CHAPTER XII
1
Running upstairs to Mr. Hancock’s room a quarter of an hour before his arrival in the morning Miriam found herself wishing that she lived altogether at Wimpole Street. They were all so kind. Life would be simplified if she could throw in her lot with them. Coming in to breakfast after the lesson had been a sort of home-coming. There were pleasant noises about the house; the family shouted carelessly to each other on the stairs, the school-boy slid down the banisters; the usual subdued manner of the servants was modified by an air of being a possession of the house and liking it. They rushed quietly and happily about. The very aroma of the coffee seemed tranquilly to feed one. At breakfast everyone was cheerful and kind. It was home. They were so sympathetic and amused over the adventure. The meeting in the freshness of the morning made everything easier to handle. It gave the morning a beginning and shed its brightness over the professional hush that fell upon the house at nine o’clock. It would make lunch-time more easy; and at the end of the day, if asked, she would join the family party again.
While Mr. Hancock was looking through his letters she elaborately suppressed a yawn.
“How did you get on?” he asked, with prompt amusement, his eyes on a letter.
“Well, I couldn’t get off; that was just it” murmured Miriam quietly, enjoying her jest; how strong she felt after her good breakfast....
He turned an amused enquiring face and they both laughed.
Everything in the room was ready for the day’s work. She polished the already bright set of forceps with a luxurious sense of leisure.
“It was perfectly awful. When we got to the Inner Circle Mr. Leyton simply put me on the bicycle and sent me off. He rode round the other way and I had to go on and on. He scorched about and kept passing me.”
Mr. Hancock waited smiling for the more that stood in her struggling excited voice.