—to -someone else.</p> - -<p>“<i>Also between</i>——”</p> - -<p>What a lot of engaged couples! Six, at -least, were “called” to-day. And I wondered -about each of those six engaged girls.... -Which of them had bloomed out into what -books call “<i>this strange new happiness that had -come to her</i>” on HIS account, and which of them -just wanted to be “engaged” for its own sake?</p> - -<p>For supposing an engagement were stripped -of all its glamour of importance? Yes, my -dears! Take away the delight of discussing, -with other girls, the possibilities of finest nainsook -and torchon. Take away the chance of -growing positively left-handed from showing off -“his” ring. Take away the joy of being, instead -of an unattended wallflower at dances and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span> -parties, always more or less of a guarded treasure. -Take away that feeling of being at one and the -same time much younger, much older and much -better-looking. Take away the comforting conviction -that <em>now</em> you needn’t fret about what’s -to become of you when you grow <i lang="fr">passée</i> and -“long in the tooth,” as Major Montresor -unkindly calls various ex-favourites of his own. -Take all those “extras” away—and what -remains of your pride and joy in HIM alone? -There’s a sum for the “really” engaged girl. -I can’t help feeling I can guess how it would -work out in—say, four cases out of six!</p> - -<p>Perhaps I’m wrong.... Perhaps the whole -six of them would still go on feeling that <em>their</em> -unparalleled engagement had caused the sun to -rise upon a new heaven and a brand-new earth. -But it’s odds, long odds, against any one of the -six having an “affair” in the least like—<em>mine</em>.</p> - -<p>And the curate went on reading out names.</p> - -<p>“<i>Also</i>——”</p> - -<p>“<i>Between William Waters, bachelor, of this -parish</i>,” breathed his younger sister in a gusty -whisper, “<i>and Nancy Monica Trant, spinster</i>—of -the parish of what, Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“S-sh! Theo!” I whispered, still wondering -about those banns.... Would it come to -that? Would my employer feel himself obliged, -before our twelve-months’ contract was up, to -let those banns be actually published?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span></p> - -<p>“<i>If any of you know any just cause or impediment -why these persons should not be joined together in -Holy Matrimony</i>,” concluded the curate’s voice, -“<i>ye are to declare it</i>.”</p> - -<p>What in the world <em>was</em> Mr. Waters going -to “declare” about it to his family when we -reached that point? What just cause or impediment -(except the real ones) would he choose -to “announce” as the bar to our getting -married? Or would he, just as he did this -morning at breakfast, leave all explanations to -<em>me</em>, and reward me with a grateful look when I’d -achieved them?</p> - -<p>Well!...</p> - -<p>Plenty of time before <em>that</em> happens....</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>To-night, though, there’d be that other -explanation: his to me about that—really, under -the circumstances it might be called that <em>outrage</em>! -Even yet I hadn’t made up my mind how I was -to accept what he should say. The only thing -left standing of all the many answers I’d considered -and rejected was, “Well, it must never -happen again, that’s all!”</p> - -<p>Even that doesn’t sound right, somehow.</p> - -<p>Perhaps something really clinching will occur -to me later.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span></p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>It was almost at the end of this Day of Rest -that the Governor, extra sunburnt and out-of-door-looking -from the links, returned to find -the women-folk of his household—to which I -suppose I must count myself as belonging -officially—sitting over that diminuendo of -half-cups that marks the end of tea.</p> - -<p>“Has your uncle gone, dear?”</p> - -<p>“Yes; met some old crony of his and joined -him for the journey home. If you tell me -where his bag is I’ll get it sent down to the -station to meet the six, Mother?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll see to it now.”</p> - -<p>She went out of the drawing-room—I <em>know</em> -with the usual gentle intention of leaving the -young people a minute to themselves after -having been apart all day; but before Theodora -and Blanche could follow her, the Governor, -saying that he simply must change and get this -dust off, disappeared himself.</p> - -<p>He disappeared until supper-time.</p> - -<p>For late Sunday supper they don’t dress -at The Lawn. So I was still wearing my -cream cloth costume with the white French -blouse that Mrs. Waters likes when the hour -came which is given over to my official -<i lang="fr">fiancé</i> and myself. I’m quite hardened to -this now.</p> - -<p>I supposed he would suggest the den. (I -hate that den.) But he didn’t.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span></p> - -<p>“Shall we go for a walk?” he said instead, -“round the lawn?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Shall I fetch you a wrap to put over that -frock?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, no. It’s perfectly warm, thanks.”</p> - -<p>“Oh.... Very well.”</p> - -<p>And so, at the dusk of the day, just as in the -morning sunshine of it, I found myself pacing -a garden path by his side, and wishing to goodness -he’d get this over, out of the way.</p> - -<p>He ought to be made to <em>grovel</em>, of course; -that was as it should be.</p> - -<p>But the longer he delayed mentioning that -grotesque incident, the more it <em>loomed</em>!</p> - -<p>It seemed to hang over my head like the shade -of the trees that bordered the further edge of -the lawn, which we had now reached. The -great spread of turf was gleaming greyly in the -dew. A bat, attracted by the whiteness of my -gown, flickered out of the shade and wheeled -above us.</p> - -<p>“Well,” began the Governor, “my uncle -left all sorts of messages for you.”</p> - -<p>He would, of course. Carefully refraining -from asking what they were, I said mildly, -“Thank you.”</p> - -<p>“He’s back in London by now.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“I suppose if he’d stayed on much longer,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span> -observed my employer, in a detached tone, -“<em>you wouldn’t</em>!”</p> - -<p>I said defensively, “I really <em>had</em> been thinking -I might find myself obliged to go back to town -at once!”</p> - -<p>“After arranging to stay here for at least a -fortnight,” he concluded quietly; “after having -given notice at the office—”</p> - -<p>“The office” was good! Just as if “the -office” meant anything but himself, Mr. William -Waters!</p> - -<p>—“and having no people of your own to -consider—what should you have said to mine?”</p> - -<p>“I should have had to tell them that it was -to—to attend a funeral!” I retorted, with a -memory of Mrs. Skinner. “Or”—here I -checked the suggestion of getting my hair -singed and cut. I thought I’d better not begin -by mentioning my hair! And I added recklessly—“or -that I’d got to go to the dentist’s -and have every one of my teeth out!”</p> - -<p>“Rather than stay here in these circumstances. -I see. Yes. I——Do you know, I -have felt uncommonly like that myself,” admitted -my employer. “That’s what I’ve been wanting -to talk to you about. I thought it over last -night, as I told you, and I’ve been thinking about -it again to-day.”</p> - -<p>I wondered what sort of a game of golf he’d -played.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p> - -<p>“It can’t go on like this!” he said, suddenly -stopping in our stroll and facing me in the -deepening dusk under the copper-beech. “I -can’t stand it. It’s got a—a bit too thick!” he -concluded, quite schoolboyishly.</p> - -<p>Then he began again, incoherently, indignantly, -as if each word he said were a shell that -held showers of bullets of other words.</p> - -<p>“Theo’s tomfoolery! Those dashed flowers! -My uncle and his—his remarks!”</p> - -<p>“I know!” I said fervently. He turned on -me again, and added unexpectedly, “And -<em>you</em>!”</p> - -<p>“M-me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” explosively. “You’re the worst of -all—and you do know it! Because I’ve let you -in like, this—”</p> - -<p>“They’ll hear you from the house—you -really are like Theo sometimes.”</p> - -<p>—“Because I’ve let you in,” sinking his voice -and speaking once more calmly and deliberately, -“for lots of unpleasantnesses which nobody -could have—well, which <em>I</em> never anticipated—you -do all in your power to pay me back!”</p> - -<p>“All that—at dinner last night,” I said -virtuously, “was nothing to do with me. You -can’t say it was.”</p> - -<p>“No, I admit it was Theo.... But it -was all part and parcel of the same impossible -situation. Impossible! It can’t go on like this.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p> - -<p>“So you said before! But this morning you -said you were unable to release me?”</p> - -<p>“So I am. Which means that there’s only -one other thing to be done about it,” said my -employer.</p> - -<p>I waited, wondering what on earth this might be.</p> - -<p>Utterly unexpected was his next remark:</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think you could manage to be—<em>friends</em> -with me?”</p> - -<p>“<em>Friends?</em>” I repeated incredulously.</p> - -<p>Then something of his meaning began to dawn -upon me, and it was with a return of Manner B -that I added: “I suppose you mean ‘official’ -friends?”</p> - -<p>“No, I don’t,” he said rather tartly. (That -manner never has been lost on him.) “I mean, -why can’t we be really friends and call ‘<i>Pax</i>’—for -at least the time that you’re here? Don’t -you see how much better it would make it if -we could face these awkwardnesses together, -instead of my knowing every time that you are -only waiting for the chance to rub it in and to -get at me?”</p> - -<p>This was all so foreign to his Near Oriental -vocabulary that I nearly laughed. But not -quite. For it was being borne in upon me still -more clearly that I didn’t care for this suggestion -of his at all. He was actually asking for my help -and co-operation, not in a sham rôle, but a <em>real</em> -one? Well, I thought, what <em>cheek</em>!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span></p> - -<p>“If you mean,” I said, “that you want me to -promise not to ‘rag’—not to—to banter you -again about all this; not to go on saying things -that mean one thing for you and another to whoever -else hears them, and all that——”</p> - -<p>I was going to say that this I might promise; -although I felt he was asking for a good deal—for -his official <i lang="fr">fiancée’s</i> one safety-valve, in fact!</p> - -<p>“No, no! That’s not what I mean,” he put -in. “When I say ‘friends,’ I mean it. Genuine -friends. On the terms we might be on if we -weren’t en—if we hadn’t this ‘engagement’ -between us.”</p> - -<p>“How <em>can</em> we be that?” said I emphatically.</p> - -<p>“Why can’t we?” he persisted.</p> - -<p>“Why? Because I—I don’t see how I could -be expected to answer such a question!”</p> - -<p>He didn’t <em>say</em>, “You agreed to the other!” -But I knew some men might. So I went on trying -to explain to this specially obtuse one.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you see how much easier it is to pretend -to be engaged or even—in love with a -person, than to turn round and <em>like</em> them because -you’re asked to?”</p> - -<p>“Is it?”</p> - -<p>“But of <em>course</em> it is!” said I. “One <em>can</em> act -being—engaged and all that. One can’t force -oneself into friendship, real liking.” (Stupid, -he was; it was just like his not seeing the difference -between accepting furs—and a frock!)<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span> -“One simply can’t make oneself <em>like</em>. That is -asking too much. And I never bargained for -it. It wasn’t——”</p> - -<p>—“In the arrangement,” I nearly said.</p> - -<p>I might just as well have said it! For:</p> - -<p>“Damn—dash that infernal arrangement!” -muttered my employer heatedly, crunching, in -the absence of Cariad, the well-kept gravel beneath -his heel. “Can’t you forget that, leave -that alone for the time being? It would be so -much easier——”</p> - -<p>“Yes! For you perhaps!” I retorted. -“But not easy for me; and it’s impossible for -me to feel like being ‘friends’ to order!”</p> - -<p>He said nothing for a minute. Then he began -again quietly. “You mean you dislike me?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t even know you well enough for really -liking or disliking,” I argued coldly. “And -besides, what have we—you and I—in common, -that we should expect to get on well together?”</p> - -<p>I knew what a hopeless question <em>that</em> is to -answer about almost any two persons!</p> - -<p>He said rather helplessly, “Well, but hang it -all! What have you in common with——”</p> - -<p>Here I <em>felt</em>, suspended between us in the dusk -like a Mahomet’s coffin, the name of Sydney -Vandeleur!</p> - -<p>But the Governor changed his mind about -uttering it.</p> - -<p>He <em>said</em>:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span></p> - -<p>“For instance, what can you have in common -with a man like Montresor? You’re twenty-one. -He’s what?—Fifty? Sixty? Yet you -can talk—you can——You seem to get on all -right with him.”</p> - -<p>“Naturally!” I said.</p> - -<p>The Governor said nothing.</p> - -<p>He put up a hand and leaned against a bough -of the copper-beech under which we were -standing.</p> - -<p>Well! It seemed going to be a long discussion.</p> - -<p>I sat down on the garden bench a step or so -away, and turned my head to look at the glimmering -white trumpets of a tobacco-plant that -grew behind the bench. The only form in -which tobacco smells anything but poisonous! -And there were such beds of it at home ... -in the evening it scented all the grounds....</p> - -<p>“Major Montresor, as he told you, knew me -in my home, knew all my people,” I went on -slowly. “He knew all the places I went to before -I had to drop out of everything that I cared for -and had to slave for my own living in that -detestable City of yours.”</p> - -<p>“You speak as if <em>I</em> owned the City—as if -I were responsible for your having had to work -there—for the whole thing! Is that fair? -Must you go on making me stand for all that? -Supposing it hadn’t been there at all that you -first met me, Nancy?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span></p> - -<p>For the first time the name slipped out from -my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> quite naturally.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you think,” he went on, “that we -might have managed to get on moderately well -then?”</p> - -<p>“How can I tell?” said I. I <em>wanted</em> to keep -him on that strictly business footing. This -other I didn’t want. I knew it would take -something from me, and give me nothing—nothing -to stand up for myself with—in its place.</p> - -<p>“Try to imagine,” he persisted, “that I’d -known you in your home, like that chap—what’s-his-name—”</p> - -<p>The name—Vandeleur—flickered between us -once more like that bat in the air!</p> - -<p>—“like Montresor. Imagine that you’d never -been at the Near Oriental—never heard of the -place. I’m sure I often wish <em>I</em> hadn’t,” the -Governor’s voice came ruefully out of the dusk. -“Then, instead of this eternal sparring—”</p> - -<p>“My only refuge,” I thought, “and he’s -trying to turn me out of it!”</p> - -<p>—“there might surely have been something -distinctly resembling friendship between us?” -he said.</p> - -<p>I said obstinately, “Might there? I don’t -know.”</p> - -<p>He moved. There wasn’t enough light to -see his face. Only his collar made a white blur -against the branch, and the broad slope of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span> -shoulders showed dark against the sky that had -deepened from lilac to purple.</p> - -<p>“But I know,” he said quietly, “that you -could—that you <em>could</em> be——”</p> - -<p>He paused.</p> - -<p>“Well?” I said, rather uncomfortably. “I -could be what?”</p> - -<p>“Rather a little brick to me if you chose,” said -the Governor.</p> - -<p>I am sure it slipped out without his meaning -it to. <em>He</em> would have been ready to go on arguing -quite logically about “how much more -sensible” et cetera.... How there was “absolutely -no valid reason why it shouldn’t” and so -forth ... for another hour!</p> - -<p><em>He</em> can’t know how the key of a logical -argument will fumble forever at the locked safe-door -of a woman’s mind that could just fly open -to the cipher spelt “Appreciation.”</p> - -<p>—“Rather a little brick.”</p> - -<p>So he did think me capable of that?</p> - -<p>I was glad of the dark under the copper-beech. -For I didn’t want my employer to see -that his words had any sort of effect on me. -Four words ought not, certainly, to be enough -to threaten to bring one’s flag down with a -run ... or even to flush one’s cheeks with -that sudden warmth—of surprise. I didn’t -mean to hesitate——</p> - -<p>But there was a moment’s silence before I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span> -could think what to say. I was glad he was -standing right away from me....</p> - -<p>Just at that, he came and sat down beside me -on the garden-seat.</p> - -<p>“Well?” he said expectantly.</p> - -<p>“M-m—very well,” I heard myself say with -a little sigh.</p> - -<p>“You mean that you will?”—quickly. -“That it’s peace between us?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—” reluctantly, from me.</p> - -<p>“And that, instead of remaining”—I heard -him laugh a little—“a mere <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, you’ll be -friends now—real chums?”</p> - -<p>“If you like,” I sighed again. “That <em>is</em> -promotion, isn’t it?” I said, not meaning to -be altogether too polite to him.</p> - -<p>“Nancy, I know I’m rotten in lots of ways,” -he admitted frankly. “I daresay you think I’ve -got a beast of a temper, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I said slowly, “you did kick Cariad, -didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Little brute needs it! He’s disgustingly spoilt. -Everyone is who belongs to my mother.” ...</p> - -<p>“And you did make Theo cry!”</p> - -<p>“Did her good!”</p> - -<p>“It didn’t in the least! She was just as bad -again to-day!”</p> - -<p>“Was she, by Jove? Then I shall have -to——”</p> - -<p>“No, no, she wasn’t. I mean, <em>you</em> are!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span></p> - -<p>“Ah, but I’m—<em>we’re</em> going to turn over a -new leaf!” he said, laughing. “That’s settled, -isn’t it? Good! This is going to be no end -better, all round.”</p> - -<p>All very well for <em>him</em> to say so! I thought, -as I got up and turned towards the dim, blue-white -front of the house with the dark girdle of -the veranda circling it, and the windows, now -lighted up, set into it like a chain of long, rosy -jewels.</p> - -<p>He rose too.</p> - -<p>“Well!” he said, straightening himself a head -and shoulders above me. “Do we shake hands -on that, Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so,” said I.</p> - -<p>What else was there to say or do?</p> - -<p><em>I</em> don’t consider it’s going to be “better all -round.” For me it will be ever so much more -awkward—as well as something—yes!—something -like a <em>climb-down</em>.</p> - -<p>Still——</p> - -<p>As he held out his hand I put my own into -a particularly warm and hearty grip.</p> - -<p>It was the very first time we’d shaken hands -at all.</p> - -<p>Last night a kiss on the hair!</p> - -<p>To-night, a handshake!...</p> - -<p>And, in spite of all I’d expected, he’d never -once mentioned that kiss.</p> - -<p>I suppose he won’t now.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX<br /> -<span class="smaller">FRIENDS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Often, when I’ve imagined something was -going to be so easy and delightful, it’s -turned out to involve every kind of difficulty -and unpleasantness. Like earning my own -living in the City. And then other things, -which I’ve foreseen as such odious and constant -worries, have proved to be not nearly so bad after -all; in fact, quite amusing—that’s like agreeing -to be “friends—real chums” with my -employer Mr. Waters.</p> - -<p>He’s really quite—I don’t know how to put -it—<em>different</em>.</p> - -<p>I know he’s trying to be “decent” to me, -and yet not trying hard enough to make me -feel it’s my duty to “play up” and to be -unnaturally sweet in return.</p> - -<p>Instead, I am beginning to feel that I shall -soon be able to like him genuinely, just as I like -Blanche and Theo, though perhaps not quite -as well as I like his mother, who seems more of a -darling every day.</p> - -<p>This morning after I came back from driving<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span> -to the station with the Governor, she called me, -and I went into the little tiny room off the -drawing-room, which is furnished only with one -deep chair and her writing-table, but of which -each wall is simply covered with framed -photographs of her children at every stage.</p> - -<p>She was sitting at the writing-table, with a -pile of letters to answer.</p> - -<p>“Sit in the big chair, Nancy. I won’t keep -you more than a minute,” she said, turning to -me, “but I wanted to speak to you. It’s about -our summer plans, dear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes,” I began. The fortnight which -I’d arranged to spend at The Lawn—and which -seems about three months now!—is up to-morrow. -I was just going to remind her of -this, when she said, “We all—not only Billy!—are -so anxious that you shall stay on, Nancy. -You will, won’t you, if you haven’t made -other arrangements?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! I’ve made none,” I said, hesitating -both in my official and unofficial capacities. -I didn’t <em>mind</em> staying on, now. Still—ought I -to do it?</p> - -<p>“We have only a week or so,” said Mrs. -Waters, “before we go away to the sea. That -is, the girls and I are off on Saturday week to -Anglesey.”</p> - -<p>“To Porth Cariad?” I said. “Isn’t that -the place—he told me about?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span></p> - -<p>“Yes; Billy’s so fond of it! It’s just a tiny -place with a station and a post-office and a -handful of cottages. We take the two cottages -nearest the sea, and let just the woman and her -daughter ‘do’ for us. He likes that so much -better than going to a ‘resort’ with hotels -and esplanades and things.”</p> - -<p>“Of course!”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waters gave me a pleased, girlish smile.</p> - -<p>“Then, if you do too, you’ll come, won’t -you? He didn’t seem sure whether”—she -laughed a little—“whether it mightn’t bore you -rather; but he made me promise to ask you. -Will you come?”</p> - -<p>“I should like it very much,” I said sincerely, -for, since this revised version of my -relations with Mr. Waters, there’s an end of -any more complications for the present. It -has been worth while sinking the small satisfactions -of being “cattish” and making two-edged -remarks to my employer. I seem, now, -to have all the advantages of being engaged to a -quite friendly and easy-to-get-on-with young -man, without the horrible disadvantage of -feeling it’s a permanency. Yes; I do like -having the freedom of a man’s conversation -and society without <i lang="fr">arrière pensée</i>. And it -seems to me that the only way to enjoy them is -by being officially—that is, <em>nominally</em>, engaged to -the man! In any other sort of acquaintanceship<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span> -there looms the possibility of the “Real” engagement. -All the time that the girl and the man are -having what might be a jolly and unembarrassed -conversation about really interesting things—not -Love and nonsense—that possibility is being -conjugated between them by some horrid form -of Conscience or Self-consciousness. Something -like this:</p> - -<p>“<i>I might fall in love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>Thou mightest fall in love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>She might think I was falling in love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>He might imagine I wanted him to fall in -love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>We might both fall in love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>You might tease us about being in love.</i>”</p> - -<p>“<i>They might say we were actually engaged!</i>”</p> - -<p>All this we—Mr. Waters and I—are spared. -The feeling of it, which is there like a brick -wall between almost every unattached young -man and young woman, I know; I’ve felt it -there between Sydney and myself, long, long -before I knew he admired me.