Now, while Patricia was busy making her dress, and forgetting altogether that she was going to meet him on the Friday night, Edgar Mayne, who did not even know that the meeting was to occur, was working quietly in his office, transacting business in which he had only a material interest. Edgar was one of those men, of whom there are many, who made money without deliberately intending to do so. It was true, as Harry had announced at the party, that Edgar had begun life as an office boy. He had left school at the age of fourteen, and had answered advertisements until one of them brought a favourable reply. He had begun life by copying letters by means of damp sheets and a press; and he had been promoted a year later to a junior clerkship. He had no interest in figures beyond that which natural aptitude could supply. He had none of the born accountant's delight in their possibilities. Solely, he brought to his accounts a character naturally precise, and with similar ease he could at this time have directed his intelligence to many other matters. If Edgar's parents had been wealthy, he would have had a complete education, and his gifts would have promised a great career; but they were poor, and themselves ill-educated, and so it became necessary that Edgar should early add something to the weekly budget. He did so.
From one competence he advanced to another. By the time he was thirty, Edgar was manager of the business, which dealt in the importation of those goods which English people require from abroad, and the exportation of goods produced in England for which there was a foreign market. He never saw the goods in bulk; but he saw samples of them and was furnished with myriads of catalogues specifying their quality and the current market rates at which they were to be bought and at which they were being sold. By means of occasional visits abroad, by more frequent interviews and excursions in England, Edgar grew to considerable knowledge of prices and conditions of manufacture. His advice was thus demanded by those directing the firm, who presently invited him to become one of their number. With increase of business came increase of income and power; and as Edgar's interests extended he found himself at thirty-seven a man of some wealth, who had at the same time a considerable standing among those able to appreciate his commercial acumen.
During this time his family had shared his progress. His father no longer worked; his mother directed the household, but no longer laboured upon her knees to keep it clean and neat. His younger brother, if he had not been killed in the War, would have benefited equally; while his young sister Claudia stayed at home and amused herself and everybody else very much by a display of housewifely virtues for which many others girls of her period, even if they have the inclination, can find nowadays no opportunity. The family, having spent miserable years in a place called West Hampstead, had moved seven years before the opening of this story to Kensington, where they occupied a small house and spent an agreeable, if aimless, existence. The elders, who were proud of Edgar, feared him a little; his sister, proud also, feared him not at all. It was she, in fact, who had kept Edgar human; for without her he might either have become lost in his business or have married some tepid young woman who herself had cast the die.
The household consisted of Mr. and Mrs. Mayne, Claudia, Edgar, Pulcinella (a small but irrepressible Cocker Spaniel), Percy (a cat with a character), and a cook and maids who were both respectfully spoiled by Mrs. Mayne. The servants despised Mrs. Mayne, and idolised her children. There was nothing which Claudia might not do without fault; and Edgar was so unobtrusively tended that he was almost unaware of the devotion which breathed firmly from the kitchen. He went his way, liking very simple things and dealing with them as they arose; and none knew the secret chagrin which lay always in his solitary heart.
iv
This chagrin was nothing less than loneliness. He did not easily make friends. His office work had so occupied his time and energy that Edgar had become rather shy in company. And so, while Claudia had a few friends, he had none. Claudia's friends seemed to him to be dull little boys and girls, for Claudia was a good deal younger than himself; and although he was amused when one or other of them was timidly pert to him they combined together to make him feel old. He had the reputation of a born celibate. Work, therefore, and more work, kept him rather staid. Edgar's fear was that he might dry up altogether before he had ever had time to live. With a warm heart, an eager sympathy, and a manner so reserved and shy that it gave the appearance of coldness, he was in danger—not, as he thought, of drying up, but of making some ridiculous plunge into emotionalism which might wreck his life.
Since the night of Monty's party, Edgar had thought much of Patricia. It did not please him to think of her in the rather sophisticated company of those who had gathered at Monty's. She was clearly delighted with these people, and they were a danger to her purity. Edgar thought more of Patricia during that week than of any other person. He liked her. He would have liked to help her—oh, always unobtrusively, so that she could not be embarrassed by his help;—but also not perhaps quite as impersonally as he supposed.
It was therefore with a start of delight and surprise that Edgar, upon arriving at Monty's house, found that Patricia was to be his neighbour at dinner.
v
His car had been behaving erratically en route, which is a way cars behave when they ought to be in perfect order; and therefore Edgar strode into the house with grimy hands, and kept the party waiting for several minutes while he washed. At last, hot and irritated, he joined the others, to find only Patricia, Monty, some people called Quellan, and Blanche Tallentyre. All were sitting or standing in a small drawing room, and dinner was immediately announced. Upon his left Edgar found Mrs. Quellan, a fair, large woman, originally thin and raw-boned, who was accumulating undesired and undesirable plumpness; and who wrote books for boys under a masculine pseudonym. Upon his right was Patricia, from whose dress all except one tiny white thread had been removed at exactly the moment when she should have begun her journey. The thread caught her eye as they sat down. It also caught Edgar's eye, which was not unused to such sights.