"It wasn't exactly that. I didn't want a row with aunt. What did you think of Mr. Trew?"

"Do you know, it occurred to me that he looked rather like an omnibus driver."

"He is an omnibus driver."

"A relative?"

"Better than that--a friend. I s'pose you're somewhat particular about relations?"

The conductor came, and the girl had thought of other questions by the time fares to the Adelaide were paid. A man on the seat in front turned to ask her companion for a match; he handed over a silver box that bore a monogram. She begged permission, when it was given back, to look at the case.

"Which stands for the Christian name?"

"The H."

"And D. is for the surname then--H. D."

"Henry Dougla.s.s," he said.

"I like the sound of it," she declared. "What do you think the name of the forewoman at our place of business is?" She chattered on, and he listened attentively, as though the sound of her voice was all that mattered.

At the Adelaide they alighted, and, walking up the short hill, found Regent's Park Road; she explained the geography of the district, pointed out that away south it was all open country until you came to Marylebone Road. And was it not wonderful how fresh and bracing the air seemed up here, even on a summer's evening; you could easily imagine yourself miles and miles away from London. Did he care for the country? She did not. For one thing, the people there had such an odd way of speaking that it was a trouble to realize what they were driving at. She sometimes wondered whether they understood each other.

"You're letting me do all the talk," she remarked, as they took seats in the enclosed s.p.a.ce at the top of the hill. Boys were playing on the slopes, punctuating the game with frequent disputes. A young couple seated near a tree attracted her notice; the girl's eyes were closed, head resting on the shoulder of the young man, who had an aspect of gloomy resignation.

"Sillies some people make of themselves, don't they?" she said.

"I suppose we are, most of us, ludicrous to other people."

"Do you laugh at me sometimes?"

"No, no," he said earnestly; "I like you too much to do that."

"You think you're a bit fond of me," she said, gazing ahead and speaking deliberately, "because I'm different from most of the girls you're in the habit of meeting, and my ways make a change for you.

That's about all. You'd soon get tired of me and my manner if we saw much of each other. I know it won't last."

"I shall not trouble to contradict that," he remarked good-temperedly, "because I know you don't believe it yourself. Why, it would be absolutely splendid to be always with you."

Another couple walked by, breathless after the climb. Gertie, recognizing her friend Miss Radford, nodded; and that young lady, after a short scream of astonishment, gave a bow, and nudged her blushing companion as an instruction to imitate the example by raising his hat.

"I'm glad she's seen us," said Gertie. "Didn't the young fellow turn red?"

"He's a junior clerk in my office."

"What a score for me!" she cried exultantly. "I've a good mind to ask you now what you do for a living exactly, only that I'd rather find everything out bit by bit."

"You queer little person," he said affectionately. "Tell me instead about yourself. What is a day like at your place of business? Do you mind--it helps to concentrate my attention--if I hold your hand whilst you talk?"

"Why should I?" asked Gertie.

There could be no doubt, as she progressed with the description of Great t.i.tchfield Street, that her mind was well occupied with the daily work; she gave the recital clearly and well, avoiding repet.i.tion and excluding any suggestion of monotony. Every moment of the hours there seemed to engage her interest. It was her duty to keep the books, and keep them straight; to answer the telephone, and sometimes make purchases of reels of gold thread and of leather. The looms and the netting machine were worked by men; the rest was done by girls. The forewoman was described, and her domestic troubles lightly sketched (Miss Rabbit's father backed horses, excepting when they came in first). Madame herself was spoken of in lowered respectful tones--partly because of her high position, partly because of shrewd and businesslike methods. Madame, it appeared, attributed any success she attained to the circ.u.mstance that she had steered clear of matrimony. Madame told the girls sometimes that you could wed yourself to business, or you could wed yourself to a man, but women who tried to do both found themselves punished for bigamy, sooner or later. Gertie was a favourite of Madame's; the main reason was, the girl thought, that--

"Shan't tell you!" she said, interrupting herself.

"Let me hear the worst," begged young Dougla.s.s cheerfully. "I have, just for the moment, the courage of a lion."

"Well, the reason is that she's under the impression I don't care much for--for anybody special."

"And is Madame correct in her sanguine antic.i.p.ations?"

"She was. Until a month or so ago."

He took the other hand quickly.

"Let's move on," she recommended, rising sedately. "I don't want to be too late on pay night. Aunt will be thinking I've been knocked down and robbed of my purse. She's country-bred--Berkshire--and she says she doesn't trust Londoners." They went down the slope.

"Does she happen to know the town of Wallingford, I wonder?"

He declared, on receiving the answer, that nothing could be more fortunate; this was, indeed, pure luck. For he too was acquainted with Wallingford, and especially well he knew a village not far off: if he could but meet Gertie's aunt, here was a subject of mutual interest.

Throwing away the serious manner that came intermittently, he challenged her to race him down to the Albert Road gate; and she went at her best speed, not discouraged by shouts from youngsters of "Go it, little 'un!" They arrived together at the gate, where Gertie had to rest for a few moments to regain breath. She pointed out that skirts hampered one; he admitted he ought to have given her fifty yards start.

They took Regent's Park more demurely.

"When you get a colour," he said, "you look like a schoolgirl."

"As a matter of fact, I shan't see twenty again."

"Do you want to?"

"No," she replied candidly; "I'm as happy just now as ever I want to be. It'll always be something to look back upon."

"I wish," he said with earnestness, "that you wouldn't talk as though our friendship was only going to be temporary."

"We never know our luck," she remarked. "Aunt was saying only the other evening, 'Gertie,' she said--Now I've been and let you know my name."

He repeated it twice quietly to himself.

"Have you been fond of any one before this?" she asked. The girl had so many questions that her mind jumped from one topic to another.

"Oh yes," he answered. "When I was a schoolboy at Winchester I fell in love--deeply in love. She was a widow, and kept a confectioner's shop.

Good shop, too."

"Nothing more serious than that?" He shook his head. "Glad I'm the first," she said. "And I wish my plan for getting you acquainted with aunt had come off the other night. It would have made it all seem more legal, somehow."

"We'll manage it," he promised. "Meanwhile, and always, don't forget that you are my dear sweetheart."

Miss Radford called at Praed Street, inquiring anxiously; and Mrs.

Mills, summoning invention to her aid, said Gertie was not in. Mrs.

Mills followed this up by mentioning that an occasional visit from Miss Radford could be tolerated, but it was not necessary for her to be always in and out of the place. Miss Radford, a.s.serting that she never forced her company upon any one, swung out of the shop; and Mrs. Mills said to the cat that they did not want too many flighters about.