Leary’s admiration for Elsie, however, was less strong than his desire to see a league match, and he offended her by going by himself to the entertainment that she despised. Elsie resented his defection less for his own sake than for that of the excitement that she could only experience through flirtation, and without which she found her life unbearably tedious. She had been in the office nearly three months when Mr. Williams asked her suddenly if she liked the work there. “I don’t mind it,” said Elsie. She was in reality perfectly indifferent to it, and merely went through the day’s routine without active dislike, as without intelligence. “Now that you are used to our ways,” said Mr. Williams deliberately, “I think you had better remove your table into my room. The sound of your machine will not disturb me in the least, and if clients desire a private interview, you can retire.” Elsie looked up, astonished, and met her employer’s eyes. His face was impassive as ever, but there was a faint, covetous gleam in his fish-like eyes. Elsie, at once repelled and fascinated, gazed back at him, and felt her heart beginning to beat faster with a nervous and yet pleasurable anticipation. VII “When do you want to take your holiday, Elsie?” “I’m not particular.” “Your mother will want you to get a breath of sea-air, I suppose.” “Oh, I don’t know,” said Elsie. “Mother’s not awfully struck on going away.” It was late July, and between Elsie and her employer a curious, secret relationship had been established, at present only symbolised by occasional furtive touches of his hand on her neck or her dress, and a continual exchange of glances, steady and compelling on Williams’s side, and responded to by Elsie almost against her own will. Her typewriting table had been moved into his office, and she sat there nearly all day. He spoke to her very little, but she was now always intensely conscious of his presence, and of her own effect upon him. At first she did not understand to what his questions about the holidays were leading. Next day, he spoke about them again. “Shouldn’t you like to go to Brighton--some place like that?” “Rather.” “I often run down there myself from Saturday to Monday.” Mr. Williams looked at her more attentively than ever, and Elsie felt the blood creep up into her face. She knew that she blushed easily and deeply, and that men enjoyed seeing her blush. “That hasn’t got anything to do with me,” she stammered, at once excited and confused. “Hasn’t it?” “Mr. Williams!” He glanced cautiously at the door, and then lowered his voice. “Look here, my dear child, I’m old enough to be your father and--and my dear late wife took quite a fancy to you. Surely you and I understand one another well enough to take a little holiday jaunt together without anyone but our two selves being any the wiser.” Elsie had not really expected the suggestion, and she was startled, but also triumphant. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Williams?”