“Then I’m hanged if I won’t point her out to you?”
“That’s uncommon good of you, George,” said I.
“Then you’ll see,” continued George. “But it’s not only her looks, you
know, she’s the most--”
He stopped. Looking round to see why, I observed that his face was red;
he clutched his walking stick tightly in his left hand; his right hand
was trembling, as if it wanted to jump up to his hat. “Here she comes!
Look, look!” he whispered.
Directing my eyes towards the lines of carriages which rolled past us,
I observed a girl in a victoria; by her side sat a portly lady of middle
age. The girl was decidedly like the lady; a description of the lady
would not, I imagine, be interesting. The girl blushed slightly and
bowed. George and I lifted our hats. The victoria and its occupants were
gone. George leant back with a sigh. After a moment, he said:
“Well, that was her.”
There was expectancy in his tone.
“She has an extremely prepossessing appearance,” I observed.
“There isn’t,” said George, “a girl in London to touch her. Sam, old
boy, I believe--I believe she likes me a bit.”
“I’m sure she must, George,” said I; and indeed, I thought so.
“The Governor’s infernally unreasonable,” said George, fretfully.
“Oh, you’ve mentioned it to him?”
“I sounded him. Oh, you may be sure he didn’t see what I was up to. I
put it quite generally. He talked rot about getting on in the world. Who
wants to get on?”
“Who, indeed?” said I. “It is only changing what you are for something
no better.”
“And about waiting till I know my own mind. Isn’t it enough to look at
her?”
“Ample, in my opinion,” said I.
George rose to his feet.
“They’ve gone to a party, they won’t come round again,” said he. “We may
as well go, mayn’t we?”