Quinneys 35

Quinneys 35

"You don’t seem bustin’ with joy and gladness. Four quid a week ain’t to

be sneezed at."

 

"Don’t I earn it, sir?"

 

His tone was perfectly respectful, with a faint sub-acid inflection.

 

When the four chairs were turned into eight, and duly covered with the

precious needlework, Tomlin and Quinney inspected them with huge

satisfaction. Certainly James had done himself justice. The

restorations were subjected to microscopic scrutiny. Tomlin smacked his

gross lips.

 

"You leave the rest to me," he said.

 

 

*IV*

 

The time has come to explain James’s smile. We must attempt what French

dramatic critics term the "_scène obligatoire_."

 

He had captured Posy.

 

He achieved this easily, because he happened to be the first

good-looking man to make love to a healthy young woman of lively

sensibilities and affections. Here again the uncharitable may be

justified in hinting at that practice which makes the game of love

perfect. If Youth but knew! This youth did know many things which he

kept to himself discreetly; saliently amongst them may be reckoned the

art of striking hard when the iron is hot. Posy grew very hot, when her

sire rebuked her for wandering downstairs into James’s room. James

perceived this. Let us say this for him in partial excuse of what

follows. He had fallen in love with a blooming girl, whose bloom

contrasted so agreeably with the too-white cheeks of Miss Mabel Dredge,

whose high spirits were strong enough to raise to their level his

somewhat gloomy thoughts. Truth being the essence of this chronicle, we

are constrained to add that the hope of being admitted to partnership

with a prospective father-in-law had been another lever towards this

mental exaltation. Nor did James forget that Posy was possessed, under

Mrs. Biddlecombe’s will, of some three thousand pounds which became hers

absolutely when she attained her majority.

 

The pair talked together very seldom after Quinney’s injunction, but

they passed each other half a dozen times a day, preserving a silence

which is perhaps the most barbed dart in Dan Cupid’s quiver! Each began

to study facial __EXPRESSION__, and the finer shades of common salutation.

The mere words, "Good-morning," admit infinite variety of inflection.

The pronouncing of a name, even such a name as Quinney, may be made

lyrical, almost hymeneal. James showed himself to be a master of these

simple arts. His appearance at such moments indicated suffering nobly

controlled. Posy began to lie awake at night wondering if James also

was a martyr to insomnia. You may be sure that she encountered James in

those pleasant suburbs of slumber frequented by lovers, the _vias

tenebrosas_ where Dante and Beatrice, Petrarch and Laura, Francesca and

Paolo, must have wandered hand in hand. Here, in sequestered peace Posy

talked to James without any exasperating restrictions save those which

maidenly modesty imposed. Imaginary conversations have won many hearts.

 

And then one day occurred the _coup de foudre_.

 

Quinney and Susan happened to be out. Posy, as usual, was dusting the

china in the sanctuary. James entered the room.

 

"Good-morning, Mr. Miggott!"

 

"Good-morning, Miss—Posy!"

 

He had never called her Posy before. But she divined from the

tenderness of his tone that her name must have passed his lips a

thousand times.

 

They looked at each other diffidently. Posy stretched out her hand.

She felt that this was due to an artist who might reasonably infer that

he was not held in the highest esteem by his master’s daughter. James

hesitated for one moment only. Then he kissed her hand. She quivered.

He ran his hungry lips along her slender wrist. She thrilled and

sighed. He took her into his arms and kissed her masterfully, feeling

her heart throbbing beneath his own.

 

Presently they discussed the future, although loath indeed to leave the

present.

 

"What will father say?"

 

"Darling, you must let me deal with your father."

 

"Can you?"

 

"I think so. I am sure of it. We must be patient and very, very

careful."

 

"I should like to tell mother."

 

"No, no! Believe me that would be a blunder. She would tell him. For

the moment we must love secretly."

 

She sighed deliciously.

 

"It does sound exciting and romantic. Of course you know best."

 

"I do!" he replied grimly. "I know that I shall have to fight for you.

I mean to fight. You’ll see. But we must be extra careful. A look——!

We can write to each other."

 

Her smooth forehead puckered.

 

"Can we? Father always deals out the letters. He would think nothing of

opening mine if he suspected."

 

"I have a plan."

 

"What! You have made plans? You were sure of me?"

 

"No, no! Never sure. Torn in two, I was, between hope and fear, but I

made plans all the same. Look here, we can use that lac cabinet as a

pillar-box."

 

"Father’s precious cabinet?"

 

"He never opens it; the drawers are empty; the key is in the lock."

 

Together they approached the cabinet, one of the "gems." Upon the top

of it stood the K’ang He mirror-black jar much beloved by Quinney.

James opened the cabinet, almost more beautiful within than without. He

indicated a drawer.

 

"Pop your letters into that. Then lock the cabinet and hide the key in

the mirror-black bottle."

 

"What a splendid idea!"

 

"Isn’t it? If he misses the key, you will be asked to find it, and you

will find it. Then we can choose another pillar-box. You will post

your letters, dearest, in the morning, when you are dusting here. In the

middle of the day, while you are lunching, I shall get your letter and

post one of my own. That way we run no risks at all."

 

"You are quite wonderful!"

 

Susan had used the same words to her Joe twenty years before.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER XVII*

 

*INTRODUCES CYRUS P. HUNSAKER*

 

*I*

 

 

Some three weeks later the "restored" Chippendale chairs were sold on a

by-day at Christopher’s famous auction rooms, and, as the public prints

set forth, were secured after spirited competition for nine hundred

pounds by Mr. Joseph Quinney, of Soho Square. There had been, according

to the reporters, a duel _à outrance_ between Quinney and Tomlin for the

possession of these magnificent chairs.

 

Upon the following morning Posy was alone in the sanctuary. Her father

had installed recently a speaking-tube, communicating with James

Miggott’s room, which was just behind the shop. Posy used this whenever

the chance presented itself to exchange a few whispered words with her

lover. She had just informed him that a billet had been popped into the

lac cabinet. Also she had exchanged kisses through the tube, and

perhaps on that account her eyes were sparkling more brightly than

usual. She was hanging up the tube when Susan entered.

 

"Thought I heard you talking just before I came in," said Susan.

 

Posy, the hardened young sinner, never blushed as she answered lightly:

 

"I was asking Jim through the tube where father was."

 

Susan stared at her pensively.

 

"Your dear father would be very much displeased if he heard you speaking

of James Miggott as Jim. It’s too familiar."

 

"Why?"

 

"I’m not going to bandy words with you, Posy, because you do get the

best of me, thanks to your fine schooling."

 

Posy frowned. She was hearing too often of her "advantages." She said

protestingly:

 

"Mumsie, dear, don’t rub that in. I’m fed up with such vain repetitions

from father. I didn’t ask him to send me to an expensive

boarding-school. I believe he did it to annoy the Tomlins."

 

This, we know, was not the reason, but there was some truth in it. Tom

Tomlin had considered a governess at forty-five pounds per annum quite

good enough to educate his three daughters. Susan laughed. Posy amused

her when she talked with entire frankness.

 

"Dear heart, what things you do say, to be sure! You were sent to

Bexhill because there was too much Honeybunning. But it did annoy the

Tomlins. I remember when your grandmother bought a small piano for me.

We lived in a semi-detached. How the neighbours did tear their hair with envy and jealousy."