</p> - -<p>And this same wall—well, it’s not so much -that it’s never been built, or even that it’s -been pulled down, as that it’s not <em>between</em> Mr. -Waters and me, just because we’re sitting on -the top of it and talking all the more comfortably -for having climbed it together!</p> - -<p>Consequently, I really was pleased to accept -Mrs. Waters’ invitation. And when she said<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span> -further, “Billy won’t be able to join us for a -fortnight, I’m afraid. Will you go back, dear, -to this friend of yours you live with in London, -and come on later? Or—of course you know -we should love it!—could you come with -Blanche and Theo and me?” I said, “Do let -me come with you and the girls.”</p> - -<p>“That’s right,” said the Governor’s mother. -“Then I shall write to Mrs. Roberts at the -cottages, and tell her to have the extra bedroom -in <em>my</em> cottage ready for you.”</p> - -<p>“And I will write to Cicely Harradine—that’s -the girl I live with,” said I. “And I ought -to go up one day this week to the flat, and see -her and collect a few things.”</p> - -<p>“Go up on Saturday, dear,” suggested the -Governor’s mother. “Then Billy could motor -you up; he would like that so much.”</p> - -<p>She has so many plans of this kind for me, -fostered by this delusion that her son is -always on the look-out for a chance to be alone -with me.</p> - -<p>Of course it’s not quite the same kind of -delusion now that it was a week ago.</p> - -<p>The Governor’s “Good!” when he heard -that I was going to spend the summer holidays -with them at that curiously-named place in -Anglesey was quite as sincere in its way, I do -believe, as Theo’s “<em>Joy!</em> Oh, it will be twice -as lovely as usual with Nancy there to show<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span> -everything to!” He wasn’t the least bored, -either, when Mrs. Waters put forward the plan -of his motoring me up to town.</p> - -<p>“Rather! A good idea,” he said briskly. -“What about starting earlier after lunch, and -doing a matinée this afternoon? You’ve -never been to the theatre with me yet, Nancy, -and—we talked about that one day.”</p> - -<p>“So we did,” said I demurely, remembering -that grisly occasion at the Carlton.</p> - -<p>“Well, would you care about it?”</p> - -<p>“I should! Why! I haven’t been to the -theatre for ages. I haven’t seen anything; not -even <cite>Milestones</cite>!”</p> - -<p>“Care for that?”</p> - -<p>“Anything, so long as it’s a play!”</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll ’phone up now for seats.”</p> - -<p>And as he spoke through the telephone that -is fixed up in the den, I had almost a start at -what seemed to me the strangeness of my -employer’s voice. Yet that curt, metallic -“<i>Hullo!</i>” used to be familiar enough to me—the -only tone of his voice, indeed, that I’d ever -heard!</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>Passing the long waiting queue at the gallery -entrance to the Royalty this afternoon, I glanced -idly towards all those people who had stood -for over an hour, probably, to get a shilling seat;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span> -the playgoers to whom I myself belonged a -couple of months ago. Yet I never felt I’d -belonged to them.... I suppose no woman, -from a factory-hand to a viscountess, feels that -she really “belongs” to any but the life of -luxury. I don’t believe men feel that as -strongly—and yet it’s they who are supposed -to be the more finished and civilized sex. I -must ask Mr. Waters, now that I know him well -enough, what he thinks about this?</p> - -<p>I was just wondering, when, out of that -mosaic of black and coloured pattern formed -by the crowd, there turned with one movement -three dabs of colour, three cheap, effective -little hats; and three girlish faces, alight with -amusement and recognition, were lifted towards -us.</p> - -<p>They nodded and smiled; and I, leaning -forward out of the car, was just in time to wave -my hand to them.</p> - -<p>“Friends of yours?” said my employer, -glancing back as he raised his hat!</p> - -<p>“Why, yes! Didn’t you know them?”</p> - -<p>“No! Why should I?”</p> - -<p>“Because you see them every day,” I laughed. -“They were Miss Robinson, Miss Holt and -Miss Smith from your office.”</p> - -<p>“No? By Jove,” said Mr. Waters, rather -blankly. Which surprised me rather, as I -remembered his care that “the other typists<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span> -should know for a fact” with whom I was going -out, that first time of all.</p> - -<p>I was conscious, though I couldn’t see where -they sat in the gallery, that their three pairs of -eyes must be glued to us in our front-row stalls. -Nothing could have been more conventional -than our appearance—we were absolutely the -model of a prosperous young engaged couple -up from the suburbs; I, prettily dressed, with -the inevitable box of chocolates on my lap; he, -good tempered and easy of manner, paying me -all the customary attentions of programme, -helping me off with my coat, seeing that I had -opera-glasses, the best seat, and so on, and yet—apart -from the “official engagement” side of -it, how <em>really</em> unconventional was our relation!</p> - -<p>So much more satisfactory under the circumstances -than a real engagement! Or that pie-bald thing, -an understanding! Or that other -form of platonic friendship which either the -girl or the man is always hoping, or fearing, may -turn into something else!</p> - -<p>The curtain went up to the soft strains of a -tune which I, who have had to play accompaniments -to so many songs, didn’t know.... But -beside us and behind us there were old ladies -who murmured, “Ah! ‘<cite>She wore a Wreath -of Roses.</cite>’”</p> - -<p>The play began, and I forgot everything else -for a time.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span></p> - -<p>In the first interval we amused ourselves by -looking at the audience. They were nearly -<em>all</em> elderly ladies! As the Governor remarked, -“Nancy! Yours and mine are the only heads -for three rows of seats that aren’t grey-haired -or covered with bonnets!”</p> - -<p>“They’ve come to catch echoes of their past,” -I murmured flippantly as those tunes from the -<cite>Mikado</cite> sent the curtain up on Act II.</p> - -<p>That finished my flippancy for me.</p> - -<p>In what seemed like hours afterwards I heard -Mr. Waters’ voice, cool and detached, saying -something about good acting and soothing syrup -and the most sentimental public in the world, -then breaking off suddenly, anxiously to exclaim, -“What is it, Nancy? Aren’t you well?”</p> - -<p>“Of c-course I am! I’m only enjoying -myself!” I sobbed quietly; tears dripping -down on to the pleated frill of my afternoon -blouse. “I think it’s p-perfectly lovely!” -And I dabbed my face with the powder-puff -swathed in my handkerchief.</p> - -<p>“Rum idea of enjoyment,” said the Governor -doubtfully.</p> - -<p>“Not a bit rum,” I argued, having steadied -myself again. “You don’t know much about -girls—they’re mostly like that—ask any of them—ask -any of the other typists in your office!”</p> - -<p>“I suppose I’ve never looked upon those -as ‘girls,’” said he. “They’re—machines!<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span> -machines that eat cherries all day long and chuck -the stones all over the floor. Such inefficient -ones, too; they——Why d’you laugh, Nancy! -I say, you know quite well I don’t mean——”</p> - -<p>“Ssh!” came indignantly from under the -bonnet—trimmed with squashed heliotropes and -doddering jet beads—on the other side of him, -as the band struck up the rollicking two-step -that heralds the twentieth-century act.</p> - -<p>I didn’t cry any more, though.</p> - -<p>I believe I was actually less taken up with -what was on the stage than with the oddness -of my having been behind two sets of scenes -myself; with those girls who “couldn’t possibly -look upon Still Waters as ‘a man,’ exactly” -and then with this man who never really considered -typists as “girls.” When had he left -off considering me as just a typist? How -soon before that evening when we became -friends?</p> - -<p>Once more I felt grateful to that evening’s -compact, as I followed the tall figure with that -slight dip from the broad shoulders in to the -waist—that line so painfully cultivated by Major -Montresor!—and let it make a path for me -out of the theatre and to the waiting car.</p> - -<p>I believe I’ve always really hated going about -London alone, or with just another girl!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span></p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>“Now, then! Rumpelmayer’s, or the Piccadilly, -or where, for tea, Nancy, before I take you -on to your friend’s?”</p> - -<p>“I meant to have tea with her,” I explained. -“I was going on in the bus, and getting down -to Sevenoaks afterwards by the dinner-train; -saying good-bye to you here.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, were you! Why not take me along -too?” he suggested, looking down at me.</p> - -<p>Well! Why shouldn’t he realize in what -sort of places these machines called working-girls -live? He’d heard about the lawns and -gardens, and so forth, of my old home. Let him -see the change I’d had before—well, before that -first interview in his office. Then there was -Cicely. Yes, when I left her she was still rather -“difficult” about my engagement—rather given -to unspoken hopes that I wasn’t doing it for the -money. Let her see that my (official) <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> -was quite a human sort of young man—the sort -that some girls really might get engaged to without -a thought of his income!</p> - -<p>“My chum is a very pretty girl,” said I; -“<em>she’s</em> worth looking at——”</p> - -<p>“Fair?”</p> - -<p>“No, glorious red hair.”</p> - -<p>“Well, take me along and let me look at it!” -he urged boyishly; and presently we were -speeding along down the Embankment towards -Marconi Mansions.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span></p> - -<p>I had my latch-key in my vanity-bag. I -opened the door at the top of the many stone -steps and led the way into the passage, which -seemed about as light and wide as a good-sized -drainpipe after that airy, tiled vestibule at -The Lawn. Meaning to take Cicely by surprise, -I quietly walked into our small front sitting-room.</p> - -<p>But it was Cicely who took me by surprise.</p> - -<p>She had, already, a visitor for tea.</p> - -<p>Thick cigarette-smoke made a blue haze above -the jumble of odd bits of furniture which we’d -picked up second-hand in the Old King’s Road, -above the tea-table with its Persian Rose pottery, -its plate of Chelsea buns and its green dish of -cherries—I hoped there weren’t many stones -on the floor!—a haze that half obscured Cicely’s -bright head and the figure that reclined, opposite -to her, in our comfiest basket-chair. I saw by -the unusual garments of it that it must be—yes! -Sydney Vandeleur!</p> - -<p>Really, I don’t know which of the four of us -was least pleased to see the others, while I introduced -Mr. Waters to Cicely and said gaily to -the men, “I think you’ve met before” ... and -forced myself to dissipate the odious pause that -followed the insincerely civil greetings by plunging -into some sort of conversation.</p> - -<p>It was worst for me, I think. I was so utterly -taken aback—first, by finding Sydney there at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span> -all, and then by wondering what on earth the -Governor would think of his being there—<em>and -in those clothes</em>!</p> - -<p>For Sydney’s latest idea for not being slavishly -got-up like every other miserably conventional -tailor’s dummy was, apparently, to have his -“things” more or less a copy, but an <i lang="fr">édition -de luxe</i>, of a French fisher-boy’s <i lang="fr">vareuse</i>-blouse -and skirt-like trousers; those brown corduroys -were of corduroy-velvet at goodness knows -what a yard, cut by some master-hand in Savile -Row; the very bagginess at the ankles, above -the leaf-brown silk socks, had been carefully -studied. And the Governor!—who’d once -said:</p> - -<p>“<i>After all, what’s unusual in dress is wrong, -nine times out of ten. Eight times, it’s also -hideous.</i>”</p> - -<p>He must be positively flabbergasted at this -spectacle! I’m more accustomed to those ideas; -but even I found it a relief to turn my eyes upon -his stereotyped grey suit after that fell and deadly -“<i>effectiveness</i>” of Sydney’s....</p> - -<p>Posing in his dress like that! Posing, even -more shamelessly, in his manner!</p> - -<p>For wouldn’t you have thought that anyone -who’d been refused by a girl and who then -came unexpectedly face to face with that girl -and the person for whom he imagines she’s -jilted him—<em>wouldn’t</em> you suppose that he would<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span> -at least behave like a man? Take it without -flinching, even if it were fairly unpleasant, and -carry it off as if nothing particular had happened? -<em>I</em> shall never think the same of Sydney again -for not doing that.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it served me right for the rather -spiteful note I wrote to him just before I went -off to The Lawn, but—Need he have committed -the solecism of calling me, when I’ve never -been anything but “Monica” to him, “<i>Miss -Trant</i>” in italics? It was trying! So was -the pathetic look which he saw fit to call up -into his spanielly brown eyes as he glanced from -me to Mr. Waters. (Mask well down there, -so I couldn’t guess what <em>he</em> made of this velvet-and-Vandyke -apparition.) And the worm-in-the-bud -expression which Sydney let steal over -the whole of his dreamy, Cavalier’s face as he -turned it, in a way that all but said “Ah! You -understand what I suffer!” to Cicely——</p> - -<p>Cicely, too! <em>Cicely</em>, who’s shared ups and -downs with me for the last two years! Even she -must needs forsake me, making matters worse -by creating a general atmosphere of blight even -while she was bringing in two more leadless-glaze -cups and plates, and making fresh tea, and -by giving an accurate though unspoken impression -of what she “understood.”</p> - -<p>“Yes! I am the looker-on at this game. I -see it all! The sensitive, artistic soul—”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span></p> - -<p>(This is what she thinks of Sydney.)</p> - -<p>—“torn by the sight of this hopelessly stodgy, -commonplace young man—”</p> - -<p>(I know that this is how she sums up my friend -Mr. Waters.)</p> - -<p>—“being preferred to himself! Ah, Love -is blind!”</p> - -<p>(Meaning me.)</p> - -<p>“And people never seem to recognize the -right man until it’s too late.”</p> - -<p>(Deluded little donkey!)</p> - -<p>We had tea. What a meal!</p> - -<p>“You do take sugar in it, don’t you, Tots?” -plaintively from Cicely, with a side-effect of, -“She’s so deplorably altered in everything else, -I don’t know what any of her tastes may be -now!”</p> - -<p>“Does Mr. Waters take it?” (To <em>me</em>!)</p> - -<p>“Not any, thanks,” from the Governor. -“Only milk.”</p> - -<p>Cicely’s glance commented silently, “Ah! -Incompatibility latent here! An unhappy -marriage!”</p> - -<p>Why, why hadn’t I said I’d like to go to -Rumpelmayer’s, or Lyons’—or Lockhart’s? -Anything rather than this funereal feast, with -Sydney Vandeleur as the skeleton thereat! -Even if he’d remained a voiceless skeleton! -But, cheered by all the subtle encouragement -and moral support from his pretty hostess—I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span> -must say Cicely was looking prettier than ever!—Sydney -began to recover a little, relaxed his -first pose of open broken-heartedness, and proceeded -to <em>talk</em>.</p> - -<p>Nobody else did. Mr. Waters looked as if -nothing was going to force his lips asunder -again. I didn’t want to say anything. Cicely -was quite happy to listen. And Sydney held -forth.</p> - -<p>He began with—“Have you been to—” and -“Haven’t you seen—” various picture-galleries -and pieces of an “advanced” type.</p> - -<p>“What! Not seen ‘<cite>The Keening of Deidre</cite>,’ -even? But why not?” he protested to me, -lolling back in that chair as if he didn’t possess -a spine. “Oh, it’s such a wonderful thing; so -subtle and so brutal at the same time. And -one’s sure of seeing everyone one wants to see, in -the pit; a positive At Home of them. Better -than the dear old palmy days of the Sicilians. -I have been three times. The whole effect is -so—so sculptured! You would love it! Oh, -you must take her”—this to my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>, -who sat silent and non-committal and very bolt-upright. -“You really must not miss it. It is -coming off next week.”</p> - -<p>“I’m going away next week,” said I.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes? To the country?”</p> - -<p>“To Wales.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, Wales! It used to be so wild and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span> -charming and remote—almost as good as those -perfectly untrodden tracts we still get in the -West of Ireland. But it’s frightfully overdone -now,” complained Sydney. “One doesn’t know -if it’s the fault of Lloyd George, or the picture -postcards, or that appalling little railway up -Snowdon, but Wales has become so <em>obvious</em>. -When I’m going over to Ballycool, do you know, -I have to read all the way in the train between -Chester and Holyhead, in terror lest I should -inadvertently catch sight of any of the ‘scenery.’ -I assure you”—to Cicely—“that when you get -that Snowdon Range, cut out in purple cardboard -jig-saws against what the dear tourists -call ‘a glorious sunset’ it’s almost exactly like -a landscape in the Academy!”</p> - -<p>“How <em>perfectly</em> dreadful!” sympathized -Cicely—little humbug! who, only last year, -used to mark her favourite pictures in the -Academy Catalogue. I do hate a girl’s tastes -to be mere echoes of the man she’s with!</p> - -<p>“And those ruined castles; they’re really -almost too priceless to be true,” enlarged -Sydney. “Turrets like this”—he zig-zagged -with a finger in the air, while a gold curb bracelet -chinked at his slim wrist—“reflected, wherever -possible, in water. Terrible! I mean, you -simply <em>have</em> to laugh! You feel the landscape -transforming itself into wings and a drop-scene -before your eyes! And the ‘Elephant<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span> -Mountain’ that they insist on pointing out to -you, because it really <em>is</em> so like an elephant’s back! -(Such an attraction!). And then those <em>meaty</em> -pink clouds that they always contrive to get so -symmetrically posed <em>just</em> behind the summit -of Snowdon! Snowdon itself is so hopelessly -banal that it only just falls short of perfection. -Excruciating! Cader Idris, now, is a little -better,” he went on kindly. “It is still possible -to introduce Cader to one’s friends. Cader, -with that quaint lake they have there, remains -quite an attractive mountain, I think”—turning -to Mr. Waters, who still looked as if <em>he</em> couldn’t -think of anything to say to this person who -patted the Welsh mountains, so to speak, on the -head.</p> - -<p>“We aren’t going to be among the mountains,” -he announced briefly. “My people generally -settle for six weeks or so in Anglesey.”</p> - -<p>“Not really? How amusing—I mean, it’s -really possible to ‘settle’ there?” said Sydney -Vandeleur, lifting his dark Vandyke beard from -his tie—heavens, what a tie! I’d only just -noticed that. “One had always looked upon -Anglesey as a sort of straight line leading to the -North Wall.”</p> - -<p>“H’m,” said the Governor, who, having -checked a “Can-such-things-be?” start, was -obviously trying to keep his eyes off that tie -of Sydney’s: a bunch of amber silk, patterned<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span> -with blatant little splashes of scarlet, black, -magenta, emerald-green.... Futurist, I presume. -How could I ever, ever have dreamt -that life, even in Ballycool Castle, could have -been tolerable with a man who wore ties like -that? I should have left him in a week. No! -I’m sure I should never have been there to leave -him. I couldn’t....</p> - -<p>Sydney lighted another cigarette, and the -conversation languished. <em>Nobody</em> spoke.</p> - -<p>In the middle of this sickening sag to the talk -I had an inspiration!</p> - -<p>I thought, since both these young men sing -and one of them composes, that it would be at -this juncture a bright thought to introduce the -subject of music.</p> - -<p>Why did I do it?</p> - -<p>It was distinctly what Jack calls “a wash-out.” -For Sydney Vandeleur at once switched -off on to Eleventh Century folk-songs. And -Mr. Waters, asked if he didn’t think they were -too delicious, was “afraid the Eleventh Century -was out of his groove.”</p> - -<p>And then Sydney hummed several only -slightly more modern Celtic dirges—one about -“The Sweet Flowers, all gone to Decay!”</p> - -<p>And Mr. Waters said he preferred his flowers -<em>fresh</em>; adding bluntly that he loathed all those -miserable minor wails himself, and quite agreed -with that law which Queen Elizabeth passed for<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span> -the Irish bards of her time, sentencing them to -death if they composed songs on any subject -whatsoever except in praise of the Queen’s most -Excellent Majesty.</p> - -<p>That brought back some of Sydney’s first -pose. With a pained little smile he turned to -me, then, putting on just the expression of the -bereaved collie in Landseer’s “Shepherd’s Chief -Mourner,” he asked me if I <em>happened</em> to have -kept the MS. of that little thing he’d written -for me to that sonnet—“<cite>Kissing her Hair, I sat -against her Feet</cite>.”</p> - -<p>I felt myself flushing up to the roots of my -own wretched hair that he’d always so praised -... there was something about kissing of hair -which <em>he</em> knew nothing of, and that I was only -too thankful to let die a natural death.... -Rather shortly, I answered, “Oh, that song—yes; -it’s tucked away in some drawer or other -here, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“If it wouldn’t be troubling you too much, -Miss Trant, to lend it to me again? It was -my only copy,” suggested Sydney softly (<i lang="it">con -molto espressione</i>).</p> - -<p>“Of course,” said I. “I’ll find it for you -now. Cicely, you might come into my room -and help me to hunt.”</p> - -<p>Cicely followed me, leaving those two men -to entertain each other. How they proceeded -to do so I suppose I shall never know!</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span></p> - -<p>“Well, Cis, how are you getting on?” I -asked her, when the door was closed between -us and them. “Foot’s all right, I see, and you -said you’d gone back to work?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but not at Chérisette’s, you know; -I’m working opposite in Bond Street; Madame -Lamaire’s. Mr. Vandeleur got me an introduction -from his married sister, who knows her; -and I’m getting a better salary, and such a much -better time, there. He has been so awfully -kind, Tots!”</p> - -<p>“Has he? Have you—been seeing a good -deal of him, then?”</p> - -<p>“He’s been here several times, but”—reproachfully—“only -to talk about you!”</p> - -<p>“Good of him,” I said.</p> - -<p>Cicely looked more reproach. “Well, he -says you’ve taken all the colour out of his life -and left ‘<i>gold tarnished and the grey above the -green</i>.’”</p> - -<p>“Drat him! And his colours!” I quoted -Mrs. Skinner vulgarly and vindictively. “He’d -plenty of them left in his tie, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“I am afraid,” said Cecily aloofly and with a -pointed comparison in her face, “that you’ve -scarcely <em>realized</em> Mr. Vandeleur.”</p> - -<p>“Haven’t I? Well, the sort of man who, -when he’s turned down by one girl, must needs -rush and pour it all out into the shell-like ear of -the next——” But I broke off here.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span></p> - -<p>What I suddenly did realize was that, for next -to no reason, I was on the brink of squabbling -ridiculously with my chum.</p> - -<p>So I hastily changed the subject to rent-money -and the length of time I should probably -be away, caught up Sydney’s ever-to-be-hated -song, reassured Cicely that I was not going to -be married until after the summer—<em>long</em> after! -and told her I was glad she was getting on so -well.</p> - -<p>“Get Mr. Vandeleur, if he wants cheering -up, to take you to ‘<cite>The Keening of Deidre</cite>,’” -said I. “Good-bye!”</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>It threatened to be a silent motor-drive -back to Sevenoaks.