She could not help her voice and her face betraying some disappointment. They did not, however, betray all she felt; for the prospect of Owen's going away again so soon sent a desolate chill to her heart. Owen looked at her quickly, and then as quickly looked away and tossed the end of his cigarette into the fire, before lighting another. "I don't know," he answered, bending down over the flame; "it will require some consideration. I believe the alternative is open to me of remaining in Mr. Bragg's employment in England. Anyway, there is time enough before I need decide--several months, I hope." Mrs. Bransby breathed a low sigh of relief; then she said, in a perceptibly more cheerful tone, "It seems so odd to think of you writing business letters, and making up accounts, and being altogether turned into a--a----" "A clerk." "No; not precisely that. You are Mr. Bragg's secretary, are you not?" "What I am aiming at--what I hope to be--_is_ a clerk, you know. If I called myself a field marshal or an archbishop it would not alter the fact; but it does seem odd to me, too, when I think of it. Better luck than I deserve, as my shrewd old friend Mrs. Dobbs said to me." "Talking of Mrs. Dobbs, May Cheffington came to see me here." Owen had heard regularly from May every week; he carried her last letter in his breast-pocket at that moment (not the note which she had posted herself--that had not yet reached Collingwood Terrace), so that he was not starving for news of her. Nevertheless, he felt a wild temptation to cry out, "Tell me about her! Talk of nothing else!" But he answered composedly, "That was quite right; she ought, of course, to have come to see you." "She only came once," observed Martin. "That was not her