He’s not a man, of course. He’s a machine that can say ‘Now, Miss Trant!’”—here she broke into perfect mimicry of the Governor’s curtest tone. “And’ What is the meaning of this evening’s cables being one-fifth of a second after time?’ He doesn’t count. You try for something where there’s a human being at the head of affairs——”

“And if it’s near she can come out to lunch with us just the same as before she left,” suggested Miss Holt.

“She hasn’t even left yet,” said Miss Robinson encouragingly. “What price one of those fancy cakes, Miss Trant? Choose the least poisonous-looking, and I’ll treat you—for luck!”

At a quarter to two we got back to the office.

I went and washed in the dressing-room. I took down all my hair. My hair’s my pet vanity; it’s very long and thick and silky, and “just the colour of massed black pansies against her honeysuckle-coloured flesh-tints,” as Sydney[11] Vandeleur once said. He “puts” everything like the artist that he is. (Oh, why wasn’t it to meet him that I was preparing, instead of that young frozen ogre of a Governor?) I wound the long swathe smoothly round my head again, pinned it firm, and made sure it was all right at the back, not with any idea of impressing Still Waters (who would scarcely have noticed the fact had all his typists been completely bald, so long as they were efficient), but merely because to feel perfectly neat made me a little less painfully nervous.

[11]

The clock, striking two, chimed in with my humble tap at the door of Mr. Waters’ private room.

“Come in!” called the dreaded voice of our Governor.

And, trembling inwardly, in I went.

[12]

[12]

CHAPTER II THE PROPOSAL

THE PROPOSAL

The large, light room, with its handsome furniture, seemed to stretch for miles between the door and the big writing-desk, covered with green leather, at which Mr. Waters himself sat, frowning over a letter. The desk was generally bare but for the note of his day’s appointments, with the hours, on the turnover date-ticket.

 Prev. P 9/226 next