</p> - -<p>Again I felt that I should have to be the one -to take the plunge into conversation.</p> - -<p>“Well?” I said. “Didn’t you think Miss -Harradine a very pretty girl?”</p> - -<p>“Beautiful hair,” said Mr. Waters, “hasn’t -she?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, lovely.”</p> - -<p>Silence.</p> - -<p>I saw that Mr. Waters hadn’t realized what I -suspected: namely, that Sydney was beginning -to find my chum quite sufficiently “lovely” as -a girl, not merely as a confidante for his sorrows -about “another,” who was, as he imagined,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span> -“another’s.” But I was longing to hear some -comment on Sydney.</p> - -<p>I should have been left longing, I suppose, -if I hadn’t said straight out, “What <em>did</em> you -think of Mr. Vandeleur?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, come! What a question! How can -one tell, after seeing a man for half an hour? -He seemed—clever, and all that,” fenced my -companion. “Of course he’s not the sort of -man <em>I</em> get thrown much with in that sordid, -detestable City of mine, as you call it. What -does he do?”</p> - -<p>“He doesn’t have to ‘do’ anything.”</p> - -<p>“Rather lucky for him,” remarked Mr. Waters, -in a tone I didn’t fathom.</p> - -<p>I said, “But he does draw and design—and -he writes dramatic criticisms—and he composes.”</p> - -<p>“Gifted sort of chap,” said Mr. Waters -smoothly. “I suppose——”</p> - -<p>And then stopped.</p> - -<p>“You suppose what?” I urged. “No, do -tell me,” as he looked obstinately ahead and shut -his lips into that line. “You <em>must</em>, Billy!” -Then I found myself laughing and colouring a -little with surprise. For the first time I’d used -that absurd name in speaking directly to him.</p> - -<p>He turned to me, smiling once more in quite -a friendly way. But it was not to answer my -question. It was to ask another.</p> - -<p>“Nancy, you know I shall expect you to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span> -write to me? When you’re at Porth Cariad -with my mother and the girls, I mean.... -It’ll look funny if you don’t.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, of course. For the look of the thing,” -said I, “I’ll write.”</p> - -<p>“Sorry to trouble you. You can put a blank -sheet into the envelope, you know, if you like.”</p> - -<p>“I hadn’t thought of that!” I laughed, glad -to be once again on comfortable terms of chatty -friendship. “But—so I can.”</p> - -<p>“Well, as long as you don’t forget to send -<em>something</em>,” said Billy Waters.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>He reminded me of this once again, on Euston -platform. For we—his mother, his sisters, his -official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> and the little dog—left London -at eleven o’clock on the following Saturday -morning.</p> - -<p>That evening we were all among the sand-slopes -and the gorse and the soft calling of the -waves at Porth Cariad.</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST LETTERS</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“Hullo, Robert Roberts! Any letters for -us?” sang out Theo.</p> - -<p>She had darted out of the cottage, hatless, as -usual, her nose already peeling with sunburn and -her long bare legs covered with midge-bites and -sea-holly scratches down to her white sand-shoes, -to waylay our postman; he’s the son of -Mrs. Roberts, our landlady, a young Welsh giant -who wears that uniform coat for just that five -minutes daily which it takes him to deliver the -mails at Porth Cariad.</p> - -<p>“Yes, mam!” he announced. “Picture poss-card -for you—I wonder shall I have it, mam, -when you read it? Blodwen and me is making -a co-leckshon of those. Letter for your mother; -letter an’ <em>big</em> parsal for the strange young lady.”</p> - -<p>I—who have not been seen in the place before -this year—am the strange young lady.</p> - -<p>“Here you are,” said Theo, bringing the mail -into the kitchen-sitting-room where we’d just -finished breakfast; a room that boasts three<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span> -grandfather clocks and five pairs of china dogs -and a dresser crowded with blue-and-white -plates. “The letter and the ‘parsal’ for Nancy -are both from the Adored One!”</p> - -<p>Meaning her brother.</p> - -<p>“And I suppose you’ll now have to fly off -somewhere to read your love-letter all by yourself.”</p> - -<p>“Of course I must,” I laughed.</p> - -<p>For it’s rather amusing in the face of all this -to think that, except for one sentimental scrap -from Sydney, I’ve never had a love-letter to read -in all my life!</p> - -<p class="tb">This duty-document of my official <i lang="fr">fiancé’s</i> -I’ve taken out on to the sand-hills; there’s a -dip under the crest of one of them where I can -curl up in comfort out of the wind, facing the -view across the bay, with that pale lilac silhouette -of the Carnarvonshire hills across the water.</p> - -<p>How funny it seems to unfold a letter bearing -the familiar heading of the Near Oriental Shipping -Company’s offices! But this one, actually, -is not type-written, and signed by a “William -Waters, per pro.,” and a scrawled “A. A.” -of Mr. Alexander’s.</p> - -<p>William Waters has written in his own hand; -not a particularly good one, either. Several -sheets of it? Was it such an unusually slack day -at the office, then?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“July —, 1913.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">My dear Nancy</span>,</p> - -<p>“I was glad to hear <em>from my mother</em>”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(I don’t see why he should underline the three -last words; <em>I</em> shouldn’t be likely to write first.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“that you’d arrived safely and were -comfortably settled into the cottages. I -wonder what you think of Porth Cariad. -I do hope you won’t be bored to extinction -in such a quiet spot; but you were warned, -weren’t you, not to expect esplanades and -pier-concerts and shops and things? Do -you think you can manage to make yourself -at all happy without them?</p> - -<p>“How do you like the bathing in that -little bay next to the cottages? Can you -swim? If not, you will have to learn. I -will teach you.</p> - -<p>“I am pretty keen on getting down myself, -I can tell you. Town, in this heat, -is the abomination of desolation; and smelly. -So is the office. You’ve never been here -in July. It’s awful. I’ll let you know later -when I shall be coming; time of train, etc.</p> - -<p>“You were missed at The Lawn last -night. I took a man who lives near to share -my solitary meal there, and to have a game -of billiards afterwards. He wanted me to -try over ‘Ford of Kabul River’ for him;<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_280"></a>[280]</span> -I can’t accompany myself, though, and he -made an awful hash of it. I wished we’d -dined in town and gone to a show.</p> - -<p>“When I go out to lunch I shall call -at Fuller’s and order them to send you on—for -the look of the thing—a box of chocolates. -I hope they have one with a picture -of forget-me-nots or something of the sort -on the lid,”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(Yes; they had. White satin, with the sprays -of flowers embroidered in pale blue silk.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“as Theo notices everything. Don’t -let her bag all the sweets, though.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(Here the writing gets more scrawly and -hurried.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Have just got in from lunch, which I had -with my uncle. He was full of talk; you -can imagine it!”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(I can.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I also saw two other men whom I’d -got to meet, and as a result of this, I think -I’ve managed to get through the business -that was keeping me. So I shall be down -at the end of the week after all; cheers for -some fresh air and a dip! Please be very -glad to see me, will you? as Theo—but -I put that before.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_281"></a>[281]</span></p> - -<p>“Just before I went out to lunch a very -rum thing happened: at least, I thought -it was rum until I found out what it was. -I was opening the door of my room when I -heard, in the passage, <em>your voice</em>, Nancy! -Yes, your voice, with that little dare-devil -tone you put on sometimes, saying these -extraordinary words: ‘<i>I think it’s to the -Savoy that I’m going out with Mr. Waters -to-day</i>!’</p> - -<p>“I couldn’t think what on earth was the -meaning of it, with you miles away in -Anglesey.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(But already I smiled, seeing what was -coming!)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I wondered what could have brought -you back, or if I’d got an hallucination—can -you hear hallucinations?—and I bolted -out into the passage, nearly knocking over -two of the typists who were coming down it.</p> - -<p>“Miss Smith (that’s the one whose affections -are otherwise engaged, isn’t it?) fled -like a hare; but that tall, dark Miss Robinson -stood her ground, only moving aside a -little for me to pass. I stopped and asked -her straight out, ‘Was it you who were -speaking a moment ago?’</p> - -<p>“She said ‘Yes’—all meekness at once. -‘Mimicking hussy’ I thought—for it really<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_282"></a>[282]</span> -had been exactly the way I’ve heard you -speak, you know, sometimes. It was all -I could do to keep from laughing outright, -but I just said ‘Well, I am writing to Miss -Trant to-day; can I give her any message -from you?’</p> - -<p>“And she said (in that ‘mim’ voice, -which I’m blest if I shall ever feel able to -believe in again!) ‘Will you please give -her my love, Mr. Waters?’</p> - -<p>“So with love from Miss Robinson, I -remain,</p> - -<p class="center">“Your</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Billy</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(What’s this? “Your” Billy? It can’t be. -Oh, no. It’s his disgraceful handwriting. It’s -the “r” being scrawled into the “s” like that. -“Yours, Billy,” is how it really reads. How -stupid of me not to see that at once! Then -there’s a bit across the top.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Six-forty train Porth Cariad on Saturday. -You might write and tell me how you -do like the place; and you might answer -at once, even if it’s only for the girls to take -it to the post.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>So, for the benefit of Blanche and Theo, I -will write at once; I’ll do it out here, in pencil -on my pad, as I’ve so often taken down his own<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_283"></a>[283]</span> -letters. (One of these days I shall tell him how -I loathed it, and how utterly impossible his -dictation was!)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Porth Cariad. July —, 1913.</p> - -<p class="noindent">“<span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</p> - -<p>“Your favour of yesterday’s date to -hand, for which we thank you.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(There! I wonder how he’ll like that. Will -he think that it goes on all through?)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“The lovely sweets really were appreciated; -but I didn’t let Theo bag them all, -nor take the pale-blue satin tie-up to make a -bow for Cariad, which was what she wanted -to do. So then she said of course Nancy -would want to keep that ribbon to tie round -all your letters. She does notice everything, -doesn’t she?</p> - -<p>“As for how I like this place, I simply -love it, and the cottages—I’m in the bigger -one with your mother, and Theo and Blanche -are together in the other until you come—and -I love the sand-hills with the sea-holly -and little prickly brambly roses and tiny -purple pansies growing all over them,”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(I might slip a pansy from this place that he’s -fond of into the envelope? No, I mightn’t. -There’s no Theo to “notice” at his end.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_284"></a>[284]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“and the cloud shadows on those hills -opposite, and Mrs. Roberts, with her sackcloth -cooking-apron and her clogs and the -boy’s cap she wears; and Blodwen, even if -all the English they know does always seem -to be all about you! And I should hate a -pier-concert if there was one. There’s -everything here to make me quite happy. -Since this very hot weather’s come, the -bathing is delicious. I learned to swim when -I was a little girl, thank you.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(So he needn’t think he can teach me anything.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“How was Mr. Albert Waters? Still -chuckling and laughing ‘ho, ho!’ I expect.</p> - -<p>“<em>I</em> laughed at your being taken in like -that by Miss Robinson. Yesterday morning -I was almost taken in, by something that -was like you: a sharp tap against my bedroom -window that might have been a stone -thrown up. But it was only a fat, speckly -thrush cracking a snail; there are always -lots of them crawling out of that southernwood -bush by the door.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Roberts asks me to tell you,”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(What she <em>said</em>, in her speciously honeyed -Welsh voice and with her irresistible if toothless<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_285"></a>[285]</span> -smile, was, “Tell your <em>Cariad</em>——” But I -needn’t put that.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“that the ’ooden ’ooman—it took me -some time to remember that this was the -figure-head on the cliff!—was want paint -very bad, and she wonder would you do it -when you come. Welsh people, I notice, -are fond of ‘wondering’ like this, instead -of asking straight out for what they want; -yet they generally seem to get it.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(Dear me, this is rather different from the -blank sheet I might have enclosed.... Anyhow, -it mustn’t get any longer than his, so I’d -better stop now.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“I will give this to Theo to post, and”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(Goodness, it is difficult to think of how to -sign oneself to young men. To Sydney I was -always “Yours sincerely.” A stupid ending, -means nothing at all.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“With kind regards.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(No.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Assuring you always of my best attention,”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(No. A bit of that at the beginning was -enough.)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_286"></a>[286]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“Will give this to Theo to post, and I -am,”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(Well! What I <em>am</em>, after all!)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="right">“Your official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>,</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Monica Trant</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>Ah! <em>Now</em> there’s something I’d forgotten!</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“P. S. I will remember what you’ve -ordered—”</p> - -</div> - -<p>(No, that sounds rather nasty; rather too -like Manner B. Cross it out.)</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>—“what you—wish”? No! “What -you suggest about my being pleased to see -you on Saturday.</p> - -<p class="right">“N.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>As a matter of fact—I shan’t write it, as it -might possibly give a wrong impression!—but -I really <em>shall</em> be quite pleased to see Billy Waters -again. And now to find his young sister, and -send her off to the post with what she, in her -innocence, imagines to be a return <em>love</em>-letter!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_287"></a>[287]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE WOODEN WOMAN</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>If a girl were the least bit inclined to fall -in love with Billy Waters—and I see now -that some girls might be; though not, of course, -any girl of my type, capable of this kind of frank -friendship that puts anything else out of the question!—well, -if she were, she’d find it much easier -to complete the process here at Porth Cariad -than anywhere else that I can imagine him.</p> - -<p>Some men—generally the nicest—are so much -more <em>themselves</em> in the depths of the country. -He is.</p> - -<p>I noticed that the very first evening he -arrived here, when I went down to meet him—to -keep up appearances before his family—at -this tiny station on the branch line. Before -the train stopped I saw his head and shoulders -blocking up the open window of his compartment -in his hurry to arrive. Catching sight of -me on the platform, he took the pipe from -between his strong white teeth and flourished -it over his head in greeting—his face one broad -smile because his holiday had begun; then the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_288"></a>[288]</span> -train slowed down; he was out of the carriage -door and taking a running stride towards me.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Nancy!” he said, and grasped my -hands. “You came? I wondered if you -would. It’s very—appropriate of you. How -are you? You look very fit. A sun-bonnet, -eh?”—It was a haymaker’s cotton one, that -I’d bought for a shilling and a ha’penny at the -post office, and rather becoming—“I’ve never -seen you in a pink sun-bonnet before.”</p> - -<p>“You wouldn’t be likely to in Leadenhall -Street,” I retorted. “How’s the dear office?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know or care. I’m here to forget -it,” he said gaily as we left the station for the -road between the sand-hills. “I think I shall -take to wearing a sun-bonnet myself!”</p> - -<p class="tb">But what he wears here is just a soft white -shirt with a turn-down collar and a pair of loose -grey flannel bags belted at the waist; no hat at -all—his hair has got to look as if it must be -permanently rumpled; no one from the office -would recognize him! Even his eyes seem a -different colour; so much warmer and bluer -for the deepening of his tan. He drops a year -a day from his age, too. When one sees him -striding about these sandy lanes, or terrifying his -mother by those efforts to walk on his hands -in six foot of water in the bay, or when he’s -pretending to jabber back Welsh to Mrs. Roberts<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_289"></a>[289]</span> -and Blodwen, who openly adore him—yes, I -can imagine quite a number of people finding -him positively attractive here in the country.</p> - -<p>In the country, too, as I’ve always heard, -it’s so much easier to fall in love than it is in town. -Town, with its rush and racket and roar, seems -to insist that the things that really matter -are getting on and making money—or even the -bare living for which half these grimy crowds -are struggling and toiling! But the country!—<em>that</em> -has a way of suggesting itself as a series -of lovely backgrounds for a grouping of Two, -and of coaxing home the idea that all that -matters is Love. To a falling-in-love kind of -person the country here would seem as bad -as Hamlet for being “<i>so full of quotations</i>” from -every poet who ever wrote about trysts, and -gathering rosebuds, and loves in valleys, and -foolish, pretty nonsense of that sort. <em>They’d</em> -be reminded of it by every dance of a pair of -blue butterflies over the dunes; every spread -of the rosy arms of sea-anemones in the pool -towards the incoming wave; and as for these -other waves of scented gold that are poured -over all the waste ground hereabouts——</p> - -<p>“It’s a blessing there’s such a lot of it out -just now!” as Theo remarked this morning -at breakfast. “I suppose engaged people <em>would</em> -want to be where there was plenty of gorse!”</p> - -<p>Whereat her brother and I exchanged glances,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_290"></a>[290]</span> -across the table, of amused intelligence. For -it’s all very well for this child to think she can -“chip” us with that old tag about kissing and -the gorse in bloom. We’ve only got to remember -how little she suspects that the only kiss between -us is that “duty good night” one of Uncle -Albert’s visit, and the laugh is all on our side!</p> - -<p class="tb">“You needn’t laugh, Billy,” Theo added. -“You know you’re really frightfully cross because -you won’t be able to get Nancy all to yourself -this afternoon, with these people coming!”</p> - -<p>It was the first I’d heard of any visitors, for -I’d come down rather late that morning. I -hadn’t slept as well as I usually do. Outside -the window of my little sloping-ceilinged cottage -bedroom the water, at high tide, had seemed -to make rather more noise than its usual soft -lap-lapping against the rocks. And then the -moon, rising like a big round primrose-coloured -Chinese lantern in the star-sprinkled purple -sky over the Rivals on the other side of the -Menai Straits, had poured a flood of white -radiance straight upon my bed, and I hadn’t -bothered to get up and pull down the yellow -linen blind to shut it out. I had wanted to -feel the sea-scented night-breeze across my face. -So I had lain there, tossing a little between the -snowy rough country sheets, watching the -square of light creeping inch by inch up the wall,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_291"></a>[291]</span> -and thinking idly of all sorts of irrelevant -things....</p> - -<p>Of Cicely in Marconi Mansions....</p> - -<p>Of “Smithie” at the office, and her boy. -They didn’t prove much truth in the theory -that people fall more deeply in love in the -country. I saw again that crossing at the -Bank, with the big motor-buses skidding across -the muddy road like beginners on skates; and -there, in the middle of the fog and the petrol-reek -and the jostling luncheon-hour crowds, -those two anæmic, City-fied young faces shone as -radiantly as if the lovers walked the loneliest -Eden that ever was....</p> - -<p>Of a school-friend of my own, now very -happily married, who had said to me, long ago: -“An engagement, Monica, is such a <em>skimpy</em> -time! It’s made up of nothing but good-byes -and good nights to the person you most -want to be always with!”</p> - -<p>And of the difference between that sort of -engagement and the “arrangement” between -myself and Billy Waters, which has converted -itself into such an entirely satisfactory and -amusing friendship....</p> - -<p>The result was that I’d dropped off to sleep -again after Blodwen’s bang on my bedroom door, -and that I’d been the last down at breakfast.</p> - -<p>“Who’s this that’s coming, Billy?” I asked. -“Your Uncle Albert again?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_292"></a>[292]</span></p> - -<p>“No, thank—I mean, no, not him,” said Billy. -“Some French people you haven’t met yet. -They’re touring North Wales in their car. He’s -a man I’ve had a good deal to do with in -business.”</p> - -<p>“And <em>she</em>——” began Theo, stopping uncharacteristically -short as her brother went -on, tapping a letter he held.</p> - -<p>“I’ve just heard from him that they’re -in Holyhead now, and coming over here to look -us up this afternoon. So that puts a stopper -on our plan of painting that figure-head for -Mrs. Roberts after lunch. We’ll have to see -if we can get it done this morning instead. Good -thing I got that paint last night at the wheelwright’s. -Are you on, Nancy? Then, if you’re -ready, we’ll start now, shall we?”</p> - -<p>“Blanche and I don’t think we’ll come, -thank you,” said Theodora punctiliously.</p> - -<p>“What, not until you’re asked?” laughed -her brother, rummaging for the paint-pots -under the southernwood bush at the cottage -door. He gave me one pot and the brushes -to carry, taking the other two himself. “Well, -good-bye, all!”</p> - -<p>“Come back, then, Cariad!” called Blanche, -but the little white dog frisked unheedingly -in circles ahead of us, across the shingle at the -edge of the cove, over a couple of sand-hills, -then up the steps cut in the turf of the cliff<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_293"></a>[293]</span> -where the Roberts have set up a flagstaff and -the wooden woman.</p> - -<p class="tb">She’d been the figure-head of the <i>Gwladys -Pritchard</i>, Mrs. Roberts had told us, which -had been wrecked in the bay below, many years -ago; the name and the face alike having been -copied from the real girl who was “cariad” -to the owner of the vessel.