Master Cacklin's observations on the friendship existing between George
Early and his employer were not without a great deal of truth, strange
as it may appear. George Early and Miss Fairbrother were on friendly
terms--very friendly terms, in fact.
That first interview at Brunswick Terrace had been followed by many
others; interviews that ostensibly had a business purpose, but that
drifted off into cold lunch and a flower show; or afternoon tea and
small-talk. Occasionally the conversation would take a turn that left
Miss Fairbrother somewhat embarrassed, and George Early saying things
that had nothing to do with the iron trade at all. It was obvious, too,
that these interviews were by no means disagreeable to either George or
his employer; but that both were in a high state of excitement
afterwards when alone.
Miss Fairbrother had returned to the firm after a week's absence, and
resumed her accustomed seat in the big private office. But George no
longer assumed the modest demeanour of the private secretary; his desk
was placed in the big room, and the clerks who drifted in and out on
affairs of business invariably found the pair chatting in a most
unbusiness-like manner. Moreover, Miss Fairbrother declined to enter
into most of the hardware problems submitted to her, but begged that
"Mr. Early" might be consulted instead. "Mr. Early" became a person of
importance, from whom a hint was as good as an order; to whom the
general office staff said "sir," and the three legatees adopted an
attitude of sullen respect.
The firm's members drew their own conclusions on the question of the
friendship. It was clear that George had rendered his employer a great
service, and that she was duly grateful to him, perhaps something more.
It was clear, too, that George did not intend to miss any
opportunities, either in the way of friendship or his own advancement;
for on the first score he was clearly in favour, and on the second he
was already drawing a bigger salary. Whether or not he was scheming for
a nearer and dearer position than that of mere _employé_ to Miss
Fairbrother, it was not for anybody to say; but the fact remained that
he appeared daily in gorgeous raiment, visited frequently at Brunswick
Terrace, travelled with his employer in hansoms, and had been escorting
the lady to places of amusement. These things clearly indicated that
Miss Fairbrother "approved" of George in no ordinary sense.
Just how matters really stood between them was known to nobody but
George and Miss Fairbrother, and perhaps Miss Fairbrother's aunt. It
was not for the young lady, even in her position of employer, to unbend
any more than any other of her sex, supposing she had matrimonial
designs. Queens may propose, but even they dislike the job; for they
are only women after all, and it is quite natural for a woman to wish
to be wooed and asked for. And however strong George Early may have
considered his chances to be, it is certain that he was not the sort of
young man to spoil them by prematurely placing his heart upon his
sleeve.
It may have been the extreme brightness of the sun that persuaded Miss
Fairbrother one morning to express a strong disinclination for work. It
was the day after Cacklin's confidence to William Budd, and even in
Upper Thames Street the weather was as fair as summer weather can be.
"How lovely the river looks!" said the young lady, fixing a pair of
bright eyes on a dilapidated steamer that ploughed its way gracefully
towards Westminster.
"Just the sort of day for a trip to Hampton Court," said George. "Pity
we can't shift the office up there, isn't it?"
"I don't know; I've never been there."
"Ah"--bestowing an affectionate glance upon a curl on her left
shoulder--"you've missed one of the best sights on the river."
"Don't!" said Miss Fairbrother; "you'll make me want to go. And you
know"--slowly--"how busy we are."
If the papers on Miss Fairbrother's desk were any criterion, it did not
take much to make the firm busy.
"Of course," said George, proceeding with caution, "if you wish to go,
I can look after everything. It's a shame not to take advantage of a
bright day; it may rain to-morrow."
"I've heard that Hampton Court is very pretty."
"It's a sight that nobody should miss on a day like this."
Miss Fairbrother laughed.
"The grass there is greener than anywhere else on the river, the
water's clearer, and the swans are whiter," said George.
"How do you get there?"
The secretary laid down his pen and paused to consider.
"There's Waterloo," he said--"trains rather stuffy and porters grumpy.
Then there's a waggonette from Piccadilly--horses bony and seats
rickety. Then there's----"
"I don't think I'll go," said Miss Fairbrother.
"I should," said George. "The boat from Westminster is very
comfortable. You can get lunch on board, and it's really a most
delightful trip."
Miss Fairbrother was silent for a moment. "No," she said slowly; "I
don't think I'll go."
George turned round and winked at a bookcase, then rose slowly and
walked to the window, where Miss Fairbrother stood watching the sunlit
surface of the river.
"There's a sudden slackness of orders to-day," he said. "If you
wouldn't mind, I'd like to take a day off myself and go on the river."
Miss Fairbrother smiled, and George went on--
"I shouldn't think of asking if it were not quite possible to leave
things; but, of course, if you think it inadvisable, I'll
willingly----"
"Certainly not," said Miss Fairbrother. "Take the day by all means."
"Thank you," said George, politely. "Then in that case, as I know the
river well, I'm sure you'll allow me to----"
Miss Fairbrother blushed and looked away.
"It's a comfortable boat," urged George, "and the trip is really
splendid. My old landlady's son was the purser last year, and he used
to say that they've cured more invalids on that trip than half the
hospitals in London."
A smile broke out on Miss Fairbrother's face, and George immediately
reached for his hat.
"Hansom?" he said.
"Please"--softly.
