Silence fell.
The Governor cleared his throat.
I knew he literally couldn’t think what to say next, and I exulted inwardly. I felt as if I really were getting a little of my own back now—not only for the awkwardness and unpleasantness due to the “engagement,” but for everything I’ve loathed while I’ve been at the Near Oriental—the dreary journey there morning after morning, the monotony, the irksomeness, the daily looming terror of “the sack,” the hated hoverings round me of Mr. Dundonald and his “talk-ing!”
Oh, how my employer was longing for me to “talk” at that moment! to say something—anything!
But I wouldn’t. I think I could have let that lagging silence last for quite another five minutes as far as I was concerned, only I was afraid I might break into wild laughter unless I spoke. So I gave it up, and suggested gravely and helpfully:
“I have got some fancy-work with me, but I left it in the drawing-room. Shall I go back and fetch it? Or—wouldn’t that quite do?”
“Afraid not,” said the Governor grimly.
“It seems so stupid to sit here doing nothing; for you, too,” I added sympathetically. “If you have brought any letters down here from the office, you might, perhaps, care to dictate them to me——”
“Thank you, no,” said Mr. Waters firmly. “I seldom do any business out of business-hours.”
I turned my ring again ostentatiously. I hope he knew I was pointing out to him how my “business” had to go on all day long—the woman’s work, in fact, being never done!