"You forget the wear and tear of the brain," said Madame.

"But we get that in our business."

"Hush!" whispered the other. "He doesn't like hearing that referred to."

Conversation during the meal was restricted to the subject of the production of pictures and their subsequent disposal; Madame showed great deference to the arguments of her husband, occasionally interposing a mild suggestion which he had no difficulty in knocking down. At moments of excited contention Madame's husband became inarticulate, and had to fall back upon the gestures of the studio, that conveyed nothing to the visitor.

"How much do you make a year?" she asked, when an opportunity came. He paused in his task of opening another bottle of stout, and regarded her with something of surprise.

"My good girl," he replied, "I don't estimate my results by pounds, shillings, and pence."

"Do you earn a hundred in twelve months?"

"Wish I did," confessed Madame's husband. "In that case, I shouldn't have to be beholden to other people."

"How would you manage if you weren't married?"

He looked at the mantelpiece, and inquired of his wife if the clock was indicating the correct time. Receiving the answer, Madame's husband became alarmed, declaring it a fortunate thing that he had remembered a highly important appointment. It represented, he said, the chance of a lifetime, and to miss it would be nothing short of madness; he bade Miss Higham good evening in a curt way, and Madame accompanied him to the front door. There they had a spirited discussion. Madame considered an allowance of half a crown would be ample; he said, in going, that his wife was a mean, miserable cat.

"I'm afraid, my dear, you shunted him off," remarked Madame, coming back to the studio. "You don't seem to know how to manage men, do you?"

"Had my suspicions of that before now."

"Of course, they're very trying but"--helplessly--"I don't know.

Sometimes I wish I'd kept single, and then again at other times, when I've had a hard day of it, I feel glad I'm not coming home to empty rooms. Taking the rough with the smooth, I suppose most women think that any husband is better than no husband at all."

"Rather than get hold of one who didn't earn his living," declared Gertie with vehemence, "I'd keep single all my life."

"He did nearly sell a picture," argued the other, "once!"

They took easy-chairs, and Madame found a box of chocolates. Mr.

Jacks, it appeared, was not Madame's first love. Mr. Jacks's predecessor had been ordered out years ago to take part in a war that improved the receipts entered up in Hilbert's books; on the debit side, the loss of a good sweetheart had to be placed. Madame dried her eyes, and in less than half a minute the two were on the subject which absorbed their princ.i.p.al interests. Price of gold thread, difficulty with one of the home workers, questions of aiguillettes, sword belts, sashes, grenades; hopes that the King would shortly issue a new order concerning officers' uniforms. Madame said that, nowadays, profits were cut very close; she could remember, in her father's time, when, if there was not a balance at the end of the year of over a thousand pounds, serious anxiety ensued. Madame brought out a large alb.u.m to show pictures of gorgeous apparel that belonged to days before thrift became a hobby.

"Seems to me," she said, without leading up to the remark, "that Miss Rabbit is the weak link in our chain." Gertie did not make any comment. "I'm going to tell you something. I want to give her other work to do, and get you to take her place. It will amount to an extra ten shillings a week, Miss Higham."

"Do you really mean it?"

"It's why I asked you to come here this evening. You see, you have improved so much this summer. Improved in style, speech, everything!"

"There's a reason for that!"

Gertie Higham walked up and down the studio with excitement in her eyes. She wanted to ask Madame how long the firm was likely to endure, but to do this might lead to the betrayal of confidence; meanwhile she fired inquiries, and Madame, eager to gain her approval of the suggestion, answered each one promptly. Bunny was not to be reduced in wages; only in position. One of the new duties would be to run about and see people; Madame's nerves were not quite all they used to be, and the hurried traffic of the street frightened her. Next to Madame, Gertie would be considered, so to speak, as head cook and bottle-washer. Gertie, collecting all this information, wondered how it would be possible to let Henry Dougla.s.s know that she was making important progress. Possibly it could be managed through Clarence Mills and Miss Loriner; she might meet him in London, at some unexpected moment.

"Do you object, Madame," she asked, "if I run off now, and tell aunt about it?"

"You accept the offer?"

"Like a shot!" answered Gertie.

"You dear!" cried Madame.

Frederick Bulpert was on the point of leaving when she reached Praed Street; he came back into the shop parlour to hear the news. Her aunt kissed her, and said Gertie was a good, clever girl; Bulpert declared the promotion well earned.

