The next morning Jean was ten minutes late in arriving at the factory. As a rule she was five minutes early. But some one had come to Bonnie Doon with a cut hand, and the doctor, who generally motored her into Grendon, had wished to attend to the injury himself. Those ten minutes had seemed to Harry Garlett an eternity. That she who was always early should be late, seemed to his jealous, excited fancy to confirm Miss Prince’s outspoken hint, and when at last she did come in, with a half-smiling apology, he turned on her roughly. “I hope that you won’t be delayed like this again, Miss Bower, however good the reason. It gives a bad example,” and she was frightened, cowed, by his look of mingled anger and contempt. Each of them got through his and her morning work with difficulty—Jean often on the point of tears. What had happened to her kind, considerate employer, the man with whom, in her guilelessness, she had thought herself almost on the terms of a younger sister? At last, at about a quarter to one, he turned on her with: “And what do you see to admire, Miss Bower, in Dr. Tasker?” It was a monstrous, an outrageous, question, and the colour flew into her face. She turned away and answered in what she meant should be a cheerful, chaffing voice, though she felt not only astounded, but hot with anger. “What makes you think I admire Dr. Tasker, Mr. Garlett?” He said, “I’m told you do,” in a short, cutting voice. This time she remained silent, and after pretending for a moment or two to be busily engaged in correcting the proofs of a new trade catalogue she put her pen down and turned to walk toward the door—no longer mistress of herself. 53Harry Garlett leaped to his feet, and before she could reach the door he caught her up and masterfully—yet, oh how gently—took her in his arms. 53 “Jean! Don’t be cruel,” he whispered. “Surely—surely you know I love you—adore you—worship you?” For a long moment they gazed into each other’s eyes, and then his lips sought and found her soft, quivering mouth....
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