“Good God!”
Freddie felt his cheek. He was aware of an odd mixture of embarrassment and exhilaration.
From the area below a slight cough sounded. Freddie turned sharply. A maid in a soiled cap, worn coquettishly over one ear, was gazing intently up through the railings. Their eyes met. Freddie turned a warm pink. It seemed to him that the maid had the air of one about to giggle.
“Damn!” said Freddie softly, and hurried off down the street. He wondered whether he had made a frightful ass of himself, spraying bank-notes all over the place like that to comparative strangers. Then a vision came to him of Nelly’s eyes as they had looked at him in the lamp-light, and he decided—no, absolutely not. Rummy as the gadget might appear, it had been the right thing to do. It was a binge of which he thoroughly approved. A good egg!
§ 2.
Jill, when Freddie and Nelly left the room, had seated herself on a low stool, and sat, looking thoughtfully into the fire. She was wondering if she had been mistaken in supposing that Uncle Chris was worried about something. This restlessness of his, this desire for movement, was strange in him. Hitherto he had been like a dear old cosy cat, revelling in the comfort which he had just denounced so eloquently. She watched him as he took up his favorite stand in front of the fire.
“Nice girl,” said Uncle Chris. “Who was she?”
“Somebody Freddie met,” said Jill diplomatically. There was no need to worry Uncle Chris with details of the afternoon’s happenings.
“Very nice girl.” Uncle Chris took out his cigar-case. “No need to ask if I may, thank goodness.” He lit a cigar. “Do you remember, Jill, years ago, when you were quite small, how I used to blow smoke in your face?”
Jill smiled.