"Yes. The same boy came and fetched her, her mother is worse. She thinks nothing of walking ten miles across country at this time of night. I offered to pay for a cab or something, but she wouldn't hear of it."
"That's very kind of you, Mrs Darwen. D'you—d'you think she was really offended?"
"Of course she was. I passed her in the hall as she came in, but don't let that worry you, old chap. The course of true love never did run smooth, you know if there were none of these little obstructions and full stops and side issues, the real thing would never be awakened. You may take it as an axiom that if a girl never feels she'd like to chuck the fire-irons at you, she doesn't care tuppence about you; at least, that sort, with those eyebrows and eyes, and that free, swinging carriage. I'm in love with that girl myself."
Carstairs sighed somewhat heavily. "Then you'd better get out of love as soon as you can," he said, with a little laugh, "or we shall fight. I begin to appreciate the spirit of the duelling age, I think it would give me real pleasure to scrap with somebody just now." He laughed again, but there was a gleam in his eyes that both Darwen and his mother noticed. Darwen's face lighted up with appreciation, but his mother looked very sad.
"I wonder how this shut-down will affect our chances of a rise?" Carstairs remarked.
"Oh, that's alright, old chap. I have so many good friends on the council now, that I'm not a bit afraid: There's going to be a duel between old Donovan and the doctor. It'll be rather good, I expect, pity you can't come to see the fun: they're going to rebel against the iron rule of Dr Jameson, the whole council is sick of his autocracy. Donovan will open the ball with a sledge-hammer attack; Jenkins will back him up with some nasty hits below the belt; the old Doctor will roar like a bull in pain, but I think he'll be beaten this time. I shall enjoy it anyway."
He swung round to the piano again, and dashed into a lively waltz tune. "That's the first dance I ever danced with Isabel Jameson," he said over his shoulder. "This is ours, I believe!" "Thanks very much." "Very nice floor." "Yes." "Rotten weather!" etc., etc., he quoted, laughing lightly. "Then, three months later, behind those imitation palms at the foot of the stairs, to the strains of this tune in the distance (he changed to a very slow dreamy waltz) I proposed to her. If it hadn't been for this tune, I shouldn't have done it that night. But it was so appropriate, the opportunity seemed unique, so I spoke up. Isabel, (I never really cared for the name of Isabel, you know), Isabel, may I call you Isabel? I love you. Then—"
His mother stepped up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. "Hush, Charlie! You don't know what you're saying."
"I assure you, mater, I remember it quite distinctly. It was one of the most exciting events—"
"My boy, the girl's going round the town looking like a shadow since the engagement was broken off."