MISS CASS WAS duly informed that her train was the two-ten. The family
chariot had been ordered for half-past one, an insurance as far as was
humanly possible against her missing it. Luncheon, in the meantime, was
served to her in the schoolroom.
George Norris was quite upset. Clearly he was expected to share the
righteous indignation of the ladies of the household, but this was
asking too much of human nature. As for Miss Parbury’s air of triumph,
he found it intolerable.
In truth, this was a dark hour. For the young man now realized that he
was very much in love. The drama of this abrupt departure brought home
the fact rather unpleasantly. A very little reflection showed that his
hesitations and moral cowardice of the last few days were going to cost
him dear.
On three consecutive mornings had he made up his mind to propose to
Miss Cass before the day was out. But the end of each day had found him
unequal to the task. He didn’t quite know why. Sheer human weakness, no
doubt, had led him to put off till the morrow. And it was now too late.
Somehow the little governess had always contrived to keep him rather at
a distance. He had never quite known the ground on which he stood. She
was a most dexterous fencer, her heart was not worn on her sleeve; and
in spite of his military renown he was not quite sure of himself. But
the “sacking” at a moment’s notice of this extremely fascinating little
lady brought things at once to a head.
It roused the chivalry in the breast of George Norris to the danger
point. He felt that he must speak now or forever hold his peace. This
was a chance that could not recur. If he let her go now he was never
likely to meet her again. In a state of high tension he began to range
the house, yet halting always at the schoolroom door with two sinister
words echoing and reëchoing in his mind. Too late! Too late! was their
diabolic chorus.
Even now he was set upon one last attempt. She must not go away like
that. It was the fifty-ninth minute of the eleventh hour, he would have
to rush his fences horribly, but no matter he must put all to the touch.
The schoolroom door confronted him. But in spite of the row of
decorations on his tunic his courage suddenly failed. One can hardly
propose to a girl in the middle of her luncheon! Some men might be
equal to such a task: a strenuous military life had taught George
Norris that some men are equal to anything, but even in this impasse he
thanked his stars that he was not of their number. No, confound it all,
he must let her eat her luncheon anyway!
The grandfather clock in the hall chimed a quarter-past one. He was
cutting it decidedly fine! Again one of his fatal hesitations came upon
him. Only a fool would think of butting in now. Better far be content
with obtaining her permanent address and sending through the post an
offer in his best English. But the Dr. Jekyll in his composition--or
was it the Mr. Hyde?--assured him that such a bloodless proceeding was
bound to fail. Wiser by far, thought Jekyll-Hyde, to trust implicitly
to the personal equation. Let him go ahead with the business, luncheon
or no luncheon, then and now!
Yes, after all, that was the sound commonsense of the matter. The hand
of George Norris sought the knob of the schoolroom, but before he could
turn it, the door of the room opposite came abruptly open. “George,”
said Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson with a glance at the venerable article of
furniture across the hall, “Tell me, isn’t that clock slow?”
With a stab of keen annoyance George looked at his watch. Alas, the
clock was certainly slow, by a full ten minutes. And in confirmation of
the dire fact a severe parlor-maid and a giggling subordinate emerged
at that moment round a bend into the visible part of the staircase in
charge of Miss Cass’s rather meager but heavily burdened tin trunk.
In almost the same instant there came a sharp peal at the front door
bell. It was an intimation that John Small was round with the family
chariot.