Beyond her winter with Miss Braithwaite, Cis laid no plans; she was not sure whether or not she should continue in Mr. Lucas’ office; for that matter, she was not sure that she might do so. She had determined to confess to Mr. Lucas her fault in giving to Rodney Moore the hint he had asked for as to the final outcome of the franchise which was agitating the public mind. She would not stay on with him unless Mr. Lucas knew the worst of her; after he knew it the decision about her staying was in his hands. She had notified Mr. Lucas that she would leave him before Christmas to be married; he probably had supplied her place from that time on. Well, all this was as it might be. Dressing slowly, with long intervals of absent-minded gazing out of the window, Cis was sure only that she was going to the office, confess to Mr. Lucas, do the one thing left her honorably to do; after that—nothing mattered greatly, anyway. She did not know, nor much care what came after that.
Cis would not acknowledge to herself that she feared, with positively curdling fear, meeting Rodney. She felt sure that he would try to waylay her when she resumed her daily trips to and from the office. It seemed to her that if she withstood him, his reproaches, but much more his appeals—and she was sure that she could withstand them—that afterward the feeble ray of courage within her would be extinguished; that she had borne to her capacity.
Therefore it was an unspeakable relief to find that Miss Braithwaite was taking her down that morning in her coupé and planning to bring her home at night.
“You’re not quite at par, my dear, though you intend to take dictation in regard to soaring investments,” she said. “I’m going in all sorts of directions this morning; the Lucas and Henderson offices one of them, so you’re to be deposited at their door with no exertion on your part.”
“Oh, Miss Braithwaite, I’ll never be able to thank you!” cried Cis. “How you do see through people! But I don’t mind your knowing I’m a coward.”
“A certain sort of cowardice is the highest courage, child; the courage to acknowledge danger and flee from it. Come along, Cicely Adair! Did you ever see that ridiculous Dollinger ballad? All about the dangerous voyage of a canal boat of which one Dollinger was captain? The refrain of each stanza is: ‘Fear not, but trust in Dollinger and he will fetch you through.’ It doesn’t matter; only old fogies know it, I suppose. Regard me as Dollinger, for I mean to fetch you through! Come, then!”
Miss Braithwaite slipped her hand into Cis’s arm and took her out to the waiting car. Then she started off and drove Cicely to her destination, where she left her with a heartening pat on her shoulder and the promise to return for her at five.
Mr. Lucas looked up with a smile of greeting when he heard Cis’s light touch on the handle of the office door, but the smile died on his lips, replaced by a look of concern, as he started to his feet at the sight of her.
“Why, Miss Adair, I had no idea that you had been seriously ill; I did not get that impression from Miriam Braithwaite. Pray take my chair till you are rested. I am profoundly sorry to see you so white and weakened,” he cried, kindly coming forward to take Cicely’s hand and gently force her into his own armchair.
“No. Mr. Lucas, thank you,” said Cis, resisting his kindness. “I have not been ill. Something happened—I had a shock—I’ll be all right soon. Mr. Lucas, before I begin to work, before you say another word to me, there is something that I must tell you.”