</p> - -<p>“She must have been pretty,” I thought, -the first time I climbed the cliff.</p> - -<p>For many coats of paint, roughly applied, -could not spoil or disguise the setting of the -carved girl’s eyes, nor the tender oval of the -up-tilted chin, nor the lines of the neck flowing -down into the sloping shoulders and the figure -held up in an unmodern curve above the corset -of the Sixties, which must have set the fashion -of Miss Pritchard’s dress. She wore a little -jacket with basques and epaulettes and shoulder-seams -set far down the sleeves; and a tiny pork-pie -hat, trimmed with a wing, was perched upon -her hair, which had been last painted yellow as -the gorse that grew in hummocks all around her. -The jacket had been white, with trimmings of -emerald green; the same green, too, plastered -the hat and the wooden nosegay which she held -up against her breast. Yet, for all this crude -green-and-white, for all the untaught modelling -of it, there was a vitality about this graven<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_294"></a>[294]</span> -image which I’d never seen in any statue. Was -it because it had once been part of that live -thing, a ship?</p> - -<p>I could picture that image of a slender girl, -leaning breast forward again from the prow of -her lover’s vessel as she heaved and dipped like -a gull on the waves; scanning horizons, joyously -riding the gale, and free to sea and sky!</p> - -<p>Rooted in turf, the immobility of cliff and -rock was now her prison, while the gulls still -screamed and wheeled above her....</p> - -<p>And the real Gwladys?</p> - -<p>“Did she go down with the ship?” I’d -asked Mrs. Roberts.</p> - -<p>“No, indeed, mam. There wasn’t one -drowned on the <i>Gwladys Pritchard</i>,” Mrs. -Roberts had assured us. “That Miss Pritchard -she was marry to my cousin, Captain Lloyd, -since—dear me, I don’t know when. They -keepin’ a public-house in Bluemaris now. Ô! she -<em>is</em> gone stout, too!”</p> - -<p>“It would have been <em>prettier</em> if she’d been -drowned,” Blanche had said softly.</p> - -<p>“Mam?” Mrs. Roberts had said.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Waters had finished the story by -telling us gently, “Anyhow, the Lloyds have -three of the <em>sweetest</em> little grandchildren; -I’ve seen them!”</p> - -<p>Evidently <em>she</em> had thought that for either -woman or ship to be safe in harbour like that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_295"></a>[295]</span> -was better than any more picturesque finale.... -Well! I don’t know....</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>We reached the flagstaff, and set down -our pots of paint among the buffets of gorse -that had sprays of purple ling and blue scabious -growing through and making a bouquet of each.</p> - -<p>Billy’s shirt-sleeves are always rolled up to the -elbow; the sleeves of my white cotton frock -are three-quarter length; so we were both -equipped for work, though I’d refused the offer -of Mrs. Roberts’ sackcloth apron. It was <em>too</em> -coal-y and butter-y and paraffiny and scented -with hen! But here the heady warm fragrance -of the gorse almost drowned the smell of our -paints.</p> - -<p>“Scarlet, and black, and white? Scarlet -for her hat and jacket, eh?” suggested Billy. -“And how are we going to paint her hands and -face? What colour’s flesh?”</p> - -<p>“Some people say it’s just the colour of honeysuckle,” -I answered absently. I can’t be perfectly -certain that he <em>did</em> retort so sharply, -below his breath, “<em>Does</em> he, indeed!” or that -the name of Sydney Vandeleur had been threatening -to crop up once more between us. Still, -I was glad of the wide pink shelter of my sun-bonnet -as I added, in a matter-of-fact way, -“You <em>could</em> get a sort of flesh-tint by mixing a<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_296"></a>[296]</span> -little of the red with the white paint, but I -don’t think I should. Suppose we leave the -face and hands creamy-white as they are?”</p> - -<p>“Very well; and her lips red, and the jacket -and that toque affair, with more dabs of scarlet -for the flowers in her bunch,” he said, kneeling -on the sun-warmed turf on the other side of the -figure from me, “with a black wing in her hat.”</p> - -<p>“And her hair left as it is, too,” said I.</p> - -<p>“No, no! I got this on purpose for her -hair,” he said, and drew a full brushful of tar-black -paint across the carven and crinkly locks -in front, “she must be a brunette, this time.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, and Mrs. Roberts will be so annoyed to -see her without her beautiful golden chignon,” -I protested, working away with the scarlet paint -at the back of the jacket, “she’ll think she’s -quite spoilt.”</p> - -<p>“Nonsense; looks much better like this,” -he declared. “A black-haired woman looks -so much more <em>alive</em> than the others. Like red -wine, dark grapes, crimson roses ... fairer -colours are insipid, washed-out-looking!”</p> - -<p>“No woman thinks so,” said I. “You never -hear of a blonde tinting herself dark. It’s always -the other way about!”</p> - -<p>“I know <em>one</em> girl who wouldn’t change,” -he argued, glancing over the shoulder of the -wooden woman at the border of dark hair between -my bonnet and my face. “You needn’t pretend<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_297"></a>[297]</span> -you would, miss! Now what are you smiling -at?”</p> - -<p>“Only something,” I said, “that I’d just -remembered.”</p> - -<p>“Yes? (You’re an unexpected sex, aren’t -you?) Well, what was this?”</p> - -<p>“Only—look out, Billy, you’ll let that black -drop run down the side of her face—only something -a girl I know said about fair men being -like weak tea!”</p> - -<p>“Meaning to say, I suppose, that she didn’t -think much of <em>your</em> taste in <i lang="fr">fiancés</i>?” suggested -Billy Waters, with a mischievous laugh. I -laughed too. And for the several score of times -since we have been here together, I thought -to myself what a delightful and unusual and -thoroughly satisfactory arrangement this friendship -of ours had turned out to be.</p> - -<p>I never dreamed that at that very moment -<em>the life of that friendship had about five more -minutes to run</em>.</p> - -<p>“There!” said Billy, picking himself up and -taking a few steps back from the figure, to survey -it, with his fair head on one side. “You -can’t say it isn’t an improvement. What would -your friend say to that coloured hair?”</p> - -<p>“Strong tea,” I suggested flippantly. “Tea -that’s stood too long!”</p> - -<p>“You aren’t looking at it. Come over here -and see!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_298"></a>[298]</span></p> - -<p>I straightened myself and went and stood -beside him.</p> - -<p>“As a matter of fact, Nancy, the lady’s got -rather a look of <em>you</em>!”</p> - -<p>And actually something in the contrast of -the glistening black locks against the creamy-pale -face with the now scarlet-tinted lips might -have been vaguely characteristic of what, night -and morning, I see in my own mirror.</p> - -<p>“Well, but I hope <em>I</em> don’t look as if I ‘made -up’ my mouth!”</p> - -<p>“Why, you <em>don’t</em> make it up, do you?”</p> - -<p>“Of <em>course</em> not,” said I. And then I turned -from looking at the painted figure to the -other deeper, tenderer colour of the sea washing -a strip of sand below the cliff.</p> - -<p>“Oh, it <em>is</em> lovely here,” I sighed, revelling in -the beauty of that and the sky. “Did you ever -<em>see</em> anything so blue as it is to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Or so golden?” added Billy, nodding towards -the hassocks of gorse in full bloom. “I’ve never -seen it like this before. D’you know that there’s -a Welsh proverb that calls this county ‘the land -of thriftless gold’? Rather pretty, isn’t it? -It must have been wonderful here in the spring; -this is the second crop, you know. A man I know -once told me that it was like falling in love.”</p> - -<p>“How d’you mean?” I asked, as he stopped. -“Aren’t you going to paint the wing in her hat -while you’ve that brush full of black paint?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_299"></a>[299]</span></p> - -<p>“Presently.—Oh, yes, about that gorse. He -said the first blooming was more showy—more -fuss made over it—first love, you know, and all -that; but that it was nothing like as sweet as -the later time. Should you agree with him, -d’you think?”</p> - -<p>“How <em>should</em> I know?” I retorted rather -flippantly, to hide my intense surprise that -Billy should possess—let alone quote!—a friend -who sounded so utterly unlike himself. “You -might know me well enough by this time to see -I’m not that sort of girl!”</p> - -<p>“Which sort of girl? The kind who doesn’t -fall in love a second time?”</p> - -<p>“The kind who doesn’t fall in love at all,” -I said decidedly. “Anyhow, I find the second -blooming of the gorse, without any metaphors, -quite beautiful enough against that dragonfly-blue -bit of Bay!”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes! You’re fond of the effect of -flowering plants against the blue sea, as I think -you mentioned, the evening my uncle dined at -The Lawn,” said Billy, teasingly and unexpectedly. -“Only, didn’t you specify oleanders -and myrtles and the Riviera——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Billy! I never thought you’d do that,” -I interrupted him with real reproach. “No; I -<em>never</em> thought you’d be so mean as to remind me, -ever again, of that ghastly evening! I didn’t!”</p> - -<p>There was silence for a moment. He stared<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_300"></a>[300]</span> -down at me. I wouldn’t look at him. I turned -to look at a brown velvet bee that was buzzing -some flattery or other into the golden ear of a -gorse-blossom near by. Then I heard him say -slowly:</p> - -<p>“‘Ghastly,’ you call it?”</p> - -<p>“Well—! Of <em>course</em>!”</p> - -<p>“I see,” he said, still more slowly. “You -mean that it still rankles. You haven’t forgotten.... -You resent that still, in spite of -agreeing to be friends ... in spite of letting -one suppose that—well! that it <em>wasn’t</em> so sickeningly -hard for you now, after all. You <em>do</em> -bear a grudge then, still. You mean—” It -came out, the last thing I ever expected to hear -him mention!—“that about that kiss!”</p> - -<p>“That?” I retorted quickly, and with my -airiest laugh, for this seemed the only way in -which to face the paralysingly embarrassing point -he’d seen fit to raise again. “Oh, that! I -never gave it a thought, Billy! I quite understood! -Besides, you couldn’t possibly call that -private-theatricals sort of peck a <em>kiss</em>, exactly!”</p> - -<p>“No,” he returned, as quickly. “You -couldn’t, could you?”</p> - -<p>He took a step towards me, then caught me -to him by the shoulders, and for a second I -thought he was going to gratify the longing -which I’d seen in his eyes any time during that -first week of my stay at The Lawn.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_301"></a>[301]</span></p> - -<p>I thought he was going to shake me.</p> - -<p>But no.</p> - -<p>In quicker time than it can be told, his hands -had flown from my shoulders to the pink strings -of my sun-bonnet; he’d untied them and tossed -the bonnet on to the nearest hassock of a gorse-bush. -He put both brown hands under my chin -and turned my face up to his. Before I could -so much as gasp, he swooped down and kissed -me, muttering, “But what could you call this—and -this—and this?” Three times—greedily—on -the mouth.</p> - -<p class="tb">For a second I had to clutch at his shoulder -to steady myself; for sea and cliff and gorse -seemed wheeling round me in swirls of blue and -green and gold.</p> - -<p>Then I wrenched myself away and faced him—without -seeing too distinctly what was in front -of my eyes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t say anything to me,” I heard myself -tell him, in a voice that sounded unnaturally -quiet and calm. “This—this can’t be forgiven. -Don’t ask.”</p> - -<p>I heard him begin to say something about: -“Do you think I am made of——”</p> - -<p>“Don’t speak to me again, please,” I said, still -in that unnaturally quiet voice. “Not again.”</p> - -<p>I snatched up my sun-bonnet from the gorse-bush, -rammed it down over my hair, and tied<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_302"></a>[302]</span> -the strings so tightly beneath my chin that they -nearly throttled me. Then I turned, saying, -“I forbid you to follow me,” and left him standing -there between cliff and sky, beside the -wooden woman.</p> - -<p>I walked on until I thought I was out of his -sight, then I ran; ran blindly across the cove -and up the sandy path to the cottages.</p> - -<p>On the doorstep of the larger one Theo was -sitting, emptying her white canvas shoes of -sand on to the cobbles of the garden path.</p> - -<p>“Hullo, Nancy! Do you know that Cariad -was so bored with you that he ran home?” she -said. “What have you done with Billy the -Beloved? Is he——”</p> - -<p>“Let me pass, please,” I said quietly, and -walked swiftly into the house. The kitchen -door was open and Mrs. Roberts was laying -the table for the mid-day meal. She began, -“Was you finiss paint the——” but I couldn’t -stop to speak to her. I ran up the rickety -wooden stairs to my bedroom. There isn’t -a lock on the door; I looked. So I just latched -it, and went and sat down on my bed, with -its patchwork quilt of faded pinks and mauves. -I began tracing with my fingers the pattern -made by the hexagonal patches of purple. I -don’t think I thought of anything at all.</p> - -<p>And I don’t know how long I’d been sitting -there before I heard light steps on the staircase<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_303"></a>[303]</span> -and a tap at the door. I raised my voice a -little.</p> - -<p>“Don’t come in.”</p> - -<p>“Nancy,”—it was Blanche—“dinner’s ready!”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want any dinner. I am not coming -down.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!—What’s the matter, dear?”—with -quick concern. “Are you ill?”</p> - -<p>“No! I’m not ill!”</p> - -<p>“Have you got a headache?”</p> - -<p>“No! I haven’t got a headache. Only please -go away. I don’t want to see anybody.”</p> - -<p>I heard her go softly downstairs again—then the -kitchen door opening, and a murmur of voices.</p> - -<p>His voice.</p> - -<p class="tb">Ah! that brought my anger surging over me -at last like a great wave. I sat bolt upright, with -a crumple of the quilt clutched in each hand.</p> - -<p>How dared he! How <em>dared</em> he!</p> - -<p>Taking odious advantage of a situation! -<em>This</em> was not what I agreed to when I said I -would be nominally engaged to him.</p> - -<p><em>This</em> was not unavoidable, like that last time.</p> - -<p>Oh! He needn’t have pointed out to me -the difference between that time and this! I’d -<em>thought</em> I was angry then. My anger now was -as different a thing as the difference between -those two sorts of kisses.</p> - -<p><em>Oh!</em></p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_304"></a>[304]</span></p> - -<p><em>He’s</em> broken the contract—he knows that it -was tacitly understood that there should be -nothing of this—In fact, it wasn’t so much as -thought of—<em>ever</em>.</p> - -<p><em>Right</em> on my mouth!...</p> - -<p>Well, I don’t owe him anything after this. -I shan’t speak to him again. I shall have -nothing more to do with him. He’s a right to -my name as his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, he can keep that—at -a distance! My name—nothing else. I -shan’t go on staying with his people after this! -Let him make what excuse he chooses to his -mother about that. Let him explain it away as -he likes. I shan’t help him!</p> - -<p>If it were to save his life, I’d never lift a finger -to help him again!</p> - -<p>I shall go away at once....</p> - -<p>How could he! Whether it was a vulgar -attempt at flirtation, or simply that he was -riled and meant to be rude to me in the most -brutal manner he could think of—I don’t care -which it was!</p> - -<p>What had I said—done—looked—that he -should imagine he might?</p> - -<p>After this, he might even say I’d encouraged -him!</p> - -<p>Hateful, <em>hateful</em>!</p> - -<p>Well, I shall go away....</p> - -<p>Brute!</p> - -<p>To-morrow, I shall <em>go</em>!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_305"></a>[305]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">“MANY WATERS——”</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Well! Anyhow there’s no sense in -sitting up in my room brooding over -this thing, on a heavenly afternoon like this and -all.</p> - -<p>I’m not going to miss it all just to please <em>him</em>.</p> - -<p>And if I am leaving everything—sea and sunshine -and mountains—to-morrow, I may as well -take in as much of them as I can to-day. Besides, -I suppose I shall have to go down some -time.</p> - -<p>There are these people—whoever they are—expected -this afternoon. Obviously I shall have -to be at tea to meet them? I shouldn’t in the -least mind letting <em>him</em> down by remaining -invisible until I’m all packed up and ready for -the little local train that must take me up to -Holyhead to meet the Euston mail. But there -is his mother to consider—she has been so sweet -to me from the beginning. What I can’t understand -about her is how she ever managed to have -such a son? There must have been something<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_306"></a>[306]</span> -odd and horrid about the father; and he must -take after him. The <em>girls</em> are all right.</p> - -<p>There they are, going out now; down the -sandy path to the station; Theo bare-legged -and bare-headed as usual, swinging a basket; -off to buy jam, I expect, for the visitors’ tea; -Blanche carrying letters. I heard his step on -the cobbles ten minutes ago, and Mrs. Waters -always rests in her room until three o’clock. -The coast’s quite clear, then. Why shouldn’t -I go out and have my bathe? I missed it this -morning—thanks to all <em>that</em>! Perhaps the cool -green waves of the Bay will help me to feel as if -I’d washed a little of that memory away from -me. Already it seems years since my last bathe; -only yesterday morning! When the girls and I -ran down together, to find him already in, -practising walking under the water; and he’d -called out “I say! Isn’t it topping to be -alive on a day like this?” as he emerged, head -up once more, dripping and glowing in his -indigo-blue sheath, his hair sleek once more -with the wet, his arms and shoulders as smooth -and pinky-white as any of ours, but making ours -look curiously slender and delicate.</p> - -<p>Years ago! Everything had been so different! -I’d thought <em>he</em> was so different.</p> - -<p>Well! This will be my last bathe for the -summer, so I may as well enjoy it, all to myself.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_307"></a>[307]</span></p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>I undressed quickly, slipped into my black -woven silk club costume, and twisted round my -head the long orange silk scarf that keeps my -hair from getting too wet. I simply won’t take -to one of those sponge-bag-like rubber caps that -some girls still wear for bathing. They’re too -unsightly for anything—and one doesn’t exactly -want to look a blot on the seascape, even if there -doesn’t happen to be anyone else bathing, to -see one....</p> - -<p>As it happened, I found, to my great annoyance, -that there was someone else already in the -little cove next to the cottages that it was -Theo’s idea to christen “The Bay of <em>Many -Waters</em>.” There was a smooth head, some -distance out, dark against the afternoon glitter; -a steady stroke that I knew.</p> - -<p><em>Oh!</em></p> - -<p>So he’d come out first!</p> - -<p>Well, that meant that I couldn’t have my -bathe here after all—just like him!... Fresh -rage against him surged up in me as I caught up -the white wrap of Turkey-towelling that I had -thrown down upon a seaweedy rock with my -string-soled shoes. I’d leave him to it. Perhaps -I could get a dip in the next bay under that -cliff where the wooden woman leaned forward -to her watch?</p> - -<p>But, even as I turned to slip away, I -heard a sound from across the water that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_308"></a>[308]</span> -seemed to make my heart, for a second, stop its -beating.</p> - -<p>It was a choking shout for help.</p> - -<p>“Nancy!—Here!—Here!”</p> - -<p>Then that dark head disappeared under the -water.</p> - -<p>It couldn’t possibly have been for as long as -it <em>seemed</em>. No!</p> - -<p>People can’t hold their breath for as long. -Then it was up again. The swimmer had flung -himself on his back and was floating. And I—without -actually realizing what I had been -doing, I must have cast off my wrap again, have -splashed through the creamy surf of the first -waves into the smoother jade-green depths -beyond, for I found myself swimming, striking -out, out—from the shore....</p> - -<p>Still I didn’t know how I’d started—or why. -Except that here was a human being in trouble -whom, somehow or other, I had to help. I -didn’t think about who it was. It wasn’t -because of that broken shout of “<em>Nancy!</em>” -I’m sure. No; I am sure that, just then, no -thought of saving Still Waters was in my mind. -It was just another human being who had called -to me; and towards whom I swam so desperately, -making, in my hurry, such a splashing over each -stroke that it seemed to me endless before I -came up to where he floated on his back.</p> - -<p>Automatically I remembered something our<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_309"></a>[309]</span> -swimming-instructor had drilled into us at -school. I found myself telling myself that it -was dangerous—dangerous to get within reach -of a drowning person’s hands. They’d grip you, -and you’d both go under.</p> - -<p>“Keep behind him,” I was telling myself. -“Keep behind him!”</p> - -<p>But there was no need for me to trouble about -avoiding his clutch. When he spoke, I realized -that he, in his danger, was keeping his head -far better than I was. He was calm.</p> - -<p>“Cramp,” I heard him say, “in my left -leg. You’ll have to tow me. Can you swim -on your back?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>Whether I could or not, I supposed, I should -have to.</p> - -<p>So in turn I flung myself on my back, and -caught hold of him under those hard, strong-feeling -arms of his.</p> - -<p>Then began the struggle back to shore.</p> - -<p>The tide was setting in, thank heaven! and -as long as we were in the deep waters it was -not so hard. Presently we came to where the -waves began to break. The wind was blowing -off the shore, blowing the surfy crests of the -waves backwards as a girl’s hair is blown across -her face ... and presently I was half blinded -by the spray that dashed over my head, into my -eyes and mouth.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_310"></a>[310]</span></p> - -<p>I choked, panted....</p> - -<p>“Rest a minute,” said a voice close to me. -“No hurry. The tide will take us both in.” ...</p> - -<p>But, getting my breath, I struggled on again, -yard by yard. Again I got a mouthful; -spluttered, coughed.</p> - -<p>“All right—all right—take it easy!” the voice -was saying.</p> - -<p>I simply couldn’t pay any attention to that—I -was labouring with all my strength for both—for -myself and this log in the water that I must—<em>must</em> -get ashore. I was startled when he gave -a sudden powerful jerk of his shoulders that -altered our course.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have us on to the reef,” he said. -“I’ll steer—don’t work so hard—”</p> - -<p>I heard myself gasping.</p> - -<p>—“don’t get flurried, Nancy!”</p> - -<p>“Nancy!” Yes! Then I did realize who -it was that I was tugging along with me for dear -life. His life was in my hands—mine, when -I’d felt ready to murder him an hour ago. I’d -had to save it.... “Serve him right,” I -thought wildly, as I struggled along. “Oh, -serve him right! I’ll show him—I’ll teach him -to kiss me again.”</p> - -<p>Indeed, I’m not sure that I wasn’t muttering -this aloud to myself in the water. Anyhow, -voices seemed buzzing in my ears—one was his -own as I’d heard it yesterday—“I say! Isn’t<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_311"></a>[311]</span> -it topping to be alive? Isn’t it topping to be -alive?”</p> - -<p>And then it seemed to come to the very last -effort I could make. “<em>Ah!</em>” I heard myself -groan.</p> - -<p>The next thing of which I was conscious -came with a shock of surprise. It was the soft -jolt of my shoulders against sand.</p> - -<p>We were aground!