“‘His’ home! His father’s dead, you said. Is there only his mother?”
“I suppose so. Quite enough too. I think all engaged men ought to be orphans and only children before they begin, for the sake of the girl. ‘Only’ his mother, indeed!”
“Well, she’s bound to be pleased with you, Tots! You’re so pretty and ripping, especially now you’ve got all these lovely new things. What a mercy that you had that little windfall of a legacy just in time to let you buy all fresh!”
(This is how I’ve been obliged to account for that.)
“You could go and stay anywhere now, meet anybody! He’ll be so proud of you. It must be such a comfort for an engaged man when he knows that his people and his friends can see what he means when he shows off his fiancée to them for the first time, instead of their wondering what on earth he finds to admire!”
“Do you think Mrs. Waters will ‘see what he means’ by his getting himself engaged to his clerk?” I said, with a private giggle at my own bitterness. “I wish I did!”
“Now, Tots, don’t fish for any more compliments. You know how people must admire you. Why, as Mr. Vandel—I mean, it’s so obvious! Don’t look so depressed, my dear. Of course I suppose going to meet ‘his’ people is always a fearful ordeal, but it ought to be less so for you than for most engaged girls!”
* * * * *
Perhaps—though Cicely doesn’t know why—it ought!
Anyhow, these encouraging words of my chum’s were still echoing in my ears as a late afternoon train bore me off from Victoria towards Sevenoaks and that terrifying visit to my (official) mother-in-law elect. For the first time since the days when it was a matter of course for me to do so, I travelled first class. It wouldn’t do for me to alight at Sevenoaks station under the eyes of some pompous Waters domestic, all crumpled and dusty and warm from a compartment crowded with market-baskets and moist babies. I am taking this man’s money to pose as his fiancée, and it’s only fair to him that I should do him no discredit in any way.