“So soon!” he said regretfully. “And I suppose you will quite forget the unsophisticated Durlston people, when you are in the midst of the excitement of London life?”
“Indeed, I shall not,” she answered him earnestly. “I shall miss them all dreadfully, especially Herbert and—and you. I wanted Herbert to take a flat in London so that we could be together, but I cannot get him to leave Durlston. He thinks the factory people could not do without him, and he says that he cannot work anywhere but in his own studio. He is painting his big picture for the Royal Academy, you know.”
“Yes; I shall have to look well after him, or he will knock himself up, as he did when he was painting his ‘Dawn of Love.’ He allows his pictures to prey upon his mind, and an attack of insomnia is the usual consequence.”
Celia was about to reply, but the factory people were beginning to disperse, and their conversation was interrupted.
A little boy ran up to say good-bye. “You promised me a penny if I took all my medicine last week, Dr. Milnes,” he said, looking up into Geoffrey’s eyes with an anxious expression on his little Jewish face. “I’ve tooked all that nasty stuff, so I’ve come for my penny, please.”
Geoffrey felt in his pockets, but no money was forthcoming.
“I never pay my debts on Sunday, young man,” he said with mock gravity. “I am sorry, but I have no change. Can’t you wait until to-morrow, when, if you present your bill, it will be settled in due course?”
The child looked bewildered, and considered a moment. “If I wait till to-morrow, you ought to give me something extra,” he remarked at length; and then, as the doctor did not answer, “Make it tuppence,” he added persuasively, “I’ve waited a week already!”
“One hundred per cent. interest? All right,” agreed Geoffrey; and the boy went away perfectly happy.
“That boy will get on in the world,” observed Celia, smiling: “he has what Americans call an ‘eye to the main chance.’”