“Your trunk is quite all right, Miss Cass,” promptly and energetically countered Mrs. Trenchard-Simpson. “It cannot possibly fall out. Small, drive on.”
Hardly a minute was occupied by the entire incident. But the situation was saved. Before John Small had a chance of getting under way, General Norris, becomingly clad in his British Warm had emerged from the house and had again placed his foot on the back step of the chariot.
“Never mind your box, Miss Cass,” he said cheerily. “I’ll take care of that.”
XLIX
All the way to Clavering Station George Norris took extremely good care that the tin trunk of Miss Cass did not fall from the back of the dogcart. His task was not difficult, for the box was so comfortably disposed under the seat that it showed not the slightest disposition to do so. But had it been a tin trunk with any spirit of opinions of its own it might easily have achieved a crash to Mother Earth at the sharp turn into the high road by The Laurels gate and at divers trappy places along the route, for there really was a much preoccupied young man in charge of it.
The truth of the matter was that it had almost immediately dawned on George Norris that should the 2:10 Up be punctual it would leave very little time for a proposal in form. Moreover, it would have to take place on the station platform. Such are the inconveniences of a dogcart. In the circumstances of the case it seemed hardly less than a grave oversight on the part of Fate to have omitted to provide a closed brougham, no matter how antiquated, one-horse or otherwise, for such an occasion.
Certainly it meant cutting the whole thing very fine. According to the rate of John Small’s progress they were not likely to reach Clavering station much before two o’clock and that left little time for the business in hand. As a matter of historical fact, it wanted exactly one minute to the hour when they drew up beneath the portico of the station yard.
George had to justify his presence by seeking a porter in the station interior. To do him justice they undoubtedly were in short supply, but he was able to corral one in something under two minutes and returned with him in triumph to find Miss Cass handsomely tipping John Small for services unwillingly rendered. In fact, when John withdrew, chariot and all, he was quite a changed man. From the moment he had first set eyes on the new governess he had been her enemy, but if anything was meant by the manner of his final exit from the station yard she was almost entitled to look on him now in the light of a friend.
The departure of John left a bare six minutes or so for the all-important matter to be transacted, always providing that the train was punctual. Happily the porter was very reassuring on this point. According to his estimate the 2:10 Up was bound to be anything from twenty to forty minutes late. Moreover, if he was betting on it he would back the second figure rather than the first. So far, so good.
However, there was a dramatic surprise in store for George Norris. Indeed, there was a series of surprises. And they began almost at the moment John. Small and his chariot left the station yard.