Part 11 (1/2)

”No, you haven't. You're just ripe for love--I felt _that_ when I was kissing you.”

Mrs. Thompson rose abruptly.

”I must go home.... Come;” and they walked side by side through the summer dusk towards the lamp-light of the town.

”This must never be spoken of again,” she said firmly; and before they reached the last field gate, she had told him many times that her rejection of his suit was final and irrevocable. Hers was a flat deliberate refusal, and nothing could ever modify it.

”Yes,” he said sadly, ”it's hopeless. I knew it all along, in my secret heart--quite hopeless.”

But she told him that if he promised never to think of it again, she would allow him to remain in the shop.

”Frankly, I would much rather you should go--But that would be a pity.

It might break your career--or at least throw you too much on your own resources at a critical point. Stay--at any rate until you get a suitable opening.”

”Your word is my law.”

”Now leave me. I do not wish anyone to see us walking together.”

He obeyed her; and she walked on without an escort, through the dark tunnel and into the lamp-light of Frederick Street.

VII

”You must 'a been a tremendous long walk,” said Yates; ”but you're looking all the better for it, ma'am--though you aren't brought back an appet.i.te.”

Mrs. Thompson was trifling with her supper--only pretending to eat. The electric light, s.h.i.+ning on her hair, made the rounded coils and central ma.s.s bright, smooth, and glossy; the colour in her cheeks glowed vividly and faded quickly, and, as it came and went, the whole face seemed softened and yet unusually animated; the parted lips were slightly tremulous, and the eyes, with distended pupils, were darker and larger than they had been in the daylight. By a queer chance the old servant began to speak of her mistress's personal appearance.

”Yes,” said Yates, ”it's the fresh air you want.--Stands to reason you do, shut up in the shop all day. You look another woman to what you did when you went out;” and she studied Mrs. Thompson's face critically and admiringly.

Mrs. Thompson smiled, and her lips were quite tremulous.

”Another woman, Yates? What sort of woman do I look like now?”

”A very handsome one,” said Yates affectionately. ”And more like the girl Mr. Thompson led up the stairs such a long time ago--the first time I ever set eyes on her, and was thinking however she and I would get on together.”

”We've got on well together, haven't we, Yates?”

”That we have,” said Yates, with enthusiasm.

”Yates, don't stare so;” and Mrs. Thompson laughed. ”You make me nervous. And I don't want you to flatter me.... But tell me, candidly, supposing you met me now as a stranger--how old would you guess I was?”

Yates, with her head slightly on one side, scrutinized her mistress very critically.

”Why, I don't believe that anyone seeing you as I do now would take you for more than forty-two--at the outside.”

”Forty-two! Three years less than my real age. Thank you for nothing, Yates.” Mrs. Thompson laughed, but with little merriment in her laugh.