It may have been the extreme brightness of the sun that persuaded Miss Fairbrother one morning to express a strong disinclination for work. It was the day after Cacklin's confidence to William Budd, and even in Upper Thames Street the weather was as fair as summer weather can be.
"How lovely the river looks!" said the young lady, fixing a pair of bright eyes on a dilapidated steamer that ploughed its way gracefully towards Westminster.
"Just the sort of day for a trip to Hampton Court," said George. "Pity we can't shift the office up there, isn't it?"
"I don't know; I've never been there."
"Ah"—bestowing an affectionate glance upon a curl on her left shoulder—"you've missed one of the best sights on the river."
"Don't!" said Miss Fairbrother; "you'll make me want to go. And you know"—slowly—"how busy we are."
If the papers on Miss Fairbrother's desk were any criterion, it did not take much to make the firm busy.
"Of course," said George, proceeding with caution, "if you wish to go, I can look after everything. It's a shame not to take advantage of a bright day; it may rain to-morrow."
"I've heard that Hampton Court is very pretty."
"It's a sight that nobody should miss on a day like this."