“Habits are our masters, Miss Adair; work gets its iron hold on us quite as tight as any other vice,” observed Mr. Lucas. “Learn to loaf while you’re still young.”
To his satisfaction Cis laughed up at him—they had both risen—her eyes spilling over fun, her lips parted, a hitherto unrevealed dimple appearing in one cheek.
His solemn warning was not mistaken by her for serious earnest.
“I think she will do; I think Robert has estimated her justly. She would not tell me anything that might betray confidence, or her inside knowledge of the other Lucas family’s affairs. I need a girl who can hold her tongue, and be loyal. Somehow, she is the source of Jeanette’s discovery of her lover’s perfidy. I think she’ll do exceedingly well.”
These thoughts ran through Mr. Lucas’ mind as he politely bowed Cis out of his office, but all that he said to her was:
“You shall hear from me not later than Saturday. At the Beacon Head? I see you wrote that address on the envelope which you sent in to me. Good morning, Miss Adair. Not later than Saturday; sooner, I think. Good morning.”
“Luck still running strong, Cis dear!” Cis gaily told herself as she walked fast away from the office. “He’s going to take you on. He’s like a duke and the Tower of London, combined with a magnifying glass which shows how you’re working inside, but I think I’ll like the combination, especially the duke part of it! I must go back and write Nan all about it; she’ll be worrying over lucky me, little goose!”
CHAPTER V
THE PINCH OF NECESSITY
BY FRIDAY of the week of her arrival in Beaconhite, Cis found herself a burden on her own hands. Five days of what had become compulsory idleness and pursuit of pleasure, were too many for the nerves of active Cis Adair, trained by her lifelong habit into ways of industry.
Beaconhite did not offer enthralling pleasure to dwellers on its surface. There were theatres, one principal one, two insignificant ones, a vaudeville house, but even to the best of these, first-class companies did not come; this week the third-class company which was giving a metropolitan success for six nights and a matinée in Beaconhite, had already been seen by Cis when they were doing the same thing in her native city. There were “movies,” but Cis happened to be one of those persons to whom silent drama is annoying; she wanted the spoken line, and disliked the necessary exaggeration of the pictures. She went one night to see again the play which she had already seen, and another night to the moving pictures; here she found a film showing, which she had seen twice before, and this, added to her dislike for this form of entertainment, sent her back to her hotel in a bad temper.