"I am not alone in my opinion. It"s the opinion of some very eminent zoologists." He drew her gently on his knee; raised her veil and looked into her eyes. They were (as he had often had occasion to notice) of so deep and black a black that the iris was indistinguishable from the pupil, and this blackness limited the range of their expression.
They could only tell you what Flossie was feeling, never what she was thinking; for thought requires a translucent medium, and the light of Flossie"s eyes was all on the surface. On the other hand, the turns and movements of her body were always a sufficient indication of the att.i.tude of her mind. At the present moment, sitting on Keith"s knee, her pose was not one of pure complacency. But holding her there, that little brown Beaver, his own unyielding virile body deliciously aware of the strange, incredible softness of hers, he wondered whether it were possible for him to feel anything but tender to a creature so strangely and pathetically made. Positively she seemed to melt and grow softer by sheer contact; and presently she smiled a sweet diminutive smile that didn"t uncover more than two of her little white teeth.
"Oh, what a shame it is to treat a Beaver so!" said he.
"When are you going to take me for a nice walk?" said she. "Any time before Christmas?"
"Perhaps. But you mustn"t build on it."
"I don"t see that I can build on anything at this rate."
"I suppose a Beaver can"t be happy unless it"s always building? That"s why some people say it hasn"t any intelligence at all. They won"t even allow that it can build. They think its architectural talent is all a delusion and a sham; because it builds in season and out of season.
Keep it in your study, and it will make a moat round the hearthrug with tobacco pouches and ma.n.u.scripts and boots--whatever it can lay its hands on. It will even take the ideas out of a man"s head, if it can"t find anything better. Is there any logic in an animal that can do that?" And if Flossie did not understand the drift of these remarks at least she seemed to understand the kisses that punctuated them.
But before very long he obtained more light on the Beaver"s logic, and owned that it was singularly sound. They managed to put in a great many nice walks between that Sunday and Christmas. Whenever he could spare time Rickman made a point of meeting Flossie at the end of her day"s work. He generally waited at the corner where the long windowless wall of the Bank stretches along Prince"s Street, iron and implacable. It was too cold now to sit under the shadow of St. Paul"s.
Sometimes they would walk home along Holborn, sometimes they would go down Ludgate Hill and thence on to the Embankment. It was certainly better for Flossie to be out of doors than in the dingy drawing-room in Tavistock Place. They could talk freely in the less crowded thorough-fares; and it was surprising the things they still found to say to each other all about nothing. Every trace of Flossie"s depression had vanished; she walked with a brisk step, she chatted gaily, she laughed the happiest laughter at the poorest jokes. All was going well; and why, oh why could he not let well alone?
They were walking on the Embankment one day, and she, for such a correct little person, was mad with mirth, when he broke out.
"Flossie, you little lunatic! You might be going to marry a stock-broker instead of a journalist."
"I"m going to marry a very rich man--for me."
"For you, darling? A devilish poor one, I"m afraid."
"Oh don"t! We"ve said enough about that."
"Yes, but I haven"t told you everything. Do you know, I might have been fairly well off by now, if I"d only chosen."
Now there was no need whatever for him to make that revelation. He was driven to it by vanity. He wanted to make an impression. He wanted Flossie to see him in all his moral beauty.
"How was that?" she asked with interest.
"I can"t tell you much about it. It was something to do with business.
I got an offer of a thumping big partnership three years ago--and I refused it."
He had made an impression. Flossie turned on him a look of wonder, a look uncertain and inscrutable. "What did you do that for?"
"I did it because it was right. I didn"t like the business."
"That"s not quite the same thing, is it?"
"Not always. It happened to be in this case."
"Why, what sort of business was it?"
"It wasn"t scavenging, and it wasn"t burglary--exactly. It was--" he hesitated--"only the second-hand book-trade."
"I know--they make a lot of money that way."
"They make too much for my taste sometimes. Besides--"
"Besides what?" They had turned into an embrasure of the parapet to discuss this question. They stood close together looking over the river.
"It isn"t my trade. I"m only a blooming journalist."
"You don"t make so very much out of that, do you? Is that the reason why we have to wait?"
"I"m afraid so. But I hope I shall be something more than a journalist some day."
"You _like_ writing, don"t you?"
"Yes, Flossie; I shouldn"t be much good at it, if I didn"t."
"I see." She was looking eastwards away from him, and her expression had changed; but it was still inscrutable. And yet by the turning of her head, he saw her mind moving towards a conclusion; but it was impossible to say whether she reached it by the slow process of induction, or by woman"s rapid intuition. Anyhow she had reached it.
Presently she spoke again. "Could you still get that thing, that partnership any time--if you tried?"
"Any time. But I"m not going to try."
She turned round abruptly with an air of almost fierce determination.
"Well, if _I_ get an offer of a good place, _I_ shan"t refuse it. I shall leave the Bank." She spoke as if so desperate a step would be followed by the instantaneous collapse of that inst.i.tution.
He was surprised to find how uneasy this threat always made him. The proverbial safety of the Bank had impressed him in more ways than one.
And Flossie"s post there had other obvious advantages. It brought her into contact with women of a better cla.s.s than her own, with small refinements, and conventions which were not conspicuous at Mrs.
Downey"s.
"Let me implore you not to do that. Heaven knows, I hate you having to earn your own living at all, but I"d rather you did it that way than any other."
"Why, what difference would it make to you, I should like to know?"
"It makes all the difference if I know you"re doing easy work, not slaving yourself to death as some girls do. It _is_ an easy berth.
And--and I like the look of those girls I saw you with to-day. They were nice. I"d rather think of you working with them than sitting in some horrible office like a man. Promise me you won"t go looking out for anything else."
"All right. I promise."
"No, but--on your honour?"
"Honour bright. There! Anything for a quiet life."
They turned on to the street again. Rickman looked at his watch. "Look here, we"re both late for dinner--supposing we go and dine somewhere and do a theatre after, eh?"
"Oh no--we mustn"t." All the same Flossie"s eyes brightened, for she dearly loved the play.
"Why not?"
"Because I don"t think perhaps you ought to."
"You mean I can"t afford it?"
"Well--"