No sign of impending trouble was visible on the face of George as he emerged leisurely from the gaily lighted restaurant, and stood in contemplation for awhile on the pavement, enjoying his Havana. The fingers of his right hand were in his pocket, toying with the ample balance of Gray's fiver, and his train of thought, instead of leading him, as might have been quite natural, to dwell on the ingenuousness of his landlord, turned to the usefulness of money as an aid to the enjoyment of life.
George Early was not so young as to have never thought of this before; but who can help ruminating on the advantages of wealth amid the luxuriousness of Regent Street? On one side a jeweller's, heavy with gems, flashes its wealth insultingly upon passers-by; next door, a furrier calmly displays a two-hundred guinea wrap; lower down, half a dozen shops are surmounted by the royal arms, and only by turning into a side street can one realize the significance of any coin under a sovereign. In Regent Street, every other vehicle bears the stamp of wealth, with its spotless coachmen, and horses better groomed than half the men in the City. Languid young lords stroll by arm in arm, displaying a dazzling amount of shirt-front; elaborately coiffured ladies, fresh from some Park Lane boudoir, trip across the pavement, and dive into gorgeous restaurants. Now and again a son of toil passes, but his poverty is swamped by the surrounding glitter.
George looked on at this everyday scene with a comfortable feeling that for the time being he was one of the élite. He eyed the dress-suits with the air of a connoisseur, and approved of the toilette of every pretty woman that passed. Among his other fancies, George had a keen eye for a good figure and trim ankles, and it must be put down to his good taste in frocks and frills that he narrowly observed one young lady in particular, who stood for quite five minutes on the edge of the kerb without appearing to have made up her mind what to do next.
When a man is attracted by a feminine figure that presents a graceful and pleasing back view, he comes in time to speculate upon the looks of the owner, and, if the back view is accorded long enough, to have a natural desire to see if good looks or the reverse are her portion. This is precisely how George felt; but as the figure continued to stand on the edge of the kerb, he was forced to stroll up the street to satisfy his curiosity. As he did so, the lady made up her mind suddenly, and crossed the road at the same time as two hansom cabs came along in opposite directions. To an observer like George the moment for crossing was obviously ill-timed.
The lady hesitated, went forward, then started back. The drivers yelled, the horses slid, the lady screamed, and George dashed forward—just in time to drag her out of danger.
In less than two minutes a crowd had gathered, and George, much to his own amazement, was handing the lady into a hansom cab, and, what is more, getting in beside her. For the lady was Miss Fairbrother, head of the old-established firm of Fairbrother and Co., and employer of George himself.
It was all so odd and strange and sudden, George couldn't believe it. Even when he assisted her out and up the steps of the Fairbrother mansion; even when he paid the cab-man, and walked away, and found that he was really in Kensington, it didn't seem real. He had a faint remembrance of hearing her say "Thank you, Mr. Early," and of his having explained the occurrence to the butler; but it was all hazy and incomprehensible.
The night was still young when George again set foot in Piccadilly. He had seen fit to walk all the way back, it suited his frame of mind. From dreaming of the odd chance that should throw him into Miss Fairbrother's arms, or her into his, he had come to recalling the plain facts of the adventure, incident by incident, more minutely each time, till he stood still, metaphorically, in the middle of Regent Street, with one arm round the slender waist of his employer.
George was conscious now that it was a very slender waist, although he hadn't been aware of it at the time. He recollected, too, many other details that he had observed imperfectly in the rush of events. Her head had dropped on his shoulder, and one fair hand had clutched convulsively at his coat. He could see the red lips, the soft cheeks, the dimpled chin, the brown hair, close to his own. She wore an elaborate straw-hat creation that had grazed his forehead, the spot glowed even now as he recalled it. But what he chiefly realized now was that delicious sense of pleasure he had had in holding her in his arms for two seconds, a feeling that the exigencies of the moment had strongly necessitated his suppressing. His present leisure calling for no such harsh measure, he was at liberty to halt, in his fancy, and gaze, in his fancy, at the red lips and dimples of Miss Ellen Fairbrother.