</p> - -<p>For a minute or so I must have been swimming -furiously in my depth, without even feeling the -growing warmth of the shallows about me.</p> - -<p>I let go my wild, unneeded clutch of his arms, -staggered to my feet, waded in, then dropped -again, face downwards and panting, on to the -beach, a few yards below the tide-mark of crisp, -black seaweed, straws, and broken shell.</p> - -<p>It was over—we were safe. And now—what?</p> - -<p>I didn’t know.</p> - -<p>Anyhow, for a moment I lay there unable to -rise or speak. I threw my arm across my eyes. -Then I found that he’d dragged himself up -beside me. He was leaning over me; saying -something I was too dazed to catch.</p> - -<p>I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want him -to say anything. He needn’t suppose I’d intended -to save his life. He needn’t think this -absurd crisis had made any difference. There -was still this morning between us. There<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_312"></a>[312]</span> -always would be. This made no difference. -None! None at all!</p> - -<p>I got up again, hearing my teeth chatter -a little. I turned to the rock where I’d thrown -down my peignoir, and as I did so, I heard him -behind me raise his voice a little:</p> - -<p>“I say! I can’t, you know!—You’ll have to -help me up to the cottages, I’m afraid—”</p> - -<p>I glanced down at him; he was sitting up, -his face a little white under the tan, but quiet -and expressionless. And as I looked at him, -sitting there backed by the empty, sunlit cove -and the cliff with the figure-head and flagstaff -small as toys in the distance, I passed through -the one second’s most extraordinary experience -of my life.</p> - -<p>Was it a waking-dream, or what? The result -of shock and over-exertion, like those buzzing -voices, just before, among the waves? For -of all the mad, impossible fancies to dash into -one’s mind—before one’s eyes, even!—this was -the maddest.</p> - -<p>This was what happened in that second’s -space:</p> - -<p><i>Vividly there flashed before me a picture of my -own Self just as I was then, in my black silk maillot -with my wet black hair streaming down my neck; -for I’d lost my scarf, it floated like a torn-off -strand of orange-coloured seaweed on the waves. -I saw it there.... And I saw that mind-picture<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_313"></a>[313]</span> -of myself fling herself down on her knees beside him -again—fling herself into his arms, cold from the -sea-water and dripping and hard; saw her bury -her face against his throat; heard, more clearly -than in a dream, her gasping sob of, “Billy! -You were drowning! I might have lost you!”</i></p> - -<p>Then—flick! the picture vanished, and I was -drawing my wrap about me composedly enough -as I replied to him coldly, “I will help you up—on -one condition. That you don’t speak -to me.”</p> - -<p>He said quietly, “You prefer that?”</p> - -<p>“Only on that condition,” I repeated.</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he rose slowly to his feet, trying -them one after the other in the sand. “Only—I’m -afraid I shall have to lean on you a bit—not -hard.”</p> - -<p>So, after I’d helped him on with his own wrap, -I stood for him to put his arm about my shoulders. -I don’t know if he leaned hard or no. -Slowly and in silence, we walked up so from the -shore to the cottages. Just before we got to -the sandy path in front, his arm dropped, and he -smothered an exclamation:</p> - -<p>“Hul-<em>lo</em>!”</p> - -<p>For, tilted up between the deep ruts made by -Mr. Roberts’ cart in the sand in front of the -cottage gardens, we caught sight of a motor-car; -a gaudy, cherry-coloured affair, all -ablaze with sunlit brass. The visitors. They’d<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_314"></a>[314]</span> -come, then. I’d forgotten <em>them</em>. They were -in my cottage at tea, I discovered, after he had -turned quickly in at the little gate of the cottage -he shares with Blanche; from behind the door -of the kitchen sitting-room of our larger one I -heard a babble of talk and much laughter. Must -I face it? With this dreadful day behind me? -Slowly I mounted the wooden stairs to my -room and began to dress. I was, all of a sudden, -deadly tired; why, I felt only half awake; -what I would have liked would have been to -fling myself down on that patchwork-quilted -bed and sleep the time away until I was to leave -Porth Cariad for ever.</p> - -<p>That this must needs have happened this -afternoon, to add to the conglomeration of -things between him and me that I longed to -forget! After the way he behaved this -morning!</p> - -<p>(Ah, Billy, why did you? We were such -chums!) <em>Caddish</em> of him! To think that he -<em>might</em>—that I could be treated so!</p> - -<p>That fact remained—and all the waves in the -Bay of Many Waters hadn’t washed any of its -bitterness away. As for that mad, mad fancy of -mine afterwards on the beach—well! it must -have been something like the way people declare -that the whole of a drowning person’s past life -rises before them in the moment of peril. Only, -of course, those would be pictures of things that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_315"></a>[315]</span> -had happened—not the reverse of anything -that ever, ever <em>could</em> happen!</p> - -<p>One thing—I’d never let him thank me for -the outwardly magnanimous act into which -I’d been just forced, and which had left me too -utterly exhausted even to rage over it as I might. -My arms felt almost too limp to raise to my -head as I wrung my streaming hair into a towel -and pinned it, still wet, firmly about my head. -It took me minutes to put on each garment. -Meantime those minutes were ebbing away, -and these people downstairs were being kept -waiting, expecting to see his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> at -the tea-table. And if I felt I couldn’t stay -up here as I longed to do, it wasn’t on his account. -It wasn’t the girl he’d engaged—and -insulted so!—it was his mother’s guest who -confronted in the wavy looking-glass her very -washed-out appearance, her dark, ringed eyes -and damp hair plastered down to keep it from -dripping on to the first clean blouse that had -come to hand.</p> - -<p>Certainly I looked very little credit to him!</p> - -<p>With a shrug I turned away and went downstairs.</p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>The warm kitchen seemed full of people and -their voices, and of a mingled scent of brewing -tea and warm butter and—could it be a whiff<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_316"></a>[316]</span> -of perfume: <i lang="fr">trèfle</i>? The tea-table was crowded -with Mrs. Roberts’ gayest crockery, with her -largest black teapot, with mounds of yellow -light-cakes and clusters of brown eggs and great -slabs of Welsh farmhouse bread-and-butter. -In the middle a glass jug held a bouquet of -heather and honeysuckle and blue scabious. -There was a dish of damson jam, and a very -golden, “shoppy” cake.</p> - -<p>At the head of the table, Mrs. Waters was -entertaining a stout, sallow gentleman with a -black moustache and a plaid tie, who was talking -French very fast and with a good deal of gesture. -Blanche, elbows on the table, was leaning -eagerly across it to talk; opposite to her were -her brother, looking much as usual again, I saw, -and Theodora in a state of flushed animation, -from whom, in the general babble, I caught -something that sounded like “tell Billy’s sweetheart—” -and between Theodora and him there -sat, leaning back in her chair and laughing gaily, -a young girl in a wonderfully-cut and simple -get-up of flame-yellow and white and cream, -with a swirl of feathery yellow about her midnight -black hair; one of the prettiest girls I’d ever seen -in my life. Ah! it was she who’d brought in -that whiff of clover-scent?</p> - -<p>She was laughing up into his face.</p> - -<p>And she was calling my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> “Billy.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_317"></a>[317]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THAT GIRL</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>There was a scraping of wooden chair-legs -on the tiled kitchen floor as I came in, -and the men rose.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Waters introduced “Our friend Monsieur -Charrier and his daughter”—and the stout -gentleman, who wore pale-hued boots shaped -like the blades of oars, bowed until I could see -the rolls of fat beneath his collar behind, then -shot at me out of eyes like two black currants -a glance that made me feel utterly disapproved-of -and “found wanting.” The girl gave me a -look less frankly measuring, while the whitest -teeth in the world flashed in her little face, oval -and smoothly olive as the shell of one of those -eggs on the table.</p> - -<p>She was very lovely....</p> - -<p>She held out her hand and gave mine the -violent shake that foreigners seem to think so -truly English; and then I slipped into the empty -place next to Blanche, feeling thankful for the -tea which Mrs. Waters handed to me in a large<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_318"></a>[318]</span> -cup decorated with a group of Welsh women -in the costume never seen except on china.</p> - -<p>I drank it in a kind of thirsty dream; I couldn’t -have talked to save anyone’s life just then; but -the talk was buzzing on all around.</p> - -<p>“—planned to go to-morrow; but shall you -be here?”</p> - -<p>“—since we find ourselves in such charming -neighbourhood, we could prolong our -sojourn——”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes, <em>do</em> prolong it! So ripping for -Blanche and me to have Odette to go about -with! Of course, we never <em>see</em> Billy and Nancy -here!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t believe her, Odette!” he was laughing -quite naturally.</p> - -<p>“—can’t call your shore your own, this year! -<em>You</em> don’t know what it is to have an engaged -couple in the place!”</p> - -<p>“No? It is not agreeable?” The pretty -French girl turned to smile at him again. “You -do not encourage me to come, so!”</p> - -<p>“I’m writing a book about it——”</p> - -<p>“Theo dear, finish your tea and don’t talk -so much!”</p> - -<p>“‘The Complete Gooseberry’ it’s called, -if you know what that means.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! Place where you find the little babies! -Yes?”</p> - -<p>“No! not place! People! Unengaged<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_319"></a>[319]</span> -ones like us and you and everybody but -<em>Them</em>.”</p> - -<p>“—Enchanted, madame!”</p> - -<p>“—with rules like this: ‘<i>Don’t cough outside -doors; they hate it. Far better not go in</i>!’”</p> - -<p>“—More hot water, please, Blodwen——”</p> - -<p>“—<i>Don’t stalk them with a camera. You -never get anything worth printing!</i>”</p> - -<p>“—And will I bring a two more fress negg, -mam?”</p> - -<p>“<i>If one of them’s away, don’t ask who’s got -the ink!</i>”</p> - -<p>“—No, but do you remember the bathing at -Dinard?”</p> - -<p>“—Next year, perhaps——”</p> - -<p>“—start before lunch——”</p> - -<p>“—if the tide’s right——”</p> - -<p>“—But Monsieur Charrier, as you were -saying——”</p> - -<p>“—icy!”</p> - -<p>“—as warm as warm!”</p> - -<p>“How was it to-day, Nancy?”</p> - -<p>“Nancy, I believe you stayed in too long, -dear,” murmured Mrs. Waters gently to me as -she passed my cup down again.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I don’t think so,” I said vaguely, -trying to smile at her. She was the only one of -the party to whom I felt I could turn in my -utter fatigue and bewilderment. For in that -party I felt myself as a sort of plain and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_320"></a>[320]</span> -neglected little nursery-governess. It seemed -impossible that anyone should ever have admired -<em>me</em>—that Major Montresor had ever paid me -compliments—or Sydney wanted to marry me!—or -that, for at least a moment, my employer -had found me attractive enough to flirt with. -I hadn’t looked at him, but I knew he hadn’t -glanced once at me. His attention was entirely -divided between Monsieur Charrier, to whom -he listened with a deference new to me, and that -pretty French fashion-plate in white and cream -and tango-colour, who laughed whenever her -host said anything at all.</p> - -<p>Yes! She was very lovely. She made me -feel dowdy and drab and <i lang="fr">gauche</i> beyond words. -Even at my best I should have felt that she outshone -me; even if I did possess longer eyelashes -and a flush of pink and a dimple, what were -these compared with the finished <i lang="fr">chic</i> of the way -she wore hair and clothes—to her scintillating -vivacity? No wonder the man beside her was -so obviously lost in admiration of her!</p> - -<p>Men adore a girl who’s “<em>bright</em>,” who amuses -them while she saves them the trouble of thinking -what to say. I believe that somewhere at -the back of every man’s mind there’s a fancy -portrait of himself, in a sultan’s turban, applauding -condescendingly while some fair dancing-girl -postures and performs for his pleasure.</p> - -<p><em>Men!</em> Even the ones who have seemed<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_321"></a>[321]</span> -“whitest,” as Jack calls it, turn out to be cads -in the end. Trying to flirt with the girl to whom -you’re nominally engaged, and whom you’ll -never marry, is the sort of “joke” that appeals -to a masculine sense of humour. Yes, even when -the possessor happens to be really attracted by -quite another girl. For it didn’t take me many -seconds of silent looking-on to see what game -was being played between my employer and -that girl.</p> - -<p>“Odette, are these your gloves?”</p> - -<p>He picked them up from the floor when at -last we all rose.</p> - -<p>“<em>Your</em> gloves, Billy,” retorted Mademoiselle -Charrier gaily. “Still a pair from the beautiful -great box you bought me. You remember, -yes?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, the box you won from me at that flying-meeting. -Of course I remember.”</p> - -<p>And I too remembered hearing of those gloves -and this bet, ages ago—the afternoon after I -had been out to lunch for the first time with -my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>.</p> - -<p>So this was the young French girl he’d told -me about! And as I watched them standing -chatting together, a little apart from the group -round the motor outside, I suddenly gave a -quick guess at something else he might have had -to tell me about her if he’d chosen.</p> - -<p><em>This very girl had something to do with his<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_322"></a>[322]</span> -official engagement to me!</em> Somehow or other, -she was his “reason” for appearing to have a -<i lang="fr">fiancée</i> at all—a <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> upon whom he’d been -so particular to impress that “this affair would -never end in marriage!” Possibly my employer -and that girl were already secretly—but -really, not nominally—betrothed to one -another?</p> - -<p>It looked like it. It looked uncommonly -like it.</p> - -<p>At something he said she blushed quite rosily. -Oh, and they mustn’t think I didn’t notice her -shake of the head and her quick little silencing -frown at my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i> when her father, in -a tea-coloured alpaca dust-coat, at last left off -fussing over his engines and asked them if they—calling -them “<i lang="fr">mes enfans</i>”—were ready to -start?</p> - -<p>“Oh—but are you going too, then, Billy?” -his mother put in quickly. Monsieur Charrier -answered with a flow of French about “<i lang="fr">affaires</i>,” -and documents which he had left at his hotel -in Holyhead, which it would be so much, so much -better if Mr. Waters would spare but a little -half-hour to investigate.</p> - -<p>“Very good of you to give me the opportunity, -sir,” said Mr. Waters. “I can get a -train back, mother.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but no, but no! The auto will be again -at your service as soon as we have dined at that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_323"></a>[323]</span> -dog of an hotel,” declared the stout Frenchman. -“I will bring your son home quite safely, -madame, to you and”—with a particularly -hollow show of politeness—“to mademoiselle!”</p> - -<p>Here his daughter murmured something about -the four seats in the auto, plenty of space for -mademoiselle his <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> if she would deign to -accompany——</p> - -<p>I expect Mademoiselle Charrier knew well -enough how safe it was to issue that invitation! -So did my employer, when he struck in with -“Ah, that’s very nice of you,” then turned -and addressed me directly for the first time since -we had walked up from the beach together.</p> - -<p>“Yes! That would be a good idea, wouldn’t -it? You’ll come along too, won’t you, Nancy? -We could get a trap back.”</p> - -<p>I excused myself as naturally as I could manage -it, with something about being rather tired. -It was true enough.</p> - -<p>As that cherry-coloured car panted, jerked, -then whizzed off down the stone-wall-bordered -Holyhead road, with its trio of passengers, I -felt almost as if it had driven straight over me.</p> - -<p>And I felt as if I shouldn’t have cared very -much one way or the other if it had!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_324"></a>[324]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST AVOWAL</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>I suppose I must have dropped off to sleep -directly I threw myself down on my bed, -and have slept for some time.</p> - -<p>It was growing dusk in my little bedroom; -outside my window veils of purple gauze were -drawn over sand-hills and shore, and the tide -was far out again by the time I was awakened by -a tap at my bedroom door.</p> - -<p>“Yes?” I called drowsily, wondering, for -a second, where I was, and what horrible thing -it was that seemed lying in wait for me to wake -up properly and remember it.</p> - -<p>The door opened and Mrs. Waters came in, -carrying a little tray.</p> - -<p>“I’ve brought you this, dear.” It was a glass -of ginger wine with two biscuits laid over the top -of it. “I know you stayed in the water too long -this afternoon; you were done up. Drink it -up, child.”</p> - -<p>I sat up, and she put out her hand to smooth -my damp hair while I finished the glassful.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_325"></a>[325]</span></p> - -<p>“That’s better, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Much, thank you,” I sighed gratefully; for -the wine had seemed very heartening, and heartening -was what I needed. The horrible memory -had come back to me. Two of them, in fact: -that of this morning, even before that of this -afternoon. His mother knew nothing of either; -<em>that</em> I read in the pink, December rose of a face -under the grey hair. The dear! and I must -leave her....</p> - -<p>“I’ve brought you something else too,” she -said, almost shyly, like a schoolgirl who isn’t -sure that she won’t be snubbed; “something -you’ll like.”</p> - -<p>She put her hand to her soft black muslin -bodice, unfastened something that was hidden -inside, and brought out a thin, old-fashioned -pendant of flat gold, slung on a slender golden -chain.</p> - -<p>She opened it and held it out to me. I took -it in my hand and carried it to the window, -where there was still enough light by which to -see it well.</p> - -<p>Coiled up below the oval glass, faintly gold -as thistle-down in sunshine, and fine as floss-silk, -there was a baby’s curl.</p> - -<p>“That was the very first curl I ever cut from -Billy, the day that he was christened,” his mother -told me softly, sitting on the side of my bed, -while I stood, not knowing how to speak to her,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_326"></a>[326]</span> -by the window. “He had such pretty hair -always!” she went on, “quite as pretty as Theo’s -is now. Only boys—men always seem to look -upon curly hair as a sort of affliction; they’re -never satisfied unless they’re flattening it out -with brushes and horrid stuff out of bottles, -are they? And when we all go back to Sevenoaks -again, Nancy—”</p> - -<p>I lifted my head to try to interrupt her, to -say something about my being forced to go away -before, but no words came; she went on talking, -as if more to herself than to anyone else, of what -seemed, just then, almost unbearable to me.</p> - -<p>—“I’ll show you heaps of other little things -that belonged to him as a baby. His very first -tiny shirt! They put new babies into shirts -then, you know. Fine linen, with narrow, real -lace round the neck and the little sleeves.... -Oh, of course I know those silk-and-wool vests -they have now are much more sensible. I’m -<em>quite</em> modern, really. Still—there’s a lovely -embroidered christening-robe of his ... all his -robes. I made others for Blanche and Theo. -I’d a fancy to keep them all separate, so that -when they—my babies!—grew up and married -they could have them handed on. So all Billy’s -will be for you, Nancy—and the little locket. -I knew you’d care to keep it.”</p> - -<p>“I?” I cried, aghast and huskily. I held it -back to her. “Oh, no! It’s not for me!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_327"></a>[327]</span></p> - -<p>“Of course it is. I always meant to give -it to his bride on her wedding-morning.”</p> - -<p>“Then you keep it for—for her, until then,” -I broke in, with a little laugh that sounded wild -in my own ears, and I pressed the pendant with -the christening-day curl back into his mother’s -hand. She said nothing for a moment.</p> - -<p>Presently, in the dusk, I felt her long arm slip -round me, and her hesitating, gentle voice was -saying very earnestly and pitifully: “Nancy! -You do care for my boy, don’t you?”</p> - -<p>And then into that day of queer and crowded -horrible happenings, there was packed yet -another.</p> - -<p>In my own ears I heard my own voice answering -his mother’s appeal with words I could -scarcely recognize as my own. Yet it was no -freak of imagination this time. It was no mad -fancy like that on the beach. It was I, Monica -Trant, who in that voice so shaking and strained -cried desperately:</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! <em>Yes!</em> You <em>know</em> I care for -him!”</p> - -<p>And with that avowal in my ears I felt as if -some stranger had cried aloud a secret that I had -never even guessed, but that now—<em>now</em> I knew -to be coming true.</p> - -<p>I found myself putting out my hands before -me, almost as if this growing knowledge were -something that I could hold away from myself.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_328"></a>[328]</span> -For a time I must hold it away; I <em>must</em>! For -at least as long as I remained here. I clenched -my hands tightly, dropping them to my sides, -using all my will to bring myself to speak in my -usual voice again.</p> - -<p>“Will you tell me what time it is, Mrs. -Waters?”</p> - -<p>“Half-past seven. You’ll go to bed early, -dear, won’t you? You won’t stop up!”</p> - -<p>“No, I’ll go to bed.”</p> - -<p>“And to-morrow—Nancy, I don’t want to -say much more. Only, Life promises to be so -golden, dear, for you and him!”</p> - -<p>It was then that she gave me a sting that I -wish I could forget. I <em>shall</em> forget, but not at -once, that his mother said:</p> - -<p>“<em>Fate has been merciful to let you two meet.</em> -Don’t let that be spoiled! To-morrow——”</p> - -<p>I held her hand with that little locket in it -clutched for a minute against my breast.</p> - -<p>“It shall be different to-morrow,” I whispered -before she went, keeping my meaning to myself. -It will, of course, be “different” enough!</p> - -<p class="tb">Half-past seven. There was just time, then, -to send my wire.</p> - -<p>I crept out silently over the sand-hills and -away to the tiny post office where, thank goodness, -the postmistress’s literal English won’t allow -her to read much between the lines of this.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_329"></a>[329]</span></p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="noindent">“To Harradine, Marconi Mansions, Battersea, -London.</p> - -<p>“Please send off immediately to Trant, -care Waters, Porth Cariad, Anglesey, telegram -as follows: (Begins.) ‘Please return at -once; am ill, must see you, Cicely.’ (Ends.)—From -<span class="smcap">Tots</span>.”</p> - -</div> - -<p>If she only has the sense to answer that -correctly, and at once!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_330"></a>[330]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> -<span class="smaller">“ALL CHANGE HERE”</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Cicely’s answering wire—for a wonder -correctly worded—arrived this morning -at breakfast as I came down.