Without waiting for a reply to his question, the editor bounded from his seat and passed outside. Thirty seconds later the door opened again, and he appeared, bearing a splendid rocker in his arms.
Before she fully realized the wonder of the whole thing, Madge found herself seated in the rocking-chair. Swaying backwards and forwards, and blushing and smiling, she cried:
“You are a wonderful man, Mr. Hammond!”
“You said you could never fully enjoy our English houses for want of a rocker. Now, however ‘angelic’ your visits to this room may be, you shall have one inducement to slip in—a rocker.”
She was beginning her thanks again, when he interrupted with:
“But, excuse me, Miss Finisterre, what about some tea? Shall we go out and get some, or would you prefer that I should order it in here?”
“Oh, here, by all means! I can have tea at a restaurant every day of my life, but with a real London lion—a real live editor—and in his own special den. Why, it may never fall to my lot again. Oh, here, by all means!” she cried, excitedly.
He squeezed that rubber bulb again. To the lad Charlie, who appeared, he gave a written order to a neighbouring restaurant. Twenty minutes later the tea was in the room.
Madge officiated with the teapot. Hammond watched her every movement. A truly pretty, graceful girl never looks handsomer to a man than when presiding at a tea-table. Tom Hammond thought Madge had never looked more charming. The meal was a very enjoyable one, and as she poured out his second cup he paid her a pretty compliment, adding:
“To see you thus, Miss Finisterre, makes one think what fools men are not to——”