So unhappy she was that George immediately planned
her a backdoor of excuse. “But you have
no occasion to blame yourself,” he told her.
“You’ve had an adventure—naturally
you’re shaken a bit.”
She was relieved to think he had misunderstood her
agitation. “Yes, an adventure,” she
said, “that’s it. And I haven’t
had an adventure for years, so naturally—But,
please, I think you had better go. If my—
my friend saw me with you like this she would be angry—oh,
very angry.”
“But why? She saw you fall. She saw
me save you.”
“You don’t understand. She is not
exactly my friend; she is my—my employer.
I’m a mother’s-help.”
The mirth that never lay deep beneath those blue eyes
of hers was sparkling up now; the soft, dark wings
were fluttering no longer.
She continued: “A mother’s-help.
Doesn’t that sound wretched? I’m
terribly slow at learning the mother’s-help rules,
but I’m positive of this rule—mothers’
helps may not shoot out of cabs and leave the mother;
it’s such little help—you must see
that?”
“But you will be less help still if you stay
here for ever with your hurt ankle—you
must see that? I must stay with you or see you
to your home.”
When she answered, it was upon another change of mood.
The soft, dark wings were fluttering again; and it
was the banter of George’s tone that had recalled
them. For this was an adventure—and
she had not known adventure for years; for these were
flippant exchanges arising out of gay young hearts,
and they recalled memories of days when such harmless
bantering was of her normal life; for there had been
sympathy in George’s stammering inquiries, and
it recalled the time when she lived amidst sympathy
and amidst love.
The soft, dark wings fluttered again: “I
am very grateful to you for helping me,” she
told him. “You must not think me ungrateful;
only, I think you had better go. In my position
I am not free to—to do as I like, talk
where I will. You understand?” Her voice
trembled a little, and she repeated: “You
understand?”
George said, “I understand.”
And that was all that passed upon this meeting.
A cab swung round the opposite corner; pulled up with
a rattle; turned towards them; was alongside.
Within, a brow of thunder sat.
The cabman called, “I knowed you was all right,
miss,” raised the trap, and cheerfully repeated
the information to his fare: “I knowed
she was all right, mum.”
The mum addressed gave no congratulation to his prescience.
He shut the lid; winked at George; behind his hand
communicated, “Not ’arf angry, she ain’t.”
The girl ran forward; agitation bound up her hurt
ankle. “Oh!” she cried, “I
am so glad you are safe!”
The thunder-figure addressed said: “Please
get in. I have had a severe shock.”
“This gentleman—” The girl
half turned to George.