</p> - -<p>I’ve shown it to the Waters: explained -that I must be off at once. Only Theo protested -angrily, “Your chum ill? How <em>careless</em> of -her just when we were such a jolly party, and -going to Red Wharf Bay with the Charriers to-morrow, -and all!” The others accepted it -with scarcely a word. They didn’t even show -that they found it odd that Miss Harradine, -who lives in Battersea, should hand her telegram -in at Euston Station—though I wondered -over that myself. Not even Mrs. Waters said -a word to press me to wait and send a nurse -instead; she didn’t ask when I thought I might -come back. If she <em>looked</em> questions I didn’t -see them; I was steadfastly keeping my eyes for -breakfast-cups, and clocks, and time-tables, and -anything but the faces of these people I’m going<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_331"></a>[331]</span> -to leave—for good. All the morning I’ve spent -in my bedroom, packing-up.</p> - -<p>Twice, while I was busily emptying drawers -and laying out my things in folded heaps on the -bed, I heard outside my window a whistle like -a blackbird’s note; but this time I wasn’t taken -in for a moment. I knew it wasn’t a blackbird. -I took no notice of him.</p> - -<p>I went on packing, laying my string-soled -bathing shoes at the bottom of my trunk. A long -time before I shall need <em>those</em> again! I let -him whistle.</p> - -<p>He tried something else.</p> - -<p>Twice there was a sharp tap on the pane, -just as when that thrush was cracking a snail. -But I knew that this time it really was a pebble -thrown up to catch my attention: thrown, -not from the trimly-gravelled sweep in front of -a big house, but from the cottage garden planted -with sandy white pinks and lad’s-love—thrown -to bring me down. I wasn’t to be either -whistled or tapped to his side.</p> - -<p>I rolled my sun-bonnet—there was a little rip -where it had caught on a gorse prickle—into -a tight pink bundle and rammed it down beside -my shoes.</p> - -<p>I wasn’t going down.</p> - -<p>Then came a crunching on the cobbles of the -path below, and a soft call of “Nancy!”</p> - -<p>Not I; I wasn’t going down.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_332"></a>[332]</span></p> - -<p>“Nancy!”—more urgently. “I say!”</p> - -<p>No! Let him think what he liked of me—rude, -obstinate, childish, or sullen—as long as -he only didn’t guess <em>why</em> I didn’t mean to go -down, or even look out the window to answer -him. I couldn’t face it now. Not with what -my own lips had first told me of the thing which -I had to hold away from me, at arm’s length, -for as long as I had the strength.</p> - -<p>“Nancy!”</p> - -<p>Evidently he was set on saying something to -me—but whether it was about yesterday morning -or yesterday afternoon I didn’t care. I was -equally set on his not having the chance. Now -I was afraid this chance would happen after -lunch, and I was grateful to that which prevented -his taking me up to Holyhead and seeing -me off by the Euston mail alone.</p> - -<p>I rejoiced over the timely and snorting arrival -of that magenta-coloured “auto” of the -Charriers, bringing over Monsieur with some -more of his business-documents, and Mademoiselle -with business that a child might guess at.</p> - -<p>I leaped at their proffered lift of luggage and -all, back to Holyhead Station, and the four of -us went off together.</p> - -<p>Then, sitting beside this French coquette, -who seemed bent on seeming sweet to me—(Why? -I suppose because the girl to whom he -<em>is</em> engaged feels that it’s “in the picture” to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_333"></a>[333]</span> -generous to the girl he <em>has</em> “engaged”)—my -heart sank, and I wished I hadn’t accepted. We -were speeding along far too fast along the level -road towards the purple hump of the Holyhead -mountain. We should be there too soon. -Heavens! There’d be half an hour to wait at -the station, and he could get what he wanted to -say in then....</p> - -<p>Why hadn’t I thought of that! If something -would only happen....</p> - -<p>It did.</p> - -<p>Never, never has a motor breakdown been -hailed with delight before by a passenger; but -I blessed the fortunate accident that kept -Monsieur Charrier and my employer fumbling, -fidgeting and fuming about the bonnet for -over half an hour by the roadside. Mademoiselle, -in her lemon-coloured wrap and daring -little hat, sat on the top of a low stone fence -with me in my brown silk coat and skirt in which -I’d first travelled down to The Lawn. I was so -delighted by the delay that I could even laugh -quite gaily at her as she chattered.</p> - -<p>“Always the same! Each time that we take -a passenger to make very quickly, there arrives -this <i lang="fr">malheur</i>!... Now, now, it is good? -it is well? it is right? No?... Regard -my father, Miss Nancy, on the earth under the -auto nearly: he look like a little fat dog that has -been run over, not? Ah look at this brave<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_334"></a>[334]</span> -Billy, always the same idea, <i lang="fr">encore un</i> spanner! -Now he will lick her into shapes!... It is -finish, Billy? No?... Ah, he is doing it -express, on purpose.... You will loose the -train, and Mademoiselle must return with you—what -a chancey day!”</p> - -<p class="tb">Mercy! Return with him?—the midnight -train would be impossible—I should be kept -until the next morning—Horrors! My heart -was in my mouth at the thought....</p> - -<p>It was with two minutes to spare, however, -that we flung ourselves, with the hastiest of -thanks, out of the motor, and rushed into the -busy station that stretches down to the quay, -where a couple of slanted funnels seemed as -big as two leaning towers of Pisa painted red. -No time to lose. He found me a corner-seat -facing the engine, in a carriage with one other -lady. He attended to my luggage with the speed -and ease of a man who can make men obey, then -he looked straight at me and began: “I haven’t -time now, but look here, I shall——”</p> - -<p>Again I baffled him.</p> - -<p>“I have nothing to read!” I cried, as if in -dismay over the fact. “Will you fetch me a -paper—anything.”</p> - -<p>With a little jerk of his shoulders he turned -away to the bookstall, and I sat back in my -corner looking dully out at the moving bustle<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_335"></a>[335]</span> -on the platform below the big Norman Wilkinson -posters of steamboats on a moonlit sea. Why -couldn’t we start—it must be time! I’d said -good-bye to his people, said it as if I were -going no further than for one of my afternoon -tramps at Porth Cariad with him. Now it -was to him that I must say good-bye.... I -couldn’t take it in yet. I didn’t want to. -Above all, I didn’t want him to say it—or -anything else.</p> - -<p>Again the situation was unexpectedly saved.</p> - -<p>The carriage-door burst open, and a man, -panting with haste, flung a cape and a blue-covered -<cite>English Review</cite> on to the seat opposite -mine, drew his handkerchief over his brow -with a “Phew!” that meant “Only just done -it!” then leaped out again on to the platform, -calling, “Porter! when is this train due off?”</p> - -<p>“She ought to be off now, sir; we’ve been -kept back by the boat, we’re ten minutes behind -time.”</p> - -<p>But it was not this that made me sit up and -turn quickly to the man who’d dropped back -into the seat opposite to me. Slim shape, soft -hat, Vandyke profile—yes, I thought I’d recognized -the voice. Sydney Vandeleur, of all -people—and at this moment! At any other, I -might have longed to pick up that <cite>English -Review</cite> and hurl it at his picturesque head, but, -for just this one occasion, I was overjoyed to see<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_336"></a>[336]</span> -him. My employer wouldn’t be able to say any -last words now, before him.</p> - -<p>“Monica—Miss Trant!” exclaimed Sydney -quickly. “How odd! Did you see <em>her</em>?”</p> - -<p>“See whom?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Cicely!”</p> - -<p>Cicely! The tone in which he used her -Christian name told me all there was to know, -<em>there</em>! I’d thought so!</p> - -<p>“I’ve been seeing her off, you know, to Ireland—the -Dublin boat—just gone off.” He nodded -towards the quay. “Had to get back to London -to-night; I am meeting the Mamma in Pont -Street to-morrow morning, and——”</p> - -<p>“Take your seats, please! Take your seats!” -The guard’s whistle was at his lips as my official -<i lang="fr">fiancé</i> came racing back along the platform. -An armful of papers and magazines fell on to -my lap.</p> - -<p>“Here you are, Nancy. And, I say! I’m -going to——”</p> - -<p>What he was going to say broke off again with -a snap. And the last glance I had of his blonde, -sun-browned face and quick eyes showed them -frozen in a stare of utter astonishment at the -sight of my travelling-companion.</p> - -<p>Yes—my goodness! What would he think -of finding me with Sydney again?—Sydney, whose -name has so often nearly cropped up between -us. Would he think——?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_337"></a>[337]</span></p> - -<p>What difference would it make if he did?</p> - -<p>The train steamed out of the station across -the flat Anglesey country, between marshlands -ghostly-white with bog-cotton in the dusk.... -What would he think?</p> - -<p>This was what occupied me all the time Sydney -was talking, for he was in a mood to talk to anyone. -I, for example, was not the Rose, but I -had shared rooms with the Rose, and he was -eager to tell me about her, and how she had gone -to stay with his married sister until—something -or other to do with “the Mamma.” Poor Lady -Vandeleur, fated to see her only son falling in -love with such totally ineligible girls! First -a City typist at twenty-five shillings a week; -now a Bond Street mannequin!</p> - -<p>But my employer didn’t know of this change. -How could he? He probably—yes, certainly!—imagines -things are as they might once have -seemed to be.</p> - -<p>Will he think I arranged this?</p> - -<p>“Of course you know her—but not as one -does now!—the last few weeks! We were -together at the Café Royal—He’s going to paint -her—Colouring!—Wonderful! You should have -seen the costume I designed for her—Five Arts -Ball——Purposely giving the effect of——Quite -in the period, of course!—People who -understand!—Such <i lang="fr">souplesse</i> of mind as she -has——” Sydney went on to the air.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_338"></a>[338]</span> -My whole attention was for someone very -different.</p> - -<p>He can’t imagine I’d do anything so underhand! -Even if he did imagine that—well, -I couldn’t explain unless he asked. If he did -ask, I could explain less than ever! Oh, why -can’t I wipe four months straight out of this -year and begin again? But then, there would -have been Jack to help! But then, there would -have been Sydney.... I should have been -engaged to this creature before me in that hat, -talking of Cicely’s <i lang="fr">souplesse</i> of mind! If he—the -other one—only knew what I really think -of Sydney!</p> - -<p>“Fancy,” I commented haphazard to the -rhapsodist before me. “Well; I do hope -everything will be all right.” And I took up -the magazine my employer had tossed on to my -lap—there was a picture on the cover of a pretty -Summer-girl looking over the sea—and prepared -to hold it up in front of me for the rest of the -journey.</p> - -<p>Sydney—surprised and sulky—read his <cite>English -Review</cite>. Presently I refused his not too pressing -invitation to join him in the dining-car, -and he left me for an hour and a half.</p> - -<p>For love, that robs us women of the appetite -for anything but Romance, seems to make men -even hungrier for their food.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_339"></a>[339]</span></p> - -<div class="starbreak">* * * * *</div> - -<p>“Eus-tern!” came the familiar Cockney bawl -again at last. “Eus-tern!”</p> - -<p>It was a change, after what I’d been used -to for the last few weeks, to have to fend for -myself in the matter of luggage and a taxi. -One doesn’t specially look to men in love for -decent manners. Still—that other one knew -how to pay these attentions in spite of his -Odette and her gloves! Sydney’s evidently -the type that pays homage to the Well-Beloved -by being casual towards every other -woman. He seemed to efface himself until his -lukewarm offer of getting me a cab could be -answered from the cab-window.</p> - -<p>“Ah—may I tell him to drive to Marconi -Mansions, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>“I’ve told him, thanks. How fearfully hot -it is here, and how stuffy”—I sniffed with -distaste—“after the country!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, isn’t it?—one’s almost consoled for Her -being away, in that lovely, soft, pure air of Ballycool! -Good night!”</p> - -<p>The last sort of night I thought I’d have! -But once back in my familiar little camp-bed -in Marconi Mansions, I tucked my cotton -dressing-gown round me because no sheets had -been left out, and fell into that dreamless trance -of utter tiredness.</p> - -<p>I slept like a log all night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_340"></a>[340]</span></p> - -<p>(<i>Next day.</i>)</p> - -<p><em>How</em> the flat seems to have shrunk! and what -a state Cicely has left it in! Has she moved -<em>all</em> our ramshackle furniture since I was here -last? Used that table to be right in the middle -of the room, choking it up like this?—and where’s -my dear print of “Kitty Fisher” that used to -hang just <em>there</em>, where she’s put that framed oil-sketch -of—what on <em>earth</em>? It looks like a study, -by Blossom, of that coloured tie of Sydney’s—and -there’s a little red “<i>sold</i>” label on it. I -suppose he bought it for her out of one of the -shows at the Grafton Gallery. The couch, too, -is littered with books ... Marinetti ... -Schnitzer ... Tangore ... Strindberg’s -“<cite>Stronger Woman</cite>” ... a slender volume, -“<cite>The Everlasting Mercy</cite>,” inscribed “<i>To -Cicely, from her devoted S. V.</i>”</p> - -<p class="tb">H’m! Cicely among the intellectuals? Well, -I suppose some of us are made adaptable as -water, taking the shape of any vessel we’re poured -into by Man. Perhaps—perhaps I might have -been the same, if——</p> - -<p>But I do wish she’d had the <i lang="fr">souplesse</i> or the -<em>something!</em> to throw away, before she left, -this litter of florists’ half-dead flowers, expensive -stale roses and carnations, that fills up every one -of our pots and crocks.</p> - -<p>I’d better do it, I suppose....</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_341"></a>[341]</span></p> - -<p>Also I’d better wash up my breakfast-things—and -Cicely’s of the day before, which are heaped -upon the kitchen table.</p> - -<p>On the top of an oily quarter-pound of -butter there’s a very dirty note.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p>“<i>Dear Miss I am unable to come to-day has -my little girl is queer hoping no inconvenence yrs -truely mrs skinner.</i>”</p> - -</div> - -<p>All right. I’ll wash up ... loathsome job! -That kettle always took so long to boil—we -ought to have a flat-bottomed one like the one -they use for picnics at the Waters’. It’s a good -thing I’m able to think so composedly of them. -Doesn’t it show, after all, that—what I told -his mother, what I thought I should have to -hold away from myself so determinedly, may not -really be true ... may not, anyhow, be the -deep and lasting sort of “true” that I imagined? -Just a fancy, a passing, summer-holiday attraction -for someone who’ll never guess. It must—it -<em>shall</em> be that. No harm in remembering him—all -of them. Let’s see. To-day was to be -their excursion to Red Wharf Bay. I can see -the whole party—and their jolly, sun-browned -faces against the throbbing blue of sea and sky. -Odette Charrier will be like some bright foreign -bird just alighted amid the homely gold of the -Welsh gorse ... prattling away in her pretty<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_342"></a>[342]</span> -broken English that I believe she sometimes -breaks on purpose to hear Billy Waters’ amused, -boyish laugh.</p> - -<p>They’ll be together all the time to-day—no -official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> to intervene with even the shadow -of a claim....</p> - -<p>Together they’ll be unpacking the picnic -basket, hunting for the corkscrew, picking up -big, sun-warmed pebbles from the beach to -lay at the corners of the white picnic cloth to -keep it from flying into the sea.</p> - -<p>The others will be—oh, somewhere about....</p> - -<p>Those two will stroll off after lunch, I suppose. -I wonder if they’ll bathe? <em>He</em> wouldn’t have -lost his nerve even after that afternoon swim.... -<em>Only yesterday?</em> They’ll bathe from the -rocks, I expect. And I might still have been -there....</p> - -<p>A ring at the door of the flat. Milk, Mrs. -Skinner, or—what?</p> - -<p>I’d better go and see....</p> - -<p class="tb">They call <em>us</em> the unexpected sex, of whom no -man can ever say what we shall be at next.</p> - -<p>What about themselves?</p> - -<p>Only last evening I’d left him standing, stiff -with astonishment, on the Holyhead platform. -This morning here he was again, blocking up -the tiny entrance to our flat—my official <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>!</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_343"></a>[343]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> -<span class="smaller">PARTING COMPANY</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>Thank heaven for the instinct that silenced -the welcoming “Billy!” before it broke -from my lips. Thank heaven also for that numbness -all over me that allowed me to say in a voice -as detached as if it had been the piano-tuner -to whom I’d just opened the door, “Oh! good -morning.”</p> - -<p>“Good morning.” A tone as blank as a -whitewashed wall between him and me. “I -suppose you are surprised to see me.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I—yes, I am, of course.”</p> - -<p>“You didn’t expect me.”</p> - -<p>“No.” We both glanced down at my sleeves, -still rolled up from the kitchen.</p> - -<p>“I have something to say to you,” he went on -in that same tone. His face I couldn’t see in -that little, dark drainpipe of a passage where we -stood. “That’s why I came.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>What could it be that brought him an eight -hours’ journey on my track? Surely not that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_344"></a>[344]</span> -foolish old out-of-date apology still—or those -unwanted thanks for saving his life.</p> - -<p>“Don’t you want to hear what it is?”</p> - -<p>“Er—yes; oh, yes,” reluctantly. “But I’m -sorry I can’t ask you to sit down here; you see -my friend is away——”</p> - -<p>“Oh! She’s <em>away</em>. I’m glad she’s well -enough. I thought she was ill.”</p> - -<p>This I didn’t know how to meet.</p> - -<p>“Where may I speak to you, then?” he added.</p> - -<p>“Is it—about something very important?”</p> - -<p>“Important enough to bring me up to London -by the midnight train after you’d left. I just -had a bath and breakfast at an hotel and came -on here. So—”</p> - -<p>Evidently there was no getting out of it.</p> - -<p>—“Will you come out and talk? If it’s not -troubling you too much,” he added stonily.</p> - -<p>“Well, if you will wait until I put on my -hat and coat,” I said slowly, “I will come out -into Battersea Park with you. We can sit down -there.”</p> - -<p>In a few minutes we were sitting side by side -on a couple of green-backed wooden chairs on -the path that faces the sluggish brown river and -the barges that slid slowly between us and the -tower of Old Chelsea Church.</p> - -<p>Why had he come?</p> - -<p>“Important,” he’d said. Was it a recall? -Must I go back for the five remaining months<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_345"></a>[345]</span> -of my year’s contract? I remembered, then, -that it was in writing—I’d forgotten that! -Must I return to Porth Cariad to serve the -purpose of him and that girl?</p> - -<p>If he insisted, I must.</p> - -<p>I should be glad—(not, not to be with <em>him</em> -again! That passing feeling I should no doubt -manage to kill. I <em>must</em> kill it)—to be back -with his mother and Blanche and Theo in that -golden Anglesey, instead of in this baked and -dusty park, rowdy with Board-school children -on holiday. For the sake of the <em>place</em> I could -forget the man I was with; I could ignore -that morning when we painted the figure-head! -Thank heaven I was feeling so like “a wooden -woman” myself.</p> - -<p>For another moment I was kept waiting, -wondering what he would say. Three words -told me everything.</p> - -<p>They swept aside so many things that up to -then had seemed real and undeniable enough. -They did away with hours in a music-room, of -another hour in the dusk under a copper-beech, -when overtures were made of a friendship that -seemed as if it were going to work all right, -(“<i>You could be such a little brick to me!</i>”) -but had broken down because, after all, he was a -man and I a girl—even though I didn’t happen -to be the right girl.... Those weeks of gay, -open-air comradeship in Wales, that morning<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_346"></a>[346]</span> -of sunshine and hotly-snatched kisses on a cliff -among the gorse, that afternoon of a race and a -struggle for life in the jade-green waters of a -bay.... All these were to be as though they’d -never been.</p> - -<p>It was all over in those three words:</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant!”</p> - -<p>The unexpected sex? Oh, no! It’s we who -can be trusted to do just what’s expected of <em>us</em> -by our nearest man: to be heroic, petty, clinging -or capable. He meant me to be utterly -business-like and formal. Well, he found me -so, my tone just matching his own.</p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mr. Waters?”</p> - -<p>“It’s about this nominal engagement of ours. -That was to go on for a year, I think.”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll be glad to hear it needn’t last so -long, after all.”</p> - -<p>“Not a year?”</p> - -<p>“Not any longer at all. I’ve come to release -you now.”</p> - -<p>I found absolutely nothing to say. It -was as if I’d been preparing to walk down a -long corridor that stretched before me, and -had found, after I’d gone a yard, that a door -was slammed in my face. I seemed to stare -at blank walls in every other direction.... -I’d better say something.... What was there?</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_347"></a>[347]</span></p> - -<p>“Thank you for letting me know.” Then, -“As this has only lasted so much less than the -time you said, I will send back to you my cheque -for——”</p> - -<p>“You will do nothing of the kind, please,” -curtly. “I made the arrangement. I break -it.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but that money——”</p> - -<p>“I shall not take it, anyhow.”</p> - -<p>“I shall send it somewhere, then,” I told -him, and glanced round at the nearest group -of grimy little Cockneys on the brown grass. -“The Fresh Air Fund.”</p> - -<p>“As you please.”</p> - -<p>A pause. I was wondering if he meant me -to say anything else. He began again. “I -expect you guess my reason for this change of -arrangement.”</p> - -<p>“I think—I do,” I said.</p> - -<p>Yes, I thought, whatever it was that stood -between him and an open engagement to Mademoiselle -Charrier must be at an end, and Miss -Trant, alias “Nancy,” is no longer needed for -the rôle of the red herring on the trail. But -his next remark almost startled me out of my -chair.</p> - -<p>“Ah! You mean you quite realize that in -breaking this contract, I’m considering <em>your</em> -feelings. It is for <em>your</em> sake.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Mine?</em>”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_348"></a>[348]</span></p> - -<p>“Naturally!” he said sharply. “When I -saw that the arrangement had become so irksome -to you—when I saw <em>why</em>——”</p> - -<p>I turned to stare up at his temper-set face, -repeating “When?”</p> - -<p>“Need you ask when? Last night,” he said, -still more sharply, “at Holyhead Station.”</p> - -<p>Ah! Then he <em>had</em> thought—what I’d -wondered about. It was my turn to look set -with anger; I know I flushed. Let him go on.</p> - -<p>“Yesterday, first thing in the morning, you -get that wire, handed in at Euston. A message -that’s obviously—well, a fake. Didn’t you -arrange to receive it?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I admitted shortly. “I did.”