PART III
CHAPTER I AN ASSIGNATION
So, it would seem from the artless confession of Miss Lambert, that Patience Hancock had only too much reason for her fears: the lilac silk necktie had not been bought for the edification of Bridgewater and the junior clerks.
That the correct James Hancock had fuddled himself with punch, told droll stories, and lent Mr Lambert twenty pounds, were facts so utterly at variance with the known character of that gentleman as to be unbelievable by the people who knew him well.
Not by people well acquainted with human nature, or the fact that a grain of good-fellowship in the human heart exhibits extraordinary and radium-like activity under certain conditions: the conditions induced by punch and beauty and good-fellowship in others, for instance.
One morning, after the day upon which he had refused to assist Frank Leavesley to "make a fool of himself with a girl," James Hancock arrived at his office at the usual time, in the usual manner, and, nodding to Bridgewater as he had nodded to him every morning for the last thirty years, passed into the inner office and closed the door.
The closing of the door was a new departure; it had generally been left ajar as an indication that Bridgewater might come in whenever he chose, to receive instructions and to consult upon the morning letters.
The expression on Bridgewater's face when he heard the closing of the door was so extraordinarily funny, that one of the younger clerks, who caught a glimpse of it, hastily stuffed his handkerchief into his mouth and choked silently behind the lid of his desk.
Quarter of an hour passed, and then the door opened.
"Bridgewater!"