It was not altogether to her mind that the conversation swiftly drifted into the uninteresting channels of public life in Laysford, touching even the state of the hosiery trade, in which Mr. Winton was engaged. At the tea-table, however, Flo had Henry by her side, and made the talking pace with some spirit and, it must be granted, vivacity.
It is the most natural thing in the world for a young gentleman visitor at a small family table like the Wintons' to be placed alongside the daughter of the household, but there are young ladies who contrive to make the most natural situation seem exceptional. Perhaps Miss Winton was one of these, as Henry felt when he sat down that the arrangement had more of artifice than nature in it. But while having the sense to suspect this, he was rather flattered than otherwise in his suspicion, and as with most young men of his age, a show of friendliness from a young lady reached home to that piece of vanity which we all have somewhere concealed, and sometimes, maybe, not even hidden.
He noticed in a sidelong glance, and possibly for the first time, that the profile of Miss Winton's face was distinctly good. The nose was almost Jewish, and all the better for that; the mouth perhaps too small, but that was not seen in the side view; the chin neat, and sweeping gracefully into a neck of which the owner was doubtless proud, as she had not been at pains to hide it. Nor could a fault be found with her endowment of fair hair, displayed low-coiled, and decorated with a glittering diamond clasp. The diamonds were paste, of course, but what of that? They sparkled. It must be accepted as proof of Henry's opening eyes that he noticed these things, and found himself wondering if a certain other young lady possessed such good looks. For the life of him he could not say; and he took that, foolishly, as evidence in favour of the girl by his side. His thoughts were immediately turned on himself, when Edgar exclaimed:
"By the way, dad, I'm the first to tell Henry that he is likely to be my new boss."
"Edgar, you're hopeless," put in Flo.
"If you mean your new editor," said Mr. Winton sententiously, as he finished the carving of the cold roast, "then I'm glad to hear it, and I hope he will boss some of his good sense into you."
"Then it is really true that Mr. Macgregor is leaving?" said Mrs. Winton, with a look towards Henry.
"So Edgar tells me, but I have heard nothing official, and I have purposely kept away from the office to-night."
"You can take it from me that his going is a dead cert," resumed the irrepressible young man; adding with a glance at his father, whose philological strictness was a source of sorrow to the son, "That is, there seems to be very little doubt about the matter. And if old Mac goes, Henry is well in the running for the editorial chair, and a rocky bit of furniture that is."
"I wonder," said Flo, leaning forward with a quizzing glance to catch Henry's eye, "if you would be a hard taskmaster, Henry?" It was difficult for the girl to go on Mistering when the others Henried to their heart's content. "I am sure you could put your foot down firmly if you liked."