</p> - -<p>“Ah. I knew that, Miss Trant. Following -on that, I find you travelling back to London -the very same evening with that—that friend -of yours, Mr. Vandeleur. Rather a coincidence.”</p> - -<p>“You mean,” I said, my heart thumping with -rage, partly against Cicely’s adorer for making -this trouble, partly against this other man with -his savage tone and suspicious eyes, “that you -think I told him to send the wire!”</p> - -<p>“There was the wire! And there <em>he</em> was.”</p> - -<p>“Even if it had been so, why not?”</p> - -<p>“With you engaged to me?”</p> - -<p>“Nominally!”</p> - -<p>“Makes no difference to the circumstances!” -he shot out. “Who knows that, but you and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_349"></a>[349]</span> -I? To anyone else, it would have looked -uncommonly——”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see it!” I declared, but I saw -the reason of his anger and it made me angrier -still. <em>His</em> dignity compromised! His official -dignity as a <i lang="fr">fiancé</i>! So I had heard of married -men, with wives to whom they were utterly -indifferent, still showing that furious male -jealousy of other men. “But I should have -been doing nothing against our contract.”</p> - -<p>“Nothing against the letter of it, you think? -But when I asked you to enter into it, one of my -first questions, you’ll remember, was whether -you were already engaged.”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Well! I shouldn’t have troubled you if -I’d known all this. I’m sorry.”</p> - -<p>“Known all <em>what</em>?”</p> - -<p>“Remember, it’s not the only time I’ve seen -you with him!” he went off at a tangent. -“There was that first occasion—at the Carlton. -I thought there seemed something, when he -congratulated me! And then that time at the -flat. He had eyes for nothing but you.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>hadn’t</em> he!” I was breaking in, but -my late employer went on with his indictment.</p> - -<p>“Even Montresor, at our house, seemed to -know all about it! And now his meeting you -in Wales—You won’t tell me that wasn’t by -appointment?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_350"></a>[350]</span></p> - -<p>“I will,” I said, lifting my head. “I do, -Mr. Waters. It wasn’t.”</p> - -<p>He was silent for a moment.</p> - -<p>“Please take my word.”</p> - -<p>“Of course, if you say so!” he agreed quickly. -Then, more quickly still, “But if he didn’t -send that telegram, who did?”</p> - -<p>“You saw it! It was signed.”</p> - -<p>“Yes; by your friend Miss Harradine. That -says nothing. You asked her to send it—wired -the night before, perhaps.... Didn’t you?” -he cross-examined me. “Didn’t you?”</p> - -<p>“Well—if I did? Yes!”</p> - -<p>“Why did you, Miss Trant?”</p> - -<p>I looked away from him, mutinous but helpless, -at the border of the path in front, with its little -clumps of heat-shrivelled purple pansies, drooping -over the powdery earth. There was something -that no cross-examination should get out -of me! Let him know that I couldn’t bear to -stay in the same place with him—first, because -he’d kissed me; next, because there was no -reason that he should ever kiss me again ... -every reason that he would not? Never!</p> - -<p>“Why had you to go?”</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I cried, with a little stamp of my shoe -on the gravel. “Why need you pry into—into -what’s my affair alone? Is even an <em>official -fiancée</em> allowed to keep nothing to herself?”</p> - -<p>“Very well,” he said savagely. Then, off at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_351"></a>[351]</span> -another tangent, “But at least you won’t tell -me that the fellow didn’t want to marry you -himself?”</p> - -<p>“What difference does it make if he did? -That was ages ago, months!” I let out hastily. -“Anyhow—one’s not supposed to tell these -things, but, as we’re talking business, I may -tell you as a business-secret that I refused -him!”</p> - -<p>“You did?”—quickly. “Was this before—before -our arrangement was made?”</p> - -<p>“N-no. Just afterwards.”</p> - -<p>“Ah! You weren’t free, you thought. -Otherwise——May I ask if you would have -accepted him?”</p> - -<p>“You’ve no right to ask!”</p> - -<p>“I know that,” he admitted angrily, “but -have you—had you a right to make me look -foolish—about him?”</p> - -<p>“I never have done that!” I snapped. “You -believe me that last night was an accident.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” he argued, “but you must confess -that other things look rather mysterious.”</p> - -<p>“Mysterious? Need <em>you</em> talk about things -being mysterious,” I argued back, “when the -whole of what you wanted me for has been such -a mystery to me? You’ve never given me a -hint of the reason!”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t been able to! You were to have -known later! But about this other——”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_352"></a>[352]</span></p> - -<p>He broke off as a mild-looking old man plumped -himself down on the green seat next his, and began -to scatter crumbs out of a paper-bag to the sooty -sparrows twittering on the path.</p> - -<p>“I can’t tell you, here——”</p> - -<p>“I am rather deaf,” said the bird-feeder, -mildly looking up, “and quite elderly. Don’t -mind me.”</p> - -<p>Still Waters looked as if he could have choked -him with his paper-bag.</p> - -<p>“We’ll walk about a bit, if you don’t mind,” -he said curtly to me.</p> - -<p>And it seems to me now that for hours and -hours we two walked Battersea Park, talking, -talking, still repeating ourselves over “<i>that -wire</i>” and “<i>nothing to do with you</i>” and “<i>yes, -but I’d at least a right to object to your making -me look</i>——” ... Round the lake we went, -up and down the path of the river front, on the -broad bald grass patches, passing communities -of little motherly girls with perambulators and -picnic-bags in the shadow of the elms, skirting -little boys’ cricket-matches conducted with -crooked bats, shrill yells—it was all noise and -glare and dust that morning, and I couldn’t really -say why we should be walking up and down in it -like this, endlessly discussing what had no point, -now.... Hadn’t we come, long ago, to the -end?</p> - -<p>At last he did raise a fresh point.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_353"></a>[353]</span></p> - -<p>“Anyhow,” he blurted out, “I stand in your -way no longer.”</p> - -<p>This roused me beyond all the rest.</p> - -<p>“D’you mean,” I cried, exasperated, “in the -way of my possibly marrying Mr. Vandeleur?”</p> - -<p>“Exactly!”</p> - -<p>Was I to stand this? Was I to let him go -away imagining <em>that</em> was the sort of girl I was? -Was I to allow him, later on, to think of his -official ex-<i lang="fr">fiancée</i> (if he ever thought of her -again) as being quite contented to accept a dangling -<i lang="fr">dilettante</i> with those tastes and that tie, -an indoor object who pottered amiably about -Art-galleries and girls’ studios, between the Tiny -Theatre and the Cave of the Cub, a pampered -amateur who couldn’t earn his living to -save his life?... was a real man to think of -me, married to That? No—fear!</p> - -<p>So I said, very distinctly, “Even if his extremely -easy attention <em>hadn’t</em> been caught by -another girl—the girl he was seeing off to the -Irish boat last night at Holyhead, if you must -know!—even if he were the only man left on -board a—a desert-island, I shouldn’t want to -marry Sydney Vandeleur, so now you know!—And -you needn’t think, as men always <em>do</em> think, -that it’s sour grapes!” I rushed on before he -could put in a word. “You might ask my chum -about that—the very afternoon we had tea there -I nearly offended her by letting her see what I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_354"></a>[354]</span> -thought of <em>him</em>!—even though he still imagined -himself in love with me——”</p> - -<p>Here I broke off, for a flying cricket-ball from -one of those shrieking teams we passed had -knocked off my companion’s straw hat. He had -to pick it up and then to sling the ball in back -to the small and grimy bowler before he could -speak; and I, worked up to it now, didn’t see -why he, the man, should be allowed the passing -of every vote of censure, so I went on:</p> - -<p>“As for your accusing me of making you look -foolish, Mr. Waters, what about you, with me? -What about the other girl? I was, after all, -your official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>. And—and in that capacity, -I might just as well have objected to your paying -so much attention to <em>her</em>!”</p> - -<p>“What’s this?” he took up very sharply, -stopping on the path. “When have you seen -me with another girl?”</p> - -<p>“Why! Yesterday! The day before, too!”</p> - -<p>“<em>What——?</em>” he said, long drawn-out. -“Can you mean—<em>can</em> you mean the daughter -of Monsieur Charrier?”</p> - -<p>(What did he imagine? Could I mean the -figure-head of the <i>Gwladys Pritchard</i>?)</p> - -<p>“Of course I mean Mademoiselle Cha——”</p> - -<p>“Object to Odette Charrier?” he cried, -almost as loudly as Theo might have done.</p> - -<p>And, staring up at him, I saw that the set mask -of his face had broken up into its broadest, most<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_355"></a>[355]</span> -boyish smile. His eyes were full of laughter -and delight....</p> - -<p>Ah! How she must hold him, I thought, -for her very name so to irradiate him in a -moment!</p> - -<p>“<em>That</em>,” he said, with the laughter running -through his voice,“was so utterly different.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, yes! It’s always ‘different’ in one’s -own case. You and another girl can do as you -choose—but you wouldn’t have allowed an inch -to me and another man—<em>you</em> mustn’t be compromised. -Well, you should know your own -side of it. All that, I suppose, is what you can’t -tell <em>me</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly!” he said again, and all the smile -went out of his face. “This <em>dashed</em> tangle!”</p> - -<p>“But considering it’s all at an end now,” I -said reasonably enough, “why need we go on -talking about it?” And then I found that I -was holding my breath in suspense.</p> - -<p>Terrified suspense lest he should take me at -my word....</p> - -<p>I knew then. I knew why I felt so. If we -<em>could</em> only “go on”! I asked for nothing more.</p> - -<p>More clearly with each minute, these hours -had been showing me one thing at least. Whatever -he chose to say, however he rated me, dictated -to me what I should or should not have -done—to listen to his voice was pure joy. Just -to be—in Battersea, Anglesey, anywhere!—the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_356"></a>[356]</span> -sea itself, but <em>with him</em>, was like coming out of a -stifling tunnel into sunshine and air.</p> - -<p>He didn’t want me, but I was helplessly his.</p> - -<p>A mere summer-holiday attraction? No, -so much the worse for me. <em>That</em> wouldn’t have -meant this sense that every thread of me was -knit up and together into one strand that drew -me, tied me to him; and must be broken or unravelled -now; for neither broken nor unravelled -threads are much more good for working!</p> - -<p>A passing fancy? Not it; not this helpless -enchantment that had been growing and growing -over me—for how long I didn’t know. It -didn’t even allow me to wish that I’d never known -the man beside me except as Still Waters of the -Near Oriental, that I’d never seen him in his -home, never listened to tones of his voice unknown -before, never realized what a perfect -darling he could be, this “real Billy,” or how -it would be heaven to be made love to by him!</p> - -<p>His hand up the cliff-path once or twice....</p> - -<p>Three kisses ... three-and-a-half, if I count -that Sevenoaks time, were all I should have to -think of for the rest of my life.... Wildly I -thought that, if he suggested it, I’d be humbly -content to remain his official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> for ever. -Only not to be sent away! Not to be cut off -from the sight and sound of him! Not left to -a life that must be all echoes and shadows; -desperate, threadbare memories of everything he’d<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_357"></a>[357]</span> -looked and said, every note of his songs, the very -gestures with which he’d feel in his coat-pocket -for matches, each movement of his lips and eyes!</p> - -<p>I had to keep my own eyes resolutely from his -as we turned away from the cycle-track, afraid -that even he might notice.</p> - -<p>Presently he stopped again.</p> - -<p>Already?</p> - -<p>I daren’t look at him. I looked down at his -shadow on the dusty road, a pool of black—the -sun was high above us, time was getting on. -And I mustn’t show him how desperately I -would have clutched it back if I could. (Oh, -to think of those other hours, days—a whole -long week of them!—that I had wasted in sulks, -in “baiting” him, at The Lawn!)</p> - -<p>We were standing by one of the bridges. -Here, where I had once thrown away flowers -of his—oh! how could I?—I remembered -something else that must come into our parting. -A smaller thing, but a more barbed one. Not -to be shirked, though.</p> - -<p>“Your ring!” I said.</p> - -<p>I took it off and handed it to him.</p> - -<p>It flashed its green and blue and orange sparks -in the sunlight as it lay in his palm. He looked -at it, hard. No harder than I did. I was -looking my good-bye to something that had -meant so little—and so much. Too much. I -didn’t know how I was going to bear another<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_358"></a>[358]</span> -second of this; and then, quickly, he closed his -brown hand over his diamonds and dropped them -into his jacket-pocket. Gone.</p> - -<p>Then, looking eastward over the bridge, he -said, “We’d a discussion about this before.”</p> - -<p>“Had we?” I said.</p> - -<p>I wondered what had become of my pride, -so frantically was I hoping that this might lead -to another “discussion” now. Anything to -keep him for another few minutes.... That -gesticulating <i lang="fr">trèfle</i>-scented French beauty would -have him for the rest of her life; she might spare -him to me for just one more squabble!</p> - -<p>“Yes: don’t you remember how you informed -me you’d send the ring back at the -year’s end? I said then——But look here!” -he broke off, “isn’t there anywhere near here -where we could get some lunch while we settle -about this?”</p> - -<p>Ah! Then I should have my few minutes -longer!</p> - -<p class="tb">There’s a little creamery in the King’s Road -where he and I lunched together again: this -time off rolls and butter and boiled eggs. There -he began again. “An engaged girl who had -been <em>really</em> engaged,” he said, “would insist -upon sending back the ring as a matter of course; -but why in this case?”</p> - -<p>And so on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_359"></a>[359]</span></p> - -<p>It was just because I was so afraid of seeming -to linger, as I longed to do, that I appeared to -be in such haste to finish the meal that nearly -choked me, and to draw a glove over that ringless -finger that felt, suddenly, so bare and unfamiliar—and -lonely.</p> - -<p>“You’ll have coffee, won’t you?”</p> - -<p>“No, thanks.” Oh, why hadn’t I said, -“Yes”?</p> - -<p>He’d lost that scowl, he seemed so much nearer -the old friendly terms again, and it was for the -last time!</p> - -<p>“I will; unless you’re in a hurry, Miss Trant? -Just a moment—”</p> - -<p>Yes! Just a moment! It was all I asked, -that, and that my heart should not beat so fast -and make me feel so weak and dizzy.</p> - -<p>—“Here, boy!”—this was to a newspaper-boy -who was strolling past the shop behind a large -pink poster and a bundle of early evening editions.</p> - -<p>“D’you mind if I just look up something——”</p> - -<p>The man opposite to me unfolded the still -damp sheet; his eyes on the paper gave mine the -chance of one more direct, long, hungry look -at his face.</p> - -<p>Then came surprise on surprise.</p> - -<p>I saw his face change utterly, turn blank, -agitated. An odd-sounding “<em>Ah!</em>” broke from -his lips. Then he looked up again alert, decisive.</p> - -<p>He stuffed the paper into his pocket, paused<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_360"></a>[360]</span> -one instant, frowning in thought. Then counter-ordered -the coffee.</p> - -<p>“No time for it,” he said. Then rose to take -his hat from the rack beside the little mirror.</p> - -<p>So soon? Oh, so soon? What had brought -this about? Why “no time”? It seemed -scarcely a minute since I’d opened the door of -our flat to him, and now he was off! In this -hurry! Why?</p> - -<p>But that didn’t matter. What mattered was -that, after all, I was a soldier’s daughter: that -it was expected of our family that they should -show no sign of being under fire, and that I’d -got to go through what was coming without a -tremor or glance to betray the sick sinking of -the heart within me; lightly and steadily, -holding myself well in hand. Afterwards I -could get back to the flat....</p> - -<p>So, as one tells the dentist, “I’m ready—<em>now!</em>” -before a wrench, I picked my minute and -was holding out my hand to him as he turned -from the waitress.</p> - -<p>I must say it first.</p> - -<p>“Well, good-bye, Mr. Waters!”</p> - -<p>He didn’t seem to hear that.</p> - -<p>“Miss Trant, I find I’ve got to get down to -the City at once.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes?” (It sounded all right, I think.) -“Then here we part company.”</p> - -<p>Sharply concise, in his old orders-for-the-day<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_361"></a>[361]</span> -voice, came Still Waters’ “No. If you don’t -mind, I want you to come on with me.”</p> - -<p>With him?</p> - -<p>And presently I was whizzing down King’s -Road to Sloane Square in a taxi beside him, -wondering, as even he had never made me -wonder yet, what this further unexpectedness -might mean. He said nothing. He was intent -upon the paper he had taken out again.</p> - -<p>Business, of course—but why take me with -him?</p> - -<p>At the post office he stopped the cab, got out -and strode to the telephone, then out again.</p> - -<p>“As quick as you can,” he told the driver, -“to the Near Oriental Shipping Company’s -offices, Leadenhall Street.”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_362"></a>[362]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII<br /> -<span class="smaller">THE FIRST GLEAM</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>At the office, which to my experience seemed -to belong to a previous existence, but to -my eyes seemed only of yesterday, every familiar -object was in its place and unchanged. The -first of these was the figure of Mr. Dundonald. -He confronted us just outside the door of the -Principal’s office, and after a bow to me which -a week ago would have made me long to shriek -with amusement, came forward with his most -<i lang="fr">affairé</i> manner and said something, gravely and -in a low voice, to his chief.</p> - -<p>“I know. Can’t attend to it now. Presently!” -the Governor put him aside, but also seriously. -“When Mr. Albert Waters comes in; I’ve -’phoned him. Send the boy to me when I -ring.”</p> - -<p>Then he opened the door of his room.</p> - -<p>Here, too, all looked exactly as it had done -that afternoon four months and an eternity -ago! The light and spaciousness of it, the mile-walk -stretch of deep red carpet, the round-topped<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_363"></a>[363]</span> -mahogany clock on the wide mantelshelf, that -big desk, bare but for the turnover date ticket -upon it, his revolving chair in front of it, and -that other plump green-morocco-covered arm-chair -that he had first pointed at, that afternoon, -for me to take.</p> - -<p>He pointed to it now.</p> - -<p>“Sit down, please.”</p> - -<p>Down I sat, watching him as he turned to the -desk. He was writing rapidly telegraph-forms. -Then his hand went out to the well-known row -of electric bell-pushes on his desk. One thing -there, after all, was new: the extending bracket-telephone. -Ah, yes; he’d put that in his -letter....</p> - -<p>The equally well-known sharp little Cockney -face of Harold appeared at the door; the boy -came up and took the forms, which the Governor -had gathered into two bundles.</p> - -<p>“These to go off at once. These to be -coded.”</p> - -<p>“Yessir.”</p> - -<p>I sat there wondering. If this business of his -meant so much haste, why had he made Mr. -Dundonald wait for it? Above all, what had -I to do with it that I should be there at all?</p> - -<p>We were alone again. He glanced at the -clock, then wheeled round in his chair and -faced me. He spoke with matter-of-fact -politeness.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_364"></a>[364]</span></p> - -<p>“Now, Miss Trant! I suppose you want -to know what all this is about? Not only my -bringing you on here, but about the whole of -our past arrangement?”</p> - -<p>Did I want to know? After all, what did -it matter to me now? For me, all had been -summed up in his dropping of my—of his name -for me, and in the remembrance of another -girl’s laughing face. What stones would he -give <em>her</em> to wear? Not diamonds.... I said -nothing.</p> - -<p>“Shall I tell you,” he began again, “now?”</p> - -<p>“Well, I don’t think any explanation was -promised when you drew up that contract,” -I said wearily. “I don’t really mind ... -you needn’t trouble.” ...</p> - -<p>“I might <em>wish</em> to clear it up,” he suggested. -“Well, suppose we begin with this.”</p> - -<p>He handed over to me the newspaper which -seemed to have hurled such a bomb at him.</p> - -<p>I read the paragraph his finger marked as he -passed it to me.</p> - -<div class="blockquote"> - -<p class="center">END OF THE FREIGHT WAR.</p> - -<p class="center"><i>From our Hamburg Correspondent.</i></p> - -<p>I am in a position to state that an -arrangement has been completed between -the interests represented by Messrs. -Holmes, Laing & Co., of Liverpool, and a -powerful combination of this port, of which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_365"></a>[365]</span> -the Allgemeine——is chief. The terms -of the compact are naturally secret, but it -is believed that they include a large setting -apart of capital for the purpose of carrying -on the recent freight war to lengths that -no rival combination can hope to equal. -Should such a combination care to lease -the river, it can ascertain to what extent -the amalgamation is “bluffing.” From -the point of view of exporters generally, -this will mean that the cheap rates that -have obtained during the last two years -to all ports of the Near East will not last -much longer.</p> - -</div> - -<p>I read it again. I was feeling much too tired -and stupid to read newspapers—a lengthy, fruitless -and exhausting occupation at any time, I -consider.</p> - -<p>“I’m afraid,” I said forlornly, passing it -back, “that this doesn’t convey very much to -me.”</p> - -<p>He smiled, I thought as much as to say, “These -<em>business</em>-girls!”</p> - -<p>Then he said, “Well, but you’ve met this -Monsieur Charrier, this big French shipping -man, in Anglesey? Perhaps you didn’t realize -that I’d business reasons for remaining on -cordial terms—keeping in with him at all costs? -Anyhow I may tell you now that this was in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_366"></a>[366]</span> -view of the amalgamation which he and my -firm might be forming. I couldn’t, you understand, -say anything before, but there was to be -an alliance——”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” (Between himself and that Charrier -girl. Why go on explaining it all to me? I -didn’t want to hear all this.) But he went on -more quickly:</p> - -<p>“You saw the sort of man he was. Touchy, -excitable, easily put off! I had to be always on -my guard with him. So that when I heard -that he—this important person to me, Miss -Trant—seemed inclined to do me the honour -of selecting me, not only as a business-ally, but -also—”</p> - -<p>He paused and looked at me. Of course I -was attending, if that was what he meant!</p> - -<p>—“also as a possible son-in-law, what was -I to do?”</p> - -<p>I said nothing. Of course he could do nothing -but accept such a bride with enthusiasm; but -why apologize to <em>me</em>?</p> - -<p>“I realized,” he went on, “that I might -offend him to the verge of breaking off the other -deal. I explained to you at our first interview -here that I’d <em>had</em> no intention of getting -married?”</p> - -<p>(Had. Then he’d fallen in love with her -later.)</p> - -<p>“Last Easter, which we spent at Dinard with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_367"></a>[367]</span> -the Charriers,” he went on, “I—we all were -on the most friendly terms with Mademoiselle -Charrier—”</p> - -<p>I clenched my hands together; they were -feeling, on that August afternoon, cold as ice.