"And I tell you again, you'll be at the shop. You open so early and close so late, and get out so little on week-days, that you never get a chance of seeing me even after I leave the theatre. Possibly by next Sunday, when we shall have a chance of seeing each other again, it will all be settled."

"By next Sunday?"

"Exactly. I mean to keep things moving. Possibly by next Sunday I shall be within reach of the money which will enable us to marry and ensure our future happiness. Think how delightful that will be! We can't marry on ten shillings a week; after we're married I don't mean to stay on at the theatre, and so keep up a home for us both; and as for your emigrating--the chances are that we might never see each other again. And, anyhow, it might be years before you earned even a tenth part of five thousand pounds. So do be reasonable. I'm sure if you think it over you'll see perfectly well that my way is by far the best."

It was some time before Mr Lamb was reasonable--from the lady's point of view. It is doubtful if to the end he saw as plainly as she would have liked him to, that her way was the best. But at that period of her career she had a way about her to which few men were capable of offering a prolonged resistance. Joe Lamb was distinctly not one of those few. By the time they parted she wrung from him what she told him plainly she intended to regard as his approbation of her nefarious schemes. So soon as his back was turned she wrote a stiff, formal note, in the third person, in which she informed Sir Frank Pickard that Miss Ailsa Lorraine would be at home to-morrow--Monday--afternoon at three o'clock and might be disposed to see him if he desired to call.

"It's not exactly a nice sort of thing to do," she admitted to herself, as she secured this epistle in an envelope. "But it's the sort of opportunity which never may occur again; it seems wicked to throw it away. Especially as poor dear Joe never will be able to get the money by himself. I am convinced that he's just the sort of man to take advantage of a chance if he has one. And I love him well enough to get him one. And that's the whole truth in a nutsh.e.l.l."

CHAPTER II

On the Monday afternoon a hansom drew up at the door of the by no means pretentious house in which Miss Lorraine had her quarters.

Out of it stepped Sir Frank Pickard. He bore with him upstairs what seemed to be a by no means insignificant portion of the contents of a fair-sized shop. In one hand he carried a magnificent bouquet, a large basket of splendid fruit, a big box of bonbons and a mysterious case which, as a matter of fact, was filled with various kinds of gloves.

In the other were unconsidered trifles in the shape of bottles of perfume, silver knickknacks, a writing case, and other odds and ends.

His arms were filled with parcels of different shapes and sizes which contained he alone knew what. Under the circ.u.mstances it was not surprising that he found it a little difficult to know what to do with his hat. As he entered Miss Lorraine's sitting-room he was in a state of some confusion. Plumping the contents of one of his arms on the nearest chair, whence they mostly proceeded to tumble on to the floor, he removed his hat in a fashion which was rather dexterous than elegant. As if conscious that he was not making his first appearance under the most propitious conditions, his cheeks were a beautiful peony red.

Miss Lorraine had risen to receive him. She had on her best frock--a frock which she specially reserved for high-days and holidays.

Although she had made it herself, it could not have become--or fitted--her better had it been the creation of one of the world's great dressmakers. At least, such was the instant and unhesitating opinion of Sir Frank Pickard. He felt that he had never seen a more perfect example of feminine beauty--of all that was desirable in woman; he was convinced that he never should. He was trembling from head to foot; as some boys still do tremble when, for the first time in their lives, they are head over heels in love. Miss Lorraine, on the other hand, was both cool and calm--an accident which enabled her to perceive that her visitor was very much the reverse. She looked him up and down, inclining to the opinion, as the result of her inspection, that he was not an ill-looking boy. He was fairly tall, broad-shouldered, carried himself well, and looked a gentleman. She told herself that, had her affections not been pre-engaged, it was extremely possible that she might have regarded him in quite a different kind of way. But her heart really was Joe Lamb's; and she never for a moment contemplated the feasibility of transferring it to anybody else.

The lady was the first to speak.

"You are Sir Frank Pickard?"

The visitor had been afforded an opportunity to disenc.u.mber himself of his parcels, and therefore ought to have become more at his ease. But the simple truth was that the sight of the lady embarra.s.sed him more than the parcels had done. His heart was thumping against his ribs; he seemed to be giving way at the knees; his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. However, he managed to stammer out something; though it was only with difficulty that he could articulate at all.

"It's awfully good of you to let me come and see you."

The lady smiled--a smile which might have been described as of the glacial kind.

"Will you sit down, Sir Frank?"

He sat down, on the extreme edge of a chair, as if fearful of occupying too much of it at once. He looked--and no doubt was--excessively uncomfortable. Placing herself in the only arm-chair the room contained, she observed him with an air which was at once both cruel and condescending.

"You have written me one or two notes, Sir Frank?"

