To her, in the tiny sitting-room, the story was told.
It appeared that she had never yet taken a lady lodger.
In her street ladies were regarded with suspicion;
that no petticoats were ever to be fetched across
the threshold was a rule to which each medical student
who engaged her rooms must first subscribe.
None the less she was here acquiescent. She knew
George well; had for him an affection above that which
commonly she entertained for the noisy young men who
were her means of livelihood. Mary should pay
for the little back bedroom that Mr. Thornton had;
and, free of charge, should have use of the sitting-room
rented by Mr. Grainger. There would be no lodgers
until the medical schools reopened in October.
So it was settled—and together in the sitting-room
where Mrs. Pinking made them a little lunch again
they debated the immediate future. It was three
weeks before George’s examination was due.
Again he declared himself confident that, when actually
he had passed, his uncle would not refuse the 400
pounds which meant the world to them—which
meant the tight little practice at Runnygate.
But the intervening weeks were meanwhile to be faced.
Mary must have home. At the Agency she must pour
forth her tale and seek new situation till they could
be married. If the Agency failed them—They
shuddered.
Revolving desperate schemes for the betterment of
this position into which with such alarming suddenness
they had been thrust, George took his leave.
He would have tarried, but his Mary was insistent that
his work must not be interfered with. Upon its
successful exploitation everything now depended.
Brightly she kissed her George good-bye. He was
not to worry about her. She was to be shut from
his mind. To-morrow she would go to the Agency.
He might lunch with her, and, depend upon it, she would
greet him with great news.
So they parted.
In which this History begins to rattle.
The Author Meanders Upon The Enduring Hills; And The
Reader Will Lose Nothing By Not Accompanying Him.
In pursuit of our opinion that the novel should hark
back to its origin and be as a story that is told
by mouth to group of listeners, here we momentarily
break the thread.
It is an occasion for advertisement.
As when the personal narrator, upon resumption of
his history, will at a point declare, “Now we
come to the exciting part,” so now do I.
Heretofore we have somewhat dragged. We have
been as host and visitor at tea in the drawing-room.
Guests have arrived; to you I have introduced them,
and after the shortest spell they have taken their
leave.
My Mary and my George—favoured guests—have
sat with us through our meal; but how fleeting our
converse with those others—with Mr. William
Wyvern, with Margaret, with Mrs. Major and with Mr.
Marrapit! I grant you cause to grumble at their
introduction, so purposeless has been their part.
I grant you they have been as the guests at whose
arrival, disturbing the intimate chatter, impatient
glances are exchanged; at whose departure there is
shuffle of relief.
