“Nothing,” said Rosalie. “Only ‘oh ‘.”
CHAPTER V
There’s much virtue in an If, says Touchstone; and there’s much virtue in an “Oh”—a wise, a thoughtful, a speculative, a discerning “Oh” such as that “Oh” pronounced by Rosalie to Mr. Simcox’s information that agents, and not he, drew the commissions for the insurance policies which, out of his knowledge and experience, he had advised. There followed from that “Oh” its plain outcome: her suggestion to Mr. Simcox of why not make a business, a real business, of expert advice upon insurance, and (out of the make-believe intercourse with schools) a business, a real business, of expert advice upon schools? And there shall follow also from that “Oh” a sweeping use of the intention that has been mentioned to tell only of her life that which contributed to her life. We’ll fix her stage from first to last, then see her walk upon it.
This was her stage: Her suggestion was adopted. It has, astonishingly soon, astonishing success. Advice upon insurance, advice upon schools, commissions from each, are found wonderfully to work in together, each bringing clients to the other. Aunt Belle’s swarms of friends, their swarms of friends, the swarms of friends of those swarms of friends, and so on, snowball fashion, are the first nucleus of the thing. It succeeds. It grows. Real offices are taken. “Simcox’s.” Advertisements, clerks, banking-accounts. Appearance of Mr. Sturgiss, partner in Field and Company—“Field’s”—the bankers and agents. Field’s is a private bank. Its business is principally with persons resident in the East, soldiers, civil servants, tea planters, East India merchants. Field’s is in Lombard Street. (Lombard Street!) Later Field’s opens a West End office. Field’s is frequently asked to advise its clients and their wives on all manner of domestic matters,—schools for their children, holiday homes, homes for clients over on leave, insurance, investment, whatnot, a hundred things. Comes to this Sturgiss, partner in Field’s, an idea of great possibilities in this advisory business if developed as might be developed and run as might be run. Tremendously attracted by Rosalie as the person for the job. Makes her an offer. She declines it. Mr. Simcox’s death. Sturgiss comes along again. Ends in Rosalie going to Field’s. Lombard Street! Room of her own in the big offices. Glass partitioned. Huge mahogany table. Huge mahogany desk. Field’s open the West End office, in Pall Mall. More convenient for wives of clients. Rosalie is moved there. Manager of her own side of the business. The war comes. Sturgiss goes out. Other important officers of the bank go out. Her importance increases very much in other sides of the bank’s business than her own. Press scents her out and writes her up. “The only woman banker.” “Brilliant woman financier.” Contributes articles to the reviews. Very much a leading woman of her day. Very much a most remarkable woman.
That’s her stage. Thus she walked upon it:
The beginning part—that tumult of youth, those dizzy jumps that we have seen her in—was frightfully exciting, frightfully absorbing. She was so tremendously absorbed, so terrifically intent, so tremendously eager, that the transition from the Sultana’s to Aunt Belle’s, and the start with Mr. Simcox, and the transition from Aunt Belle’s to independence in the boarding house, was done with scarcely a visit—and then a rather grudged and rather impatient visit—to the rectory home.
No, the absorption was too profound for much of that: indeed, for much of home in any form. Letters came from Rosalie’s mother three and four times a week. In the beginning, when fresh left school and at Aunt Belle’s, Rosalie always kissed the dear handwriting on the envelope, and kissed the dear signature before returning the letters to their envelopes; and she would sit up late at night writing enormously long and passionately devoted letters in reply. But she wasn’t going back; she wasn’t going down; no, not even for a week-end, “my own darling and beloved little mother,” until she had found an employment and was established on her own feet, “just like one of the boys.” Then she would come, oh, wouldn’t she just! She would have an annual holiday, “just as men have,” and she would come down to the dear, beloved old rectory and she would give her own sweet, adored little mother the most wonderful time she ever could imagine!
Rosalie would sit up late at night writing these most loving letters, pages and pages long; and her mother’s letters (which always arrived by the first post) she would carry about with her all day and read again before answering.