"All right," said Eames. For a moment Geoff thought he was going to say something more, but if so he changed his mind, and walked quietly away.
Monday saw Geoff again at his post. It was a real early spring day, and he could not help feeling the exhilarating influence of the fresh, sweet air, though his heart was sad and heavy, for his hopes of a reply from Vicky were every day growing fainter and fainter. There was nothing to do but to wait till the time came for a holiday, and then to go up to London and try to see them.
"And if they won't see me or forgive me," thought the boy with a sigh, "I must just work on till I can emigrate."
He glanced up at the terrace as he thought this. He was working this morning at some little distance from the house, but he liked to throw a look every now and then to the beds which he had raked and tidied already; they seemed so neat, and the crocuses were coming out so nicely.
The morning was getting on; Geoff looked at his watch—he had kept it carefully, but he never looked at it now without a feeling that before very long he might have to sell it—it was nearly twelve.
"I must go home to dinner, I suppose," he thought; and he began gathering his tools together. As he did so, some slight sounds reached him from the terrace, and, glancing in that direction, he saw that one of the long windows opening on to it was ajar, and in another moment the figures of two ladies could be seen standing just in the aperture, and seemingly looking out as if uncertain what they were going to do.
"They have come," thought Geoff. "They'll be out here in another instant. I can't help it if it is silly; I should hate ladies and gentlemen to see me working here like a common boy;" and his face grew crimson with the thought.
He hurried his things together, and was looking round to see if he could not make his way out of the grounds without passing near the house, when a quick pattering sound along the gravel startled him. A little girl was running towards him, flying down the sloping path that led from the terrace she came, her feet scarcely seeming to touch the ground, her fair hair streaming behind.
"Oh!" was Geoff's first thought, "how like Vicky!"
But it was his first thought only, for almost before he had time to complete it the little girl was beside him—upon him, one might almost say, for her arms were round him, her sweet face, wet with tears of joy, was pressed against his, her dear voice was speaking to him, "Oh, Geoffey, Geoffey! My own Geoffey! It's I—it's your Vicky."