"I want Jim! Please send for Jim." And when he came, rushing on the
wings of the express next day, she was so sweet and kind to him that the
poor fellow did not know whether he was standing on his head or his
heels.
It was characteristic of Jim that when recovery seemed certain he should
say no more about his own hopes. He had been anxious enough to offer
his love in the dark days of uncertainty, and all the year long a day
had never passed without bringing Vere some sign of his remembrance--a
letter, or a book, or a magazine, or flowers, or scent, or chocolates.
The second post never once came in without bringing a message of love
and cheer. He came down to see us, too, once a month at least, and
sometimes got very little thanks for his pains, but that made no
difference to his devotion. Now for the first time he was silent and
said not one word of love.
Vere told me all about it afterwards, not the nice private little bits,
of course, but a general outline of the scene between them, and I could
imagine how pretty it must have been. Vere is bewitching when she is
saucy, and it is, oh, so good to see her saucy again!
"There sat Jim like a monument of propriety," she said, dimpling with
amusement at the remembrance, "and do what I would I could not get him
on to personal topics. I gave him half a dozen leads, but the wretch
always drifted on to the weather, or politics, or books, and I could not
corner him. Then at last I said mournfully, `Haven't you brought me a
_cadeau_, Jim? I looked forward to a _cadeau_. Is there nothing you
want to give me?' He apologised profusely, said there had been no time
before catching the train, but if there was anything at all that I
fancied when he went back to town he would be only too charmed. I
looked down and twiddled my fingers, and said bashfully, `Well, Jim, I
should like--a ring--!'"
Dear old Jim! Dear old loyal, faithful Jim! How I should have loved to
see his face at that moment!