One evening we were very few at Westmouth Street; only Linny, Tom Girtley, Mr Jabez, Hallett, and myself, when I found that there was a surprise for me.
Tea was over, and I was just about to propose some music, when Tom Girtley took a black bag from under one of the settees, and opening it, drew out a packet of papers.
What was going to happen? I asked myself. Was it a marriage settlement, or some deed of gift, or an arrangement by which Hallett was to be forced to take what was needful to complete his work?
Neither. For at the first words uttered by Tom Girtley, I realised that it was something to do with the half-forgotten papers brought up by Mr Peter Rowle.
“Miss Carr wished me to enter into the business matters here, Grace,” he said; “and I should have talked to you more about it, only we thought it better to elucidate everything first, and to make perfectly sure.”
“But—” I began.
“Wait a moment,” he said, in regular legal form. “This has been a very intricate affair, and I was obliged to tread very cautiously, so as not to alarm the enemy. Before I had been at work a fortnight, I found that I needed the help of more experienced brains, so I consulted my principals.”
“And ran up a long bill?” I said, laughing.
“Yes, a very long one,” he said, “which Miss Carr, your friend and patroness, has paid.”
“Oh, Miss Carr!” I exclaimed.