Can there be many more surprises about this man? However, I flatter myself that I’ve given him several. The crushed-looking, deferential typist in the ready-made delaine blouse, and with the carbon-stained fingers, that shook with nervousness when he rattled off his far-too-quick dictation to them, was a distinct contrast to this dainty, well-dressed young woman, who lays her own plans for him to see that she is laughing at him in her sleeve.
And it’s his turn to use deference to me.
“Thank you, so much—er—Nancy.” This last word brought out with a jerk of resolution. “It’s a treat to be accompanied by someone who can do it so unusually well; it’s like waltzing with a partner whose step just suits one’s own.”
Good gracious! Where and when has this man learned to dance?
But he can sing. I quite enjoyed playing for it. I think we went through quite half a dozen songs—“Widdicombe Fair” was one of them—before I remembered that this wasn’t the form I meant my enjoyment to take.
So, when he put up yet another—“Drake’s Drum” this time—and said, “Shall we try this?” I relapsed into my wickedly mild manner once more, and replied hesitatingly: “Don’t you think that would be enough—for Mrs. Waters? I mean, that she would consider I had stayed the right length of time? May—mayn’t I get down, now?”
“Oh! Sorry if I have tired you,” said the Governor quietly.
He walked across the room to open the door for me.
There, with his hand on the door-knob, my employer paused and looked down at me almost as if he were looking at me for the first time.