Three days passed—singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had occasion to despatch another telegram—this time entirely in English.
“One-and-fourpence,” sighed Grindley junior.
Miss Appleyard drew forth her purse. The shop was empty.
“How did you come to know Latin?” inquired Miss Appleyard in quite a casual tone.
“I picked up a little at school. It was a phrase I happened to remember,” confessed Grindley junior, wondering why he should be feeling ashamed of himself.
“I am always sorry,” said Miss Appleyard, “when I see anyone content with the lower life whose talents might, perhaps, fit him for the higher.” Something about the tone and manner of Miss Appleyard reminded Grindley junior of his former Rector. Each seemed to have arrived by different roads at the same philosophical aloofness from the world, tempered by chastened interest in human phenomena. “Would you like to try to raise yourself—to improve yourself—to educate yourself?”
An unseen little rogue, who was enjoying himself immensely, whispered to Grindley junior to say nothing but “Yes,” he should.
“Will you let me help you?” asked Miss Appleyard. And the simple and heartfelt gratitude with which Grindley junior closed upon the offer proved to Miss Appleyard how true it is that to do good to others is the highest joy.
Miss Appleyard had come prepared for possible acceptance. “You had better begin with this,” thought Miss Appleyard. “I have marked the passages that you should learn by heart. Make a note of anything you do not understand, and I will explain it to you when—when next I happen to be passing.”
Grindley junior took the book—Bell’s Introduction to the Study of the Classics, for Use of Beginners—and held it between both hands. Its price was ninepence, but Grindley junior appeared to regard it as a volume of great value.