“Oh, yes, thank you.”
“Didn’t expect you so soon. However, your box has come. By the way, what’s your name? I’ve forgotten it.”
“June.”
“June, eh? One of these new fangled affairs,” S. Gedge spoke aggrievedly. “Why not call yourself December and have done with it?”
“I will if you like,” said June obligingly. “But it seems rather long. Do you care for De, Cem, or Ber for short?”
“It don’t matter. What’s in a name? I only thought it sounded a bit sloppy and new fangled.”
The eyes of June continued to regard S. Gedge Antiques with a demure smile. He did not see the smile. He only saw her and she was a matter for grave reflection.
II
S. Gedge Antiques peered dubiously at his niece. He had a dislike of women and more than any other kind he disliked young women. But one fact was already clear; he had let himself in for it. Frowning at this bitter thought he cast his mind back in search of a reason. Knowing himself so well he was sure that a reason there must be and a good one for so grave an indiscretion. Suddenly he remembered the charwoman and his brow cleared a little.
“Let me have a look at you, niece.” As a hawk might gaze at a wren he gazed at June through his spectacles. “Tall and strong seemingly. I hope you’re not afraid of hard work.”