“Benedicta!” he cried. “This is the best thing that ever happened; I never thought of seeing you on a rainy day like this! Benedicta! How especially pretty you look!”
“But—” she faltered. “But I didn’t know—I didn’t think—you never told me you were here in a place like this!”
“Didn’t I?” he answered, with an air of triumph. “Well, take a good look at it, Benedicta! It’s my own!”
“Your—shop? You have a shop?”
He mistook her horror for incredulous admiration.
“Fact!” he said. “Mr. Wilkinson set me up six months ago, and I’m doing even better than I expected. I tell you, Benedicta, I’m really making the people here sit up and take notice that there are such things as books in this world. A fellow told me the other day that I was doing splendid missionary work. Why, look here, Benedicta—”
And he went on, showing her things, explaining, taking up books and opening them, and never noticing her frozen silence.
A customer came in. He sold her the book she wanted, and another which she hadn’t wanted before. A Dumall waiting on customers! A shopkeeper! That was what Benedicta’s knight, her splendid adventurer, was doing—selling books and wrapping them up!
When they were alone again, he sat down on the edge of the table and took both her hands.
“You see, darling, beautiful girl, in a year’s time, even if I don’t do better than I’m doing now, I’ll have paid back Wilkinson, and I’ll be standing on my own feet. Then I’ll be able—”