"To tell the truth, dear," she said, "I thought you might undertake it yourself. Of course, I know you're far too good for that sort of thing; but I thought you might make a stop-gap of it—and the salary would be good—a hundred a year Frances pays, and you'd have no expenses."
Poppy's face changed. A hundred a year! If she must part with Pat that would at least ensure him a home in the country, and she could save the rest.
"It is very good of you, Miss Ashley.... Will you let me think it over?"
"Oh, yes—anything, if you will only take it on. I should be so glad. Her husband is always round bothering the life out of me to find someone. Oh! I must tell you, dear there's one thing besides Frances's temper ... he is difficult."
"Bad-tempered, too?" smiled Poppy.
"Far from it—altogether too good-tempered and fascinating—especially where a pretty girl is concerned. In fact, my dear, he's rapid—and Frances is jealous; so there you have the trouble in a nutshell. Tiresome, isn't it? It's just as well to know these things beforehand. But I daresay you'll be able to keep him in his place."
This information depressed Poppy more than a little. She was beginning to realise that whether she liked them or not, she attracted men, and she would rather have heard of some place where there was no man on the scene. As it happened, she was still smarting from an experience of the night before. She had, in mistake, opened the door of a first-class carriage in the underground station at Victoria. She speedily closed it, but the one occupant, a man, had had time to observe her, and instantly he whipped the door open again and was out on the platform. A minute afterwards she found an almost empty "third" and stepped into it just as the train started, someone hard on her heels. When she looked up there was the first-class passenger opposite, smiling at her. For the rest of the journey he made ardent love to her with his eyes, and she sat, flaming and paling there with anger. The man was serenely handsome, a gentleman in appearance at least, but his eyes had a look that angered and terrified her; a look that now she seemed to know the meaning of.
"It is terrible to have no innocence left! to know the meaning of a man like that!" she thought shudderingly, and she would not meet his eyes. Only she resolved that always she would turn her feet away from the paths frequented by men.
"Where does your cousin live?" she asked at last. "Perhaps, I'd better go and see her, if I make up my mind I can take the engagement."
"Yes, do, dear—Lower Sloane Street—I'll write the number down for you. I must fly now for rehearsal. I'm going to be in the new romantic play at The York. Send me a line there after you've seen Frances. Do take it on, there's a darling—good-bye."