</p> - -<p>—“And she was soon quite confidential to <em>me</em>,” -continued the Governor. “Told me lots of -things about herself, just like a child—”</p> - -<p>(A minx! That assumed frankness!)</p> - -<p>—“told me, even, of her own understanding -with a young airman who was over there then. -A secret from her people—you know what these -French parents are—but I don’t suppose it’s -a secret any longer now this is all up.”</p> - -<p>(Ah, no! Odette Charrier wouldn’t find -it hard to jilt an airman or an archangel—for -him!)</p> - -<p>“It was she herself who told me, perfectly -candidly, of her father’s idea of the offer of her -hand to me. You know that rum French way -they have—pretty awkward, that,” went on the -Governor, beginning to speak almost as rapidly -as for that dictation he used to gabble off to me. -“I was in a tight corner then! There was -the risk of turning a possible friend—and such -a powerful one!—into a certain enemy. I -knew how offended he’d be by a refusal that -<em>might</em> seem due to reluctance! Then there -was the young lady to consider—What’s the -matter, don’t you follow me?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_368"></a>[368]</span></p> - -<p>“No—I don’t understand,” I made myself -say quite coherently, “what you mean by -‘refusal.’”</p> - -<p>“Well, <em>she</em> didn’t want to marry me! She’d -got this aviator-chap. <em>I</em> didn’t want to marry -anybody—then.”</p> - -<p>(<em>Then.</em> Was he going to inflict upon me the -whole of their love-story?)</p> - -<p>“And I could only forestall the proposal she -told me he meant to make by showing her father -some really tangible proof that I was out of the -question. You see?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said slowly. “<em>I</em> was—a nominal -<i lang="fr">fiancée</i> was to be the tangible proof.”</p> - -<p>“Exactly. Well! Now comes the news that -does away with that necessity. I’d been expecting -the corroboration of it for some days. -However, it’s out at last; here.” He tapped -the paper. “It means that the alliance Waters-Charrier -has been knocked on the head; it means -that my firm isn’t going to be quite the almighty -concern I hoped it might; but it also means -that something—a big thing!—is saved out of -the fire: namely, that I needn’t take these -drastic measures to avoid Monsieur Charrier’s -displeasure. If I don’t want to marry into his -family, I can say so if I choose.”</p> - -<p>(<em>If—!</em> He meant that <em>now</em> Odette and he -could show that theirs was nothing but a love-match!)</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_369"></a>[369]</span></p> - -<p>“And if I hadn’t broken off our nominal -engagement this morning, Miss Trant, I should -be able to do it this afternoon; <em>now</em>.”</p> - -<p>This meant that he was positively eager to -get rid of me. Knife-thrust as it was, I was -glad to feel it. It spurred me for what I had -to do, this time without even being allowed -to pick my minute; to rise, smile conventionally, -hold out my hand in farewell.</p> - -<p>He took it lightly, dropping it almost at once. -In a tone of unmistakable, undisguised relief -he added, “So that’s the end of <em>that</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Yes!” I returned, quite casually enough -to deceive a man, though it took my last ounce -of effort. “Good-bye!”</p> - -<p>“Wait a minute. I said ‘the end of <em>that</em>,’” -took up my late employer. “Now here’s something -that begins. Will you sit down again, -please?”</p> - -<p>The influence of the place we were in, I -suppose, made me obey him. Again I sat back -in the green-leather chair, wondering if it made -it better or worse to have this leave-taking -so dragged out, wondering why he chose this -form of torture.</p> - -<p>He came and stood above me. He began, -quite gently, “I’ve taken your word that that -about Vandeleur was an accident, not an appointment. -Well, then! If it wasn’t on <em>his</em> account -that you had that wire sent to recall you, if it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_370"></a>[370]</span> -wasn’t because of <em>him</em> you bolted like that from -me—from Anglesey,” he spoke more emphatically, -“<em>Why was it?</em>”</p> - -<p>Again this cross-examination? What was I to -say? I looked desperately about the big room -and its handsome fittings, at the side-table where -I used to sit with my notes.</p> - -<p>“<em>Why?</em>” he insisted.</p> - -<p>“Oh!” I cried angrily. “Does it matter?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, it does. Why did you run away?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. He couldn’t <em>make</em> me -say....</p> - -<p>“<em>Why?</em>” he repeated mercilessly. “Was it -because of what occurred the morning before -that tussle of ours with the Bay, that time you -were so reluctantly compelled to save my -life?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>yes!</em> if you must bring that up again!” -I threw at him, struggling to call back the -helpful, self-respecting anger which I’d been able -to feel quite easily then. “It’s all done with -now, so——”</p> - -<p>“So it <em>was</em> because I kissed you.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Well?</em>”</p> - -<p>He stood looking at me. I couldn’t look at -him, but I held my head up and stared hard at -a distant pale-green wall.</p> - -<p>“Are you—are you <em>surprised</em> at that? Any -girl,” I forced myself to say, “would have been -furious.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_371"></a>[371]</span></p> - -<p>“You mean,” quickly, “that any girl is furious -when she’s kissed.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>I</em> don’t know. I’m not thinking of -other girls!”</p> - -<p>“Any girl <em>I</em> kissed, then?”</p> - -<p>“No”—the Charrier girl’s face flashed before -me, and a bitter little laugh escaped me as I -spoke—“oh, <em>no</em>.”</p> - -<p>“You mean only yourself, then?”</p> - -<p>“I suppose so, but——”</p> - -<p>“<em>You</em> objected, strenuously enough. Why?”</p> - -<p>“‘<em>Why?</em>’—”</p> - -<p>“Was it”—he was cross-examining me again—“because -it was I who kissed you, or,” he paused, -“because it was a merely official lover who did -so?”</p> - -<p>I was caught; there was no direct answer I -could make.</p> - -<p>“I hated it!” I cried defensively.</p> - -<p>He varied the form, not the question.</p> - -<p>“It, or the circumstances?”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Anything you like.”</p> - -<p>“But which?” he persisted. “There’s a -world of difference between the two. If you -please, Miss Trant—”</p> - -<p>(How dared he use that authoritative tone for -which I detested and adored him so!)</p> - -<p>—“I want to know which it was?”</p> - -<p>“Do you think I would stay”—I tried to -fence—“after being treated like that? It<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_372"></a>[372]</span> -was”—I groped for a strong enough word—“infamous -of you, Mr. Waters!”</p> - -<p>“Of me?” he said. “It would have been -equally so of any man?”</p> - -<p>“Far worse of <em>you</em>!” I blurted out before I -could recall it.</p> - -<p>“Why? Because I’d no right?—But nor -has any other man, apparently?” he added -questioningly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, <em>none</em>.”</p> - -<p>“Then,” he said, and it sounded almost -triumphant, “am <em>I</em> so specially hateful to you?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Yes?</em>” he caught up.</p> - -<p>“<em>No!</em> Oh—” I felt myself shaking all -over as I tried to wriggle out of this corner into -which he’d got me. What was he doing? -Had he guessed? Guessed that I cared? -Then why drive it home?... It was worse -than cruelty ... it was—“anything you like, -if you must go on like this. Only—please—please -<em>don’t</em> ask—anything.” And I stopped -on the sob that I could only just keep back.</p> - -<p>“Ah,” he said slowly. Still I couldn’t look -at him, but I heard a change in his voice as he -added, “Very well; what excuse do you expect -me to offer?”</p> - -<p>“Excuse?” I flamed. I was too afraid I -should break down in earnest and disgrace myself. -“There <em>is</em> no excuse you can possibly make.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_373"></a>[373]</span></p> - -<p>“Isn’t there? There might be more than -one, I think,” he said, quite gently still. “I -might put forward, for instance, that I’m only -an ordinary man, subject to temptation, and -that you—if you’ll allow me to say so, Miss -Trant—are a very lovely girl.”</p> - -<p>“Ah, no! Don’t!” I cried out, stung. -“<em>Not</em> that sort of thing.”</p> - -<p>“Quite right,” he broke in promptly, but -still quietly. A second’s pause, then—</p> - -<p>“There <em>would</em> be no excuse for snatching at -you like that, Nancy, if there weren’t a reason. -And the reason, if you really haven’t guessed it, -is, as it happens——”</p> - -<p>Once before, that day, three words from him -had made a series of situations crumble away and -become as though they’d never been. Once -again a whole set of relations—that between -a typist and the head of the firm; that between -a paid official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> and her employer; that -between a man and a girl who played that -drawn game of platonic friendship; that other -between two who quarrelled and fenced and -misunderstood and hurt each other and themselves -so cruelly—was brushed aside by another -three words.</p> - -<p>Billy Waters, still standing there and looking -down gravely at me, said very simply, “I love -you.”</p> - -<p>What could I say? I was too dazed. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_374"></a>[374]</span> -gasped, as when at Porth Cariad I waded out for -a swim, and a racing wave met me and dashed -above my breast, catching my breath. Sentences -formed themselves and died away before I -opened my lips.</p> - -<p>“You can’t mean——” “Then why——” “A -mistake——” “This is the first gleam I’ve had -that you——” “If it’s because you’re <em>sorry</em>——” -Then, of them all, I could catch firmly at only -one thought. I said breathlessly, holding the -arm of the chair, “<em>But that girl</em>——”</p> - -<p>“Won’t you understand? I never gave her -a thought of that sort, or she me,” he declared -rapidly, “except about how we were to get out -of it. If you only knew, that unfortunate -French child and I had as much ado to keep from -getting married as some couples have to pull it -off! I tell you she and that young Lenoir—man -who’s just beaten the record for upside-down -flying—were—but it’s not <em>their</em> affair I’m -bothering about just now—it’s——”</p> - -<p>“But she was so pretty!—so much smarter—she——”</p> - -<p>“She was quicker than you! <em>She</em> spotted, -that day at tea in the cottage, how her plan for -me of an official <i lang="fr">fiancée</i> was working out.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Her</em> plan?” Even in that moment I -remembered that the idea had never seemed quite -like him!</p> - -<p>“Yes—<em>I</em> was at my wit’s end. <em>She</em> told me<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_375"></a>[375]</span> -the only plan was to say I was already booked! -Yes! But who to? ‘Anyone,’ she said. -‘You engage someone—like a courier, an interpreter—someone -you pay to understand it is -a farce’—(You know the way she talks!) -‘You go to an office—your own, perhaps. -You choose one of your stenographistes—you -have of them, yes?’ I told her I’d got four. I -think I said three of the lot would be more or -less impossible as a <i lang="fr">fiancée</i>, but the fourth—But -never mind that.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but I do! What did you say about -the fourth?”</p> - -<p>“I’ll tell you,” he said, laughing a little, -“some time. We have plenty of time, -I hope.”</p> - -<p>“No, now,” I said. It <em>was</em> my turn to insist. -“What about the fourth?”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I forget! Well, then,” hurriedly. -“I believe I said she seemed quite a nice, quiet, -unassuming little mouse of a person—look -here, you’ll <em>have</em> to forgive me if I do tell you!—not -particularly brilliant at her job, but -dependable; and that perhaps she <em>was</em> the kind -of girl one could take about when it seemed -necessary, and leave a good deal to one’s people—mind, -I’d scarcely <em>seen</em> you! I hadn’t seen -you! I said I thought you seemed——”</p> - -<p>“Well?”</p> - -<p>“Well, perfectly <em>tractable</em>!”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_376"></a>[376]</span></p> - -<p>He broke off to laugh again, and moved -nearer to me.</p> - -<p>“A fortnight after that, Nancy, you were -defying me in my own den! That frock, and—<em>chucking</em> -my ring about the piano! And -now ...” he said, with a hand in his jacket-pocket, -“now, Miss Trant, I’m going to put -that ring back, if I may, in its proper place.”</p> - -<p>He would have taken my hand, but all in my -flurry of delight I put them both behind me.</p> - -<p>“No! Wait! Your people—what will they -say to—all this?”</p> - -<p>“But ... bless me! they know we’re engaged!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, <em>that</em> way,” I said shakily. “But <em>this</em>?”</p> - -<p>“D’you suppose, Nancy-Monica Trant, that -they’re ever going to know that there’s any difference? -D’you think ‘Theo will notice’ any? -I doubt if they’d believe that yarn if we -told them! Very soon we shan’t believe it -ourselves! So——Wait? I’ve waited too -long!”</p> - -<p>But I was, all of a sudden, shy of him as I’d -never been in my trembling typist days. I -put him back with a look.</p> - -<p>“<em>How</em> long?” I asked falteringly. “Can’t -you tell me when?”</p> - -<p>His face was full of protest, but he leaned, -half-sitting, against the edge of his desk.</p> - -<p>“What can I tell you?” he said. “That it<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_377"></a>[377]</span> -was just now in Battersea Park, seeing that the -girl one can’t stop squabbling with is the girl -one <em>has</em> to make love to——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but really——”</p> - -<p>“Or that it was mere gratitude to you for -dragging me out of the water? Or—as soon as I -saw how disappointed my people would be if I -ever let you go. (My mother, last night! -In tears—declaring it must be all <em>my</em> temper!) -Or that—well, that as soon as I got you down -to my home I began to wonder what on earth I -was thinking of, not to see that I kept you -there.”</p> - -<p>“No, but really——”</p> - -<p>“Hang it all, Nancy, after all these weeks and -months!” he cried, gaily impatient, throwing -back his handsome fair head. Could I ever -have thought he wasn’t handsome? He strode -up to me, sat sideways on the green-leather arm -of my chair, put his hand in front of me on the -other arm, and so faced me. It brought his -eyes, gay with laughter and delight, nearer than -they had ever been, except once, to my face.</p> - -<p>And I felt those eyes of his flash swiftly, from -the ripple of hair over my ear to the hot scarlet -wave that I knew was dyeing my cheek, then to -my mouth. And it was as though I had felt -his lips first here, then there, and then there -again, even before he drew closer yet and kissed -me as though he could not stop.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_378"></a>[378]</span></p> - -<p>But I pulled away. “Oh, Billy! No! -<em>Please!</em>” I heard myself sob. “I can’t bear it. -Not—not all at once. Not so <em>much</em>——”</p> - -<p>“Little <em>miser</em>!” he muttered, and took my -hands down to clasp behind his neck. “Am I -<em>never</em> to be allowed anything——”</p> - -<p>“But I thought——”</p> - -<p>“How <em>could</em> you?” he whispered. “Haven’t -you <em>eyes</em>?... Dashing away from me like that, -before I could get in a word! You spitfire! -‘Don’t speak to me,’ at every turn! And that -first time, I was only given a scrap of your hair -to kiss!”</p> - -<p>“S-sorry you don’t like my hair——”</p> - -<p>“Not like it?” He pressed his cheek to it. -“Not all that lovely soft stuff that I always -wanted to touch?—and mightn’t—not even -that time after it came loose in the water—”</p> - -<p>“Looking <em>horrid</em>!”</p> - -<p>—“and clung all down you! D’you know -what I shall do to it, presently?”</p> - -<p>I didn’t speak; I shut my eyes against his -shoulder, and sighed.... And I had once -thought I was not the “falling-in-love-type” -of girl! I had once called him “that frozen -ogre!”</p> - -<p>“I shall twist this hair of yours into a great -rope of black silk,” he said, “and haul you off -by it to that cave! Only question is, how soon? -Nancy! How soon?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_379"></a>[379]</span></p> - -<p>“A cave?” I said, half hearing, with my -mouth against the cloth of his sleeve, “what -d’you mean?”</p> - -<p>“Why, the sort of cave with a rose-garden -to it, and perhaps a little white wicket-gate -at the top of the stairs—don’t you -remember?”</p> - -<p class="tb">But we’d certainly forgotten the author of -that long-ago <i lang="fr">contretemps</i> at the breakfast-table -of The Lawn, the elderly <i lang="fr">enfant terrible</i> of that -age-old week-end! Our heads were close together -over the date-ticket that the head of the -firm had grabbed from his desk to reckon up -“how soon it could possibly be,” my finger with -the ring on it was caught between his lips, when -the briefest of taps at the door was followed -by the most sudden of entrances—by Uncle -Albert Waters.</p> - -<p>“Ah!” he began, “what’s to be done -now?” His rosy, John Bull face was unrecognizably -worried, but it suddenly lighted -up. “What, the little girl too?”</p> - -<p>I had sprung away—I hope!—before he could -have noticed that there, in that most official-looking -of offices, I had been sitting on his -nephew’s knee; but I was still so fluttered that -I could think of nothing to do but offer the old -gentleman my cheek! At all events, <em>he</em> was -absurdly pleased.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_380"></a>[380]</span></p> - -<p>“<em>Nancy</em>, my dear!... But what brought -<em>you</em> back to London?”</p> - -<p>“Furnishing,” said Billy, without a quiver.</p> - -<p>“Glad to hear it, my boy! First bit of good -news to-day,” said Mr. Waters, turning grave -again. “I say, Billy! About this——”</p> - -<p>“I’m going,” I said quickly, picking my hat -up from the side-table where it had been tossed -down as upon a gorse-bush. “I only meant -to stay a minute.”</p> - -<p>“<em>Nancy</em>—I say!” came resentfully from the -desk.</p> - -<p>“I’ll be in the waiting-room, then,” I promised. -“Or, if I may, I’ll go and look up Miss -Robinson and the girls while you talk over your -business.”</p> - -<p>I don’t know why, exactly. Only I felt I -must see those three girls again with this new -look on my face. They might not know the -difference! Still—I walked to the door.</p> - -<p>“Sensible little woman, this of yours, -William,” his uncle trumpeted approvingly, -holding it open for me. “Knows there’s a time -for everything.... All to yourself for good, -presently; <em>that’s</em> been official for months now. -Don’t you glower at me, lad, I saw you——”</p> - -<p>The door shut behind me. But through it I -heard Uncle Albert’s robustious: “Why! Bless -my life! Anyone would think I’d interrupted -you before you’d been engaged five minutes!”</p> - -<hr /> - -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_381"></a>[381]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="POSTSCRIPT">POSTSCRIPT<br /> -<span class="smaller">FULL MOON</span></h2> - -</div> - -<p>“This,” said Billy, taking in a full breath -of the sea-scented air of Porth Cariad, -“is better than your old idea of a Riviera honeymoon, -Nancy!”</p> - -<p>We had just walked down from the larger of -the cottages towards the shore, and were watching -that great primrose-coloured Chinese lantern -of a moon rise slowly, slowly over the jagged, -purple silhouette of the Carnarvonshire mountains -into the pale mauve September dusk.</p> - -<p>Presently it would cast a glittering path of -light across the Bay of Many Waters, and throw -a black shadow from the cliff of the wooden -woman on to the sands of our cove. There was -a soft lap-lapping of the high tide beneath us, -and a softer scurrying of rabbits among the sand-hills; -now and again a gull called, or we caught -the distant shouts of the men in the fishing-boats -putting out for the night.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_382"></a>[382]</span></p> - -<p>Beyond these small sounds there was a great -and brooding Peace; we were two hundred -miles and more from the noise and sunshine and -merriment of the morning, from the great green -lawn sown with all the colour and movement of -the wedding-party, living confetti!—from the -white house, echoing with laughter, and -voices—Theo’s above the rest—calling far -after us: “Good luck! Good luck!”</p> - -<p>“And are you glad to be back here, with me, -to-night?”</p> - -<p>“To-morrow,” I said dreamily, “we’ll go -everywhere where we used to go——”</p> - -<p>“Over to that cliff, Nancy——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and finish painting that figure-head——”</p> - -<p>“Yes, or <em>not</em> finish painting her. We’ve -wasted too much good time at Port Sweetheart -as it is!”</p> - -<p>But I felt that all our time here had all been -so lovely—all! And now, this cool white radiance -was bathing the place in a light more magical -than any day I had seen. It made of it one of -those dream-countries one walks in, half-waking, -as a child: a wide and lonely, lovely land; -secret, too! of which one would not give the -entrance to one’s very dearest; a land I had -scarcely dreamed of since I was a half-grown -girl. Why did those dreams come back to me -now? I stared out to sea; I didn’t want to -move or speak; just to be there, watching that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_383"></a>[383]</span> -moonlight on those waves, was enough. I -was as still as that image of that other girl, high -up on the cliff....</p> - -<p>At that moment I felt ... not myself at all, -but outside myself and part of it all—of the -quivering, whispering sea under that chill and -silver light, of those fairy hills, of the sighing, -cool air, and of the dewy earth. There was -something of all these in my own being—something -of mine in all of them. For that -one moment I had forgotten the lover beside -me; for just that last rapt moment he was -nothing to me....</p> - -<p>Then he spoke.</p> - -<p>“The lights on the boats down there ... -like glow-worms! Only those are putting out to -sea. And a glow-worm lights up—did you -know why? to guide its mate home.”</p> - -<p>I sighed; slowly, slowly growing back again, -out of the inhuman white glamour and that -silver distance....</p> - -<p>“Are there,” I asked, a little absently, “any -glow-worms in this place?”</p> - -<p>“Further inland, perhaps,” he said.</p> - -<p>Very gently, he drew me round to face the -cottages. A warmer, dimmer, rosier light -streamed through the door of the kitchen, where -we caught the pinky round globe of the lamp, -the gleam of the white cloth, the small, dark, -cosy shape of Mrs. Roberts moving to and fro,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_384"></a>[384]</span> -setting, with a little chinking of plates and forks, -our supper.</p> - -<p>She came to the door and called in her insidious -voice, “<i lang="cy">Mae’n barod rwan, sir!</i>”</p> - -<p>“That means it’s ready now,” said Billy -softly. “Come in, dear. Yes—those lights are -outward-bound, Nancy. But you—you’re anchored, -aren’t you? All fast?”</p> - -<p>“Ah, but as I love to be,” I said, this time with -a happy sigh; and turned—to his breast.</p> - -<p>He clasped me, crushing against my neck a -kiss that has left there, rosy and distinct, the -impression of a chain....</p> - -<p>It’s that slender gold chain which holds the -little oval pendant framing a christening-curl. -His mother fastened that gift beneath the white -shimmer of my bridal-gown this morning.</p> - -<p>And I remember something that she said when -first she offered it.</p> - -<p>Presently, I shall tell my husband what it was.</p> - -<p class="titlepage">THE END</p> - -<p class="titlepage smaller"><i>Printed at The Chapel River Press, Kingston, Surrey.</i></p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of His Official Fiancée, by Berta Ruck - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS OFFICIAL FIANCÉE *** - -***** This file should be named 63865-h.htm or 63865-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/8/6/63865/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian -Libraries) - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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