them.’
‘What
conditions?’
‘Never
mind. They’ve nothing to do with you. Well, I must be getting along. Heavy day
at the office. All sorts of arrangements to make, now that I shall be away so
much.’
She
left Jaklyn in pensive mood. He was not a man to whom you could mention that a
female of his acquaintance had acquired twenty-five thousand pounds and a flat
in Park Lane without stirring his brain to activity. Even while his betrothed
had been talking the thought had flashed into his mind that if he hurried round
to Laburnam Road and asked Sally to marry him, he would have every chance of
being successful. They had once been engaged, and surely some of the old
affection must still be lingering. And he could picture his astonishment when,
nestling in his arms, she informed him that there would be no need for them to
live on bread and cheese and kisses as she was now an heiress.
Thus
ran his thoughts, and he would have been out of Murphy’s Mews and into a cab at
lightning speed, had not there occurred at this juncture a sudden knocking on
the front door.
It gave
him pause. As he had told Daphne, when people knocked on his door he felt
uneasy. Who this was, he could not say. It might be the rent-collector, it
might be the tailor to whom he was so deeply in debt or somebody hostile from
the racing world. Whoever it was, he shrank from meeting him, and as these
fellows had a nasty knack of waiting on the pavement outside in the hope of
catching him sneaking out under the erroneous impression that the coast was
clear, he reluctantly decided to abandon his journey to Laburnam Road and wait
till his visitor had gone away.
Consoling
himself with the thought that a letter would be equally as effective as a
personal interview, he refilled his glass and sat down to write it.
He made
it extremely passionate.
3
Sally, her toilet
completed, was looking forward to lunch with mixed feelings. The new dress was
all that she had expected of it, but she had a haunting fear that she was not
going to be at her best. Excited by anticipation of the visit to Nichols,
Erridge, Trubshaw and Nichols, she had slept badly on the previous night, and
this had resulted in a tendency to yawn. It would be disastrous, she felt, if
she yielded to this weakness at the luncheon table. Joe had struck her as an
amiable young man, but even amiable young men resent it if the guest they are
entertaining yawns at them all the time.
Hoping
for the best, she made her way to the front door, and opening it found Mabel
Potter playing truant on the other side, wriggling with eagerness to hear the
latest news.
‘Sally!’
cried Mabel. ‘I was afraid I had missed you. Are you off to see those lawyers?’
‘I’ve
been.’
‘What
happened? Did you learn of something to your advantage?’
‘I
certainly did,’ said Sally.
She
could not have asked for a more receptive audience. Mabel’s favourite reading
had always been the novels of the Rosie M. Banks and Leila J. Pinkney whose
output so offended the artistic soul of Joe Pickering, and in those this sort
of thing happened all the time. She would have considered it most unusual if an
impecunious heroine had not been left a substantial legacy by someone.
The
figure stunned her a little. ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds! ‘
‘And a
flat.’
‘Where?’
‘Fountain
Court, Park Lane.’
‘Sounds
terrific.’
‘It
is.’
‘You’ve
seen it?’
‘I’ve
just been there.’
‘Come
along and show me.’
‘There’s
no time.’
‘Of
course there’s time. I only want to look at it. It won’t take five minutes.’
It was
soon evident, however, that five minutes was an under-estimate. 3A Fountain
Court fascinated Mabel. She flitted to and fro with squeaks of approval, while
Sally, feeling drowsier than ever, sank into one of the deep armchairs and
closed her eyes.
It was
a disastrous move. When she opened them again, it was with a scream of dismay.
‘Oh,
heavens! It’s two
‘What
conditions?’
‘Never
mind. They’ve nothing to do with you. Well, I must be getting along. Heavy day
at the office. All sorts of arrangements to make, now that I shall be away so
much.’
She
left Jaklyn in pensive mood. He was not a man to whom you could mention that a
female of his acquaintance had acquired twenty-five thousand pounds and a flat
in Park Lane without stirring his brain to activity. Even while his betrothed
had been talking the thought had flashed into his mind that if he hurried round
to Laburnam Road and asked Sally to marry him, he would have every chance of
being successful. They had once been engaged, and surely some of the old
affection must still be lingering. And he could picture his astonishment when,
nestling in his arms, she informed him that there would be no need for them to
live on bread and cheese and kisses as she was now an heiress.
Thus
ran his thoughts, and he would have been out of Murphy’s Mews and into a cab at
lightning speed, had not there occurred at this juncture a sudden knocking on
the front door.
It gave
him pause. As he had told Daphne, when people knocked on his door he felt
uneasy. Who this was, he could not say. It might be the rent-collector, it
might be the tailor to whom he was so deeply in debt or somebody hostile from
the racing world. Whoever it was, he shrank from meeting him, and as these
fellows had a nasty knack of waiting on the pavement outside in the hope of
catching him sneaking out under the erroneous impression that the coast was
clear, he reluctantly decided to abandon his journey to Laburnam Road and wait
till his visitor had gone away.
Consoling
himself with the thought that a letter would be equally as effective as a
personal interview, he refilled his glass and sat down to write it.
He made
it extremely passionate.
3
Sally, her toilet
completed, was looking forward to lunch with mixed feelings. The new dress was
all that she had expected of it, but she had a haunting fear that she was not
going to be at her best. Excited by anticipation of the visit to Nichols,
Erridge, Trubshaw and Nichols, she had slept badly on the previous night, and
this had resulted in a tendency to yawn. It would be disastrous, she felt, if
she yielded to this weakness at the luncheon table. Joe had struck her as an
amiable young man, but even amiable young men resent it if the guest they are
entertaining yawns at them all the time.
Hoping
for the best, she made her way to the front door, and opening it found Mabel
Potter playing truant on the other side, wriggling with eagerness to hear the
latest news.
‘Sally!’
cried Mabel. ‘I was afraid I had missed you. Are you off to see those lawyers?’
‘I’ve
been.’
‘What
happened? Did you learn of something to your advantage?’
‘I
certainly did,’ said Sally.
She
could not have asked for a more receptive audience. Mabel’s favourite reading
had always been the novels of the Rosie M. Banks and Leila J. Pinkney whose
output so offended the artistic soul of Joe Pickering, and in those this sort
of thing happened all the time. She would have considered it most unusual if an
impecunious heroine had not been left a substantial legacy by someone.
The
figure stunned her a little. ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds! ‘
‘And a
flat.’
‘Where?’
‘Fountain
Court, Park Lane.’
‘Sounds
terrific.’
‘It
is.’
‘You’ve
seen it?’
‘I’ve
just been there.’
‘Come
along and show me.’
‘There’s
no time.’
‘Of
course there’s time. I only want to look at it. It won’t take five minutes.’
It was
soon evident, however, that five minutes was an under-estimate. 3A Fountain
Court fascinated Mabel. She flitted to and fro with squeaks of approval, while
Sally, feeling drowsier than ever, sank into one of the deep armchairs and
closed her eyes.
It was
a disastrous move. When she opened them again, it was with a scream of dismay.
‘Oh,
heavens! It’s two
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