“Not the first to pass that remark to me, not by a long chalk, you ain’t. Mother says it ’bout once a day.”
Miss Thirkell came up the slope of the platform, and George went back discreetly to his work with the broom, touching his cap to the young woman as she went by. She acknowledged the salutation distantly, saying, “Good evening, my man!” and gave a start of amazement on Mr. Polsworthy lifting his hat and throwing away his cigar. She said that he had the advantage over her and he expressed regret that her memory should constitute the one defect in an otherwise perfect and beautiful nature. Was it, asked Miss Thirkell, was it in Dover Street, the tenth of July of the current year, on the occasion of coming out of a dressmaker’s with her mistress? That, answered Mr. Polsworthy, was the very moment, and the precise occasion. Miss Thirkell considered this curious and interesting, since she was not in town on the date mentioned, and had never been in Dover Street.
Mr. Polsworthy, slightly taken aback, begged of her to refresh a brain that could never be relied upon implicitly; she admitted that they had met once. Miss Thirkell remembered the day well, because her master took the opportunity to make some extensive purchases at a sale in King Street, St. James’s, and the articles had crowded the compartment on the way down.
“A race special came in,” said Mr. Polsworthy, corroborating, “just before your train went out from Victoria, and whilst your people were having a few words with the guard I strolled across to see what was the matter.”
“Now,” cried Miss Thirkell, delightedly, “now I know you’re telling the truth!”
Her mistress, it appeared, was one who did not mind the expenditure of money in useful things, such as dress and hats, but entertained a strong objection to lumbering the house with a lot of old silver and other articles, neither, in her opinion, useful or decorative. Mr. Polsworthy expressed the view that in married life certain concessions had to be made; he had not hitherto considered the possibility of entering the state, but he was prepared to be generous in the direction referred to. George Hunt, each time they went by, looked up and nodded and made some reference to the weather; there was more rain about, in his opinion; what we wanted was sunshine, so that cricket bats might be once more used. The two, interested in their own conversation, scarcely gave notice to his meteorological comments.
“When can I come up and see you?” asked Mr. Polsworthy. “I’m only down here for a little while.”
“What seems so wonderful,” sighed Miss Thirkell, dreamily, “is that you should have come specially to meet me.”
“To do that I would travel to the furthermost ends of the earth.” He took her hand.
“Axcuse me interrupting,” said George, suddenly, “but in which direction do you reckon Canada is? You’re better acquainted with geography than what I am. S’posin’ now, you was going to walk there; which turning would you take?”