"This is distinctly frankincense and myrrh," he acknowledged. "I feel proud of you, and I don't care who hears me say so. Let me see; your birthday's next week, isn't it? How about arranging something in the nature of a conversazione, or what not?"

"I hope," said Mrs. Mills, escorting him through the shop, "that, later on, you'll do your best to make her happy."

"But it's her," protested Bulpert, "it's her that's got to make me happy."

CHAPTER IX.

Clarence Mills, invited to be present at the birthday evening, wrote in frolicsome terms, from which the young hostess judged that with him the progress of love was satisfactory. "My dear young relation, near Paddington Station, of course I will come to your show. If forced to leave early, you won't think me surly; I have to meet some one you know!" To this Gertie sent a card begging Miss Loriner to include herself in the invitation, and that young woman forwarded a telegram from Ewelme with the word "Delighted."

"Now"--to herself hopefully--"now I shall hear some news about him!"

Gertie decided the evening should differ from evenings which had preceded it, in that the entire expense was to be borne by herself; and Mrs. Mills therefore only offered a feeble objection when the girl arranged that the front room upstairs was to be turned out, rout seats hired, and a few articles of furniture, including the piano-forte (which, at one perilous moment, threatened to remain for the rest of its life at the turn of the staircase), transferred from the shop parlour. Bulpert announced his intention of taking charge of the musical and dramatic part of the entertainment. Bulpert no longer considered himself a visitor at Praed Street, and on one occasion he entered a stern protest when he found Mr. Trew's hat there, resting upon the peg which he considered his own. Twice he had suggested that Gertie should lend him half a sovereign, reducing the amount, by stages, to eighteenpence; but she answered definitely that advances of this kind interfered with friendship, and she preferred not to start the practice.

"I could let you have it back in a fortnight."

"Perhaps!" she said. "And if you did, you would be under the impression that you were doing me a great favour."

"I like to see a girl economical," he remarked, frowning, "but there's a diff'rence between that and being miserly. And," with resolution, "I go further, and I say that if there's anybody who's got a just and fair and proper claim on your consideration, it is F. W. B."

"There's some one who comes before you."

"The name, please?"

"Myself," replied Gertie.

The question of conciliating Miss Rabbit at Great t.i.tchfield Street had been solved, and matters there were going smoothly. Miss Rabbit continued to hold her t.i.tle of forewoman, although she was no longer forewoman; and Miss Higham took the label of secretary, which well described duties she did not perform. The girls in the workroom made no concealment of their satisfaction with the change, and men at the looms upstairs came individually to Gertie and said, "Look here, miss!

If ever you have any difficulty or awk'ardness or anything of the kind with the other chaps, just give the word, and I'll put it all right."

Bunny, for the preservation of friendship, went down on the birthday party list, and Miss Radford (who had not been seen for some time) and two girls (formerly at school with Gertie, and then known as a couple of terrors, but now grown tall and distinguished, and doing well in a notable shop in Westbourne Grove), and, of course, Mr. Trew, and two friends of Bulpert's, whom he guaranteed capable of keeping any party on the go. Mrs. Mills checked the names, expressed satisfaction.

"I was half afraid," she said, "you'd want to send a note to that young gentleman who lives near where I was brought up."

"If he came here," replied the girl steadily, "I should only fall in love with him again, and that would complicate matters."

"I think you're wise," approved Mrs. Mills.

A charwoman from Sale Street came in to scrub floors, to see to fireplaces, and to renovate apartments generally--a slow worker, on account of some affection of the heart, but an uncommonly good talker.

When human intercourse failed she addressed articles of furniture, asking them how much they cost originally, and, sarcastically, whether they were under the impression that they looked as good as new; to some she gave the a.s.surance that if she were to meet them at a jumble sale, she would pa.s.s by without a second glance. The charwoman suggested, at the completion of her task, and rolling up her square mat with the care of one belonging to an Oriental sect, that her help should be engaged for the party; Mrs. Mills replied that if they required help, some one of more active methods and of less years would be approached.

"Right you are!" she said, taking her money from the counter. "In that case, I'll send along my Sarah."

To suit the young hostess, and to meet the convenience of one or two of the guests, the party began at an hour that was quite fashionably late.