“Nothing actually the matter with his looks, my girl. Anyhow, he does always look as if he went in for no end of cold water, and week-end tramps, and golf, and the windows wide open, and decent soap—cuticura, I’ve smelt it,” said Miss Robinson. “And as if he could _heave_ things—which nobody else does, in this establishment. And if you _can_ get over the general effect of ‘the stern-and-solemn-Nelson’s column——’” “Well, I can’t. But she’s quite pretty if she’d only make a little more _of_ herself; p’raps she will now,” said the telephone girl, who wears long coral drop-earrings and pins brown-paper cuffs over her sleeves in business-hours. “What on earth do you suppose he said when he proposed to her?” “‘_Now, Miss Trant, when you have taken down that Buenos Ayres order, there is something I have to consult you about personally. Now, Miss Trant, are you prepared to consider_——’” It was so exactly our employer’s voice that I, standing there unnoticed, burst out laughing. The girls, caught out, laughed too. “You didn’t know you were the talk of the place, did you, Miss Trant? May as well make up your mind to it,” said Miss Robinson. “And do show Miss Harris your ring!” “I could see it from here. I thought it was something being done to the electric lights. My! but they are sparklers! I shouldn’t half swank, wearing jewellery like this. Did you choose it to-day, Miss Trant? My word! Some people do have all the luck. It’ll be a very short engagement, I presume?” “I don’t think so,” said I, thinking of the nearly twelve complicated and weary months that stretched before me. “Some time yet.” “No doubt any time’ll seem long _na-ow_,” said the telephone girl archly. “Can’t you tell us _about_ when it’s likely to be?” Oh, dear! It seemed to me as if I passed through hours of this sort of thing before I could break away and set out for Battersea and our bachelor-girl flat. Wearily, and without any “spring” left in me, I climbed the four flights of stone steps. I felt positively dragged down by the thought of that awful fortnight with the Governor’s mother at their house near Sevenoaks. It had clung to me all the way back. Only as I put my key into the door did I remember something else. There would be Cicely to break the news of my engagement to, now! CHAPTER IX THE LOVER WHO CAME TOO LATE But here, in our flat, I found to my amazement that someone had been before me with the news. Cicely’s marigold-coloured hair and flushed face reared themselves up excitedly from the faded couch cushions as I came in. “I say! _Tots!_ What’s all this?—Look here, what _is_ the meaning of it?” she cried breathlessly. “What’s this wild story about you being engaged to be married? Do say it isn’t true;—it can’t be! is it?” “Who in the world,” I demanded, standing by our rickety old table in the middle of the room and staring at her as she sat up leaning on her elbow, “told you anything about it?” “Well, who d’you suppose? Who would?”