Five weeks of the four months gone. And to-morrow he was going up to
London.
Only till Friday. Only for five days. She kept on telling herself he
would stay longer. Once he was there you couldn't tell how many days he
might stay. But say he didn't come back till the middle of July, still
there would be the rest of July and all August and September.
To-day he was walking home with her, carrying the books. She liked
walking with him, she liked to be seen walking with him, as she used to
like being seen walking with Roddy and Mark, because she was proud of
them, proud of belonging to them. She was proud of Richard Nicholson
because of what he had done.
The Morfe people didn't know anything about what he had done; but they
knew he was something wonderful and important; they knew it was wonderful
and important that you should be his secretary. They were proud of you,
glad that they had provided him with you, proud that he should have found
what he was looking for in Morfe.
Mr. Belk, for instance, coming along the road. He used to pass you with a
jaunty, gallant, curious look as if you were seventeen and he were
saying, "There's a girl who ought to be married. Why isn't she?" He had
just sidled past them, abashed and obsequious, a little afraid of the big
man. Even Mrs. Belk was obsequious.
And Mr. Spencer Rollitt. He was proud because Richard Nicholson had asked
him about a secretary and he had recommended you. Funny that people could
go on disapproving of you for twenty years, and then suddenly approve
because of Richard Nicholson.
And Mamma. Mamma thought you wonderful and important, too.
Mamma liked Mr. Nicholson. Ever since that Sunday when he had called and
brought the roses and stayed to tea. She had gone out of the room and
left them abruptly because she was afraid of his "cleverness," afraid
that he would begin to talk about something that she didn't understand.