Her bodyguard!
Mr. Field and Mr. Sturgiss were delighted to see her
and expressed themselves delighted to see the children.
There was plenty in the bank, coffers and strong-rooms
and all sorts of exciting things, said Mr. Field,
that would amuse the small people, and when tea was
done they should be taken around to see them.
In an inner holy of holies, behind the partners’
parlour, a very exciting tea was made. A clerk
was sent out for a parcel of pastries and returned
with an enormous bag, and there was no tablecloth,
nor no proper tea-table, and the children, much excited,
were immensely entertained.
Easy, while they were there, to make them the conversation’s
centre. But the meal ended and then became most
evident her anxiety to keep the chatter on the children.
They became impatient to be off on the promised exploration.
She delayed it. Twice the clerk who was to conduct
the tour was about to be summoned. By a new gathering
of general attention, she stopped his coming.
When at last he came she said she would be of the
party. The partners did not want that. The
children did not want it. “Mother, it will
be much more exciting by ourselves.” She
insisted. She was aware for the first and only
time in her life of a feeling of nerves, of not being
quite in control of herself, of making of her insistence
rather more than should be made.
“Well, stay,” said Mr. Sturgiss, “at
least for a minute’s chat before you join them.”
That was not possible, unless she was going to become
hysterical, to resist. The children trooped away.
Her bodyguard!
She turned aside and it is to be remembered for her
that, her face concealed from the partners, she gave
the tiniest despairing gesture with her hands.
When, with the children, she was returning home, she
was trying to determine whether, while it was in suspense,
she had or had not desired to hear of the partners
that which she had heard from them. They had
talked with her generally of the business. They
had talked particularly of the work of her department
of the business. There was approaching all the
time the thing that sooner or later they must say.
She was trembling all the time to know how she would
receive it. In whichever of its two ways it came
would she be glad or would she be sorry? She
simply did not know. She suddenly herself projected
the point. She could not endure any longer its
delay. “And Miss Farmer,” she said.
“How’s Miss Farmer doing?” Miss
Farmer, formerly one of her assistants, had on her
resignation taken her place.
Miss Farmer, replied Mr. Sturgiss, was estimable but—he
opened his hands and made with them a deprecatory
gesture. “She’s not you. How
could she be you, or any one be you? We could
replace Miss Farmer. What’s the good?
It’s you we’ve got to replace. We
can’t replace you.”
Her heart had bounded.
