Her bodyguard!
Mr. Field and Mr. Sturgiss were delighted to see her and expressed themselves delighted to see the children. There was plenty in the bank, coffers and strong-rooms and all sorts of exciting things, said Mr. Field, that would amuse the small people, and when tea was done they should be taken around to see them. In an inner holy of holies, behind the partners’ parlour, a very exciting tea was made. A clerk was sent out for a parcel of pastries and returned with an enormous bag, and there was no tablecloth, nor no proper tea-table, and the children, much excited, were immensely entertained.
Easy, while they were there, to make them the conversation’s centre. But the meal ended and then became most evident her anxiety to keep the chatter on the children. They became impatient to be off on the promised exploration. She delayed it. Twice the clerk who was to conduct the tour was about to be summoned. By a new gathering of general attention, she stopped his coming. When at last he came she said she would be of the party. The partners did not want that. The children did not want it. “Mother, it will be much more exciting by ourselves.” She insisted. She was aware for the first and only time in her life of a feeling of nerves, of not being quite in control of herself, of making of her insistence rather more than should be made.
“Well, stay,” said Mr. Sturgiss, “at least for a minute’s chat before you join them.”
That was not possible, unless she was going to become hysterical, to resist. The children trooped away. Her bodyguard!
She turned aside and it is to be remembered for her that, her face concealed from the partners, she gave the tiniest despairing gesture with her hands.
When, with the children, she was returning home, she was trying to determine whether, while it was in suspense, she had or had not desired to hear of the partners that which she had heard from them. They had talked with her generally of the business. They had talked particularly of the work of her department of the business. There was approaching all the time the thing that sooner or later they must say. She was trembling all the time to know how she would receive it. In whichever of its two ways it came would she be glad or would she be sorry? She simply did not know. She suddenly herself projected the point. She could not endure any longer its delay. “And Miss Farmer,” she said. “How’s Miss Farmer doing?” Miss Farmer, formerly one of her assistants, had on her resignation taken her place.
Miss Farmer, replied Mr. Sturgiss, was estimable but—he opened his hands and made with them a deprecatory gesture. “She’s not you. How could she be you, or any one be you? We could replace Miss Farmer. What’s the good? It’s you we’ve got to replace. We can’t replace you.”
Her heart had bounded.