As they bowled along towards Westminster George Early sat upright in
his seat, and replied to Miss Fairbrother's sallies with a brightness
that surprised even himself. Something inside him seemed to be
whispering that this was going to be a day of days--one of those bright
periods when everything goes with a comfortable rattle, and you don't
_think_, but _know_, there is going to be fireworks in the evening,
although you haven't seen the programme. Poverty, crime, trouble,
hardship, and everything ugly is deadened; you hear only the voice of
your companion, see only the glint of the sunshine, the white frocks
and clean collars, new houses and green trees. You start off with your
machinery going at a gentle, thump-thump pace, like the steamer, and
you keep it up while the day lasts.
George enjoyed that trip, and Miss Fairbrother enjoyed it too. It's
astonishing how it improves a young woman's looks and a young man's
temper to ride on a steamboat, even when both were agreeable before.
There were many things to see, most of which George had to explain.
What he didn't know he invented, which didn't make much difference, as
it is probable Miss Fairbrother was listening more to George's voice
than to what he said. There were many occasions when George had to take
Miss Fairbrother's arm, and once when the boat lurched he was obliged
to catch her round the waist; none of which incidents upset the good
feeling existing between them, but rather increased it.
At Hampton Court they did the usual round through the Palace, and were
for the first time that day a little bored. Like a good many other
people, they found that the faded relics of dead-and-gone monarchs are
not only uninteresting, but very depressing, so much so that the sight
of a new windsor chair that King George never sat upon becomes an
object of unusual interest and a welcome relief.
"I never thought," said Miss Fairbrother, "that kings and their
furniture could be so uninteresting. I think I enjoyed seeing the
soldiers on guard more than the royal furniture."
"Yes," said George; "and I think I enjoy being out here, sitting by the
river, more than either the furniture or the soldiers."
"It's delightfully quiet and soothing."
"It's grand. I've never seen much of the country in my life, but I do
enjoy it when I get a glimpse."
"In Australia," said Miss Fairbrother, "I saw very little of town life.
We lived in the country most of the time."
"And you were sorry to leave it?"
"At first. Since I've been here I think I like England quite as
well--especially London. There's no place like London, I'm sure."
"Perhaps not," said George, absently.
"No place in Australia," said Miss Fairbrother, confidently.
"I'd like to go there," said George; "I believe it's a fine country."
"Oh, it's very nice"--casually.
"The colonials are fine fellows."
Miss Fairbrother picked a blade of grass and examined it critically.
George looked at a launch coming down the river. It was a crowded
launch, and the antics of the men on board attracted his attention. As
he continued to look he observed that Miss Fairbrother shifted her
glance from the blade of grass to his own features. She looked at the
launch as he turned round.
"Lucky fellows!" said George. "A steam launch is one of the things I
covet."
"Really?" said Miss Fairbrother, quickly.
"Not exactly covet," said George; "but it's a nice way of seeing the
country."
"I think I prefer a quiet spot like--like----"
"Like this"--softly.
A faint blush caused Miss Fairbrother to turn her attention to some
boats coming up the river.
"It's very nice here, isn't it?" she said.
"At present it is," said George.
Miss Fairbrother wilfully misunderstood. "In the winter, of course,
it's very cold and damp."
"So it is in the summer."
"How can that be?" She looked up smiling.
"When one is alone," said George, "the greenest field might be
uninteresting and the warmest day cold."
Miss Fairbrother blushed and laughed. She made no secret now of the
fact that she understood the compliment.
"You think I am not in earnest," said George, boldly, placing one hand
upon hers, as it plucked the grass blade by blade. "I am quite serious;
I should never have enjoyed the trip alone--you know I shouldn't."
Her eyes were upon the grass, where she managed to wriggle one finger
of the imprisoned hand and press the soft earth with its pink nail.
"Don't do that," said George; "you'll make your fingers dirty."
He lifted the hand and examined the small pink finger.
"It's a pretty name," he said irrelevantly.
Their eyes met for a second, then hers were covered by the long lashes.
"Ellen, I mean," said George. "I always liked that name, but I suppose
it wouldn't do to call you by it."
Her breath came faster.
"I suppose it wouldn't do?" said George.
He looked at her cheek, now crimson, and leant nearer.
"Ellen," he whispered softly.
A launch on the river hooted shrilly in the distance, and a boisterous
laugh from the opposite bank echoed faintly over the water. George
leant nearer till his shoulder touched hers. His arm that had rested
idly behind slid round her waist with gentle pressure.
"It wouldn't do, would it?"
The launch hooted again, and a boatman on the water yelled something
undistinguishable to another boatman.
"Ellen!"
Miss Fairbrother's tongue was evidently incapable of utterance, for
there was still no response. Then George Early's arm tightened about
the slim form of his employer and drew it into a closer embrace. His
head bent until her breath came softly on his cheek. And then--
Then George Early kissed her.
A venerable angler looking for worms five minutes later stopped,
suddenly transfixed, to see a young man and young woman with arms so
lovingly entwined and lips pressed together.
* * * * *
There was a bright moon that evening as the Hampton Court boat bumped
against the pier at Westminster. The people streamed up into the
roadway, and one couple popped into a hansom.
"Trocadero? Right you are, sir," said the cabman.
Two hours later another cab took the couple to Brunswick Terrace. The
lady was helped out by the gentleman, with whom she conversed for five
minutes in the shadow of the porch. As they parted, the gentleman
said--
"Good night, my darling."
"Good night, George dear," said the lady.