"Oh, no, not if you don't mind," said Roderick.
"It's so good of you," said poor Afternoon Tea Willie. "You were the only one I could come to, the only one who seemed to know her. She boards at Miss Armstrong's, but Miss Annabel—you know Miss Annabel? No? Well, I wouldn't for worlds say anything against a lady, but Miss Annabel doesn't seem to like me. I don't blame her, you know, but I don't like to go there. It—I seem to bother her dreadfully, so I thought—I knew you wouldn't mind introducing me some time, would you?"
"I really don't know Miss Murray well enough to do that," said Roderick decidedly. "And I wish you wouldn't say anything about our having met before. I don't think she remembers me very well. Ask Mr. Brians to introduce you."
"I did, but he refused."
"Perhaps he was only in fun, try him again—or Mrs. Adam. She teaches with her."
"Oh my! the very person." Mr. Wilbur sprang up. "Oh, I can't think why I never thought of her before. I'll call on Madame this afternoon. I can't thank you enough, Mr. McRae, for the kind suggestion." The young man hurried out, profusely expressing his gratitude. Afternoon Tea Willie had absolutely nothing in the world to do, but he was always in a hurry. Perhaps the reason was that the ladies of the town ordered him about so. He was the most obliging young man, and being always available, he was used to the utmost, and was driven like a galley slave from dawn to dark. As he went down the steps he turned back and looked up at Roderick rapturously.
"Say!" he whispered. "Did you ever see such eyes? Don't they make you feel just as if you were going down in an elevator?"
But Roderick turned quickly away, with an unreasonable and very unbusinesslike desire to kick his first client down the steps. He had almost closed the door behind him when a loud clear voice from the street called his name. It was just four o'clock, the hour when all the young ladies of Algonquin, dressed in their best, walked down to the post-office for the afternoon mail which came in a half-hour earlier. This afternoon post-office parade was a social function, for only people of leisure and distinction were at liberty at that hour. The young gentlemen from the bank generally emerged about that time too, and came striding down to the post-office looking worried and flurried as became gentlemen with the finances of the whole town and half the country weighing them down. After they had all met at the post-office, they went up to the ice-cream and candy palace on Main Street, or out on the lake, or strolled off into the park.
It was a member of the post-office parade who was hailing Roderick so gaily. A pretty group was rustling past the office, all muslin frills and silk sashes and flowers of every colour, and the prettiest and best dressed of them all came running up the steps to his side, with a swish of silken skirts and a whiff of violet perfume.
It was Miss Leslie Graham, the girl he had helped out of the lake, not forlorn and bedraggled now, but immaculate and dainty, from the rose wreath on her big hat to the tip of her white kid shoe.