“I’d like one o’ them old brass candlesticks—same as what you ’ave in your study.”
You see Emily had acquired some taste. I call it taste because it is mine. Good or bad, she had acquired it.
“Wouldn’t you prefer silver?” I asked, thinking I knew what silver would mean in Walham Green.
But she only replied:
“No—I like the brass ones—’cos they’re old. I’ve a fancy for old things.”
So a pair of old brass candlesticks was what I gave her. She wrote and thanked me for them. She said they looked just lovely on George’s writing table and that one of these days, when I was passing that way, I ought to go and look at them.
I did pass through Walham Green eventually. It was some months later. She had probably forgotten all about having asked me, but I paid my visit all the same.
For a moment or so, as I stood on the doorstep, I felt a twinge of trepidation. I could not remember her married name. But it was all right. She opened the door herself. Then, as she stood there, with a beaming smile lighting her face from ear to ear, reminding me so well of those early mornings when I used to peep out of my bedroom window and peer into the area below, I saw that soon there would be another little Emily or another perky little George to bring a smile or a cry into the world.
“You’re happy?” said I.
“Oh—sir!” said she.