He stammered worse than ever. Not only did he find the question an awkward one, but it seemed to him that the lady was even more bewitching in the arm-chair than she had been when standing up. As he realised--or thought he realised--her charms still more clearly, his few remaining senses were rapidly deserting him.

"I--I'm afraid I did."

"In which you asked me, a perfect stranger, to be your wife?"

"I--I'm awfully sorry."

"You are sorry? Indeed. Do you mean that you are sorry you asked me to be your wife?"

He gasped. There was something in her tone, something in the way in which she peeped at him from under the long lashes which shaded her violet eyes, something in her att.i.tude, in the quality of the smile which parted her pretty lips, which set every fibre in his body palpitating. What did she mean? What could she mean? Was it possible that she meant--what he had scarcely dared to hope she ever would mean?

In his stuttering eagerness his words tumbled headforemost over each other.

"Of course what I meant was that I know perfectly well that I never ought to have written to you like that. It was frightful cheek, and--and the sort of thing I ought to be kicked for. But as for being sorry that I asked you to be my wife--!" The boy's feelings were so intense that for the moment his breath entirely failed him. When he continued, tears were actually standing in his eyes. "Oh, Miss Lorraine, if you only knew what I have felt since I first saw you. I have been to the theatre every night; I have waited at the stage door to see you come out--"

"So I understand. It was very wrong of you."

"I had to do something--I couldn't help it. I didn't know anyone who'd introduce me; you wouldn't answer my letters; you refused my presents--"

"Certainly; under the circ.u.mstances they were so many insults."

"I didn't mean them for insults--I swear I didn't. I wouldn't have insulted you, or allowed anyone else to insult you, not--not for all the gold of the Indies."

"Sir Frank, the question I put to you was, are you sorry that you asked me to be your wife? That is, did you really wish me to be your wife, and do you wish it still?"

"Wish it! I'd give all I have if you'd be my wife; you'd make me the happiest fellow in the world!"

"If you truly mean that--"

"Put me to the test and see if I mean it!--say yes!"

"I do believe that you mean it; so I will say yes. One moment, Sir Frank!" Rising from his chair the young gentleman showed symptoms of a desire to express his feelings in a style which the lady might have found slightly inconvenient. "A girl in my position cannot be too careful. If you care for me as you say, you will see that even better than I do." That was rather a bold stroke of Miss Lorraine's, and a clever one. For it made an irresistible appeal to the boy's quixotic nature. "Remember, you and I are still almost strangers. Nevertheless, you have asked me to be your wife; and I have consented. Will you write a few lines, setting forth the exact position of affairs, on this sheet of paper?"

She pointed to paper, pens and ink, which were on the centre table.

The youngster did hesitate. There was a matter-of-fact air about the fashion in which the lady made her suggestion which, even to his eyes, rather blurred the romance of the situation. But his hesitation did not endure. He was like wax in her hands. Presently he sat down and wrote on a sheet of paper the words which--without his being altogether conscious of the fact--she had put at the point of his pen.

"You understand, Sir Frank," she remarked, as she folded up what, from her point of view, was an invaluable doc.u.ment, and slipped it in the bodice of her dress, "this engagement of ours must be no hole-and-corner affair. You must not conceal it from your mother!"

"Of course not. I never have concealed anything from her in my life, and I certainly don't mean to start concealing from her that I'm engaged to be married."

"You must introduce me to her."

"Rather! I shall be only too delighted, if you'll let me. She already has some idea of how it is with me. I wrote to her that I'd fallen head over heels in love. She always has said that she'd like me to marry young; when she hears that I'm to be married right away she'll be delighted."

Miss Lorraine was not so sure. But she did not say so. She was becoming momentarily more convinced that this really was a remarkable young man.

"When do you think you can introduce me to your mother? I should like it to be as soon as possible."

She was thinking of the following Sunday, and of her provisional promise to Mr Lamb.

"Next Wednesday, if that wouldn't be too early."

"Not at all. Wednesday would suit me perfectly."

"That's awfully good of you; because, in that case, I shall be able to introduce you not only to my mother, but, as it were, to everybody else as well. You see, the village people are holding their annual flower show on Wednesday, at my place in Suss.e.x; I've lent them one of my fields. And my mother's got a house-party, and that kind of thing, to do honour to the occasion. I think it would be even better if you could come to-morrow, that's Tuesday. And then by Wednesday you'll know the whole houseful; and then at the flower show I could introduce you to the village people, they're nearly all my tenants. If you'll say yes, I'll run down at once and let my mother know you're coming."

"To-morrow will suit me even better than Wednesday, thank you."

"And of course you'll stay the rest of the week, and over Sunday."

"You'll be tired of me long before then; and your mother also."