“Very well, Venerable, I will get the tickets as I go up. I am off now. Have the girls got my hat and gloves, and brushed my great coat?”
The girls had; and now brought them to him. It took him another five minutes getting them on—especially the gloves—for Fred Bingham was, like his father, extremely careful about his personal adornment, especially in the matter of gloves—which he was never without—wearing them upon every possible occasion; for if there was one thing which galled Fred Bingham more than another, it was those unfortunate great unshapely red hands of his.
The Binghams lived on the side of Hans Place nearest to Knightsbridge. The shortest way, consequently, into the high road, was to cut down through the small streets instead of going out into Sloane Street. Fred Bingham, however, after turning out of Hans Place, did not take the most direct way, but turning through two or three narrow lanes, he came out into New Street, which he followed till he came to Stephen Walker’s shop, where he turned in. Carry was alone in the shop, and it was at once evident by the girl’s manner that Fred Bingham was a regular customer; and by her slightly heightened colour that he was by no means an unwelcome one.
“Good morning, Carry; looking as bright and pretty as ever, I see.”
“What nonsense you do talk to be sure, Mr. Bingham!” the girl laughed. “I shall certainly give up coming into the shop altogether, and put father in here from half-past nine till you are gone, if you don’t give up talking rubbish.”
“Give me a cigar, Carry. No, not those things; one out of my special box; thank you. Now you would not be so cruel as that, Carry, I am quite sure. I should pine visibly if you hid your bright face. I am almost as thin as I can be now, but I should become a candidate for the at present vacant situation of walking skeleton, in no time.”
“Oh! I dare say,” the girl retorted, “you would not eat a mouthful the less at your dinner, I’d wager, whether you saw my bright face or not.”
“You are quite wrong, Carry, I can assure you. What are you working at so industriously?”
“Never mind,” the girl said, laughing. “Never ask questions about things which don’t concern you. You know the rest of it.”
“Quite well, Carry. But that appears to me to be a masculine garment, and therefore it is possible that it may concern me; because if it is intended for a favoured swain, I shall infallibly slay him.”