Part 29 (2/2)
”Of course. I 'spose I got to take it to 'er, eh? Put it on her finger.”
”Oh, no! Send it. Much better.”
”Ah!” said Kipps, for the first time, with a note of relief.
”Then, 'ow about this call--on Mrs. Wals.h.i.+ngham, I mean. 'Ow ought one to go?”
”Rather a ceremonial occasion,” reflected Coote.
”Wadyer mean? Frock coat?”
”I _think_ so,” said Coote, with discrimination.
”Light trousers and all that?”
”Yes.”
”Rose?”
”I think it might run to a b.u.t.tonhole.”
The curtain that hung over the future became less opaque to the eyes of Kipps. To-morrow, and then other days, became perceptible at least as existing. Frock coat, silk hat and a rose! With a certain solemnity he contemplated himself in the process of slow transformation into an English gentleman, Arthur Cuyps, frock-coated on occasions of ceremony, the familiar acquaintance of Lady Punnet, the recognised wooer of a distant connection of the Earl of Beaupres.
Something like awe at the magnitude of his own fortune came upon him. He felt the world was opening out like a magic flower in a transformation scene at the touch of this wand of gold. And Helen, nestling beautiful in the red heart of the flower. Only ten weeks ago he had been no more than the shabbiest of improvers and shamefully dismissed for dissipation, the mere soil-burned seed, as it were, of these glories. He resolved the engagement ring should be of expressively excessive quality and appearance, in fact, the very best they had.
”Ought I to send 'er flowers?” he speculated.
”Not necessarily,” said Coote. ”Though, of course, it's an attention.”...
Kipps meditated on flowers.
”When you see her,” said Coote, ”you'll have to ask her to name the day.”
Kipps started. ”That won't be just yet a bit, will it?”
”Don't know any reason for delay.”
”Oo, but--a year, say.”
”Rather a long time,” said Coote.
”Is it?” said Kipps, turning his head sharply. ”But----”
There was quite a long pause.
”I say,” he said, at last, and in an unaltered voice, ”you'll 'ave to 'elp me about the wedding.”
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