I took Mr Lister’s note from my pocket, and gave it to her, noticing at the time that she took it and laid it quietly down, in place of opening it eagerly.
“I shall always be glad to see you, Antony, that is, so long as you prove to me that you have not been unworthy of my recommendation.”
“I will always try,” I cried eagerly.
“I feel sure you will,” she said. “Mr Ruddle tells me you are rising fast.”
I coloured with pleasure, and then reddened more deeply as I saw that she noticed me, and smiled.
“But now, come, tell me of yourself—what you do and how you get on;” and by degrees, almost without questioning, I told her all my proceedings. For somehow, it seemed the highest delight to me to be once more in the society of a refined lady. Her looks, her touch, the very scent emanating from her dress and the flowers, seemed so to bring back the old days that I felt as if I were once more at home, chatting away to my mother. And so the time slipped by till I imperceptibly found myself telling Miss Carr all about my old pursuits—our life at homeland my favourite books, she being a willing listener, when, suddenly, a clear, silvery-toned clock began to strike and dissolved the spell. The old drawing-room, the lawn beyond the French window, the scent of the flowers, seemed to pass away to give place to the great printing-office and my daily work, and with a choking sensation in my throat, I remembered what I was—the messenger who had forgotten his errand, and I started to my feet.
“Why, Antony!” exclaimed Miss Carr, “what is it?”
“I had forgotten,” I said piteously; “I brought you a note; Mr Lister will be angry if I do not take back the answer.”
The aspect of Miss Carr’s face seemed to change from a look of anxious wonder to one of sternness. There was a slight contraction of the handsome brow, and her voice was a little changed as she said quietly—
“Sit down again, Antony; both you and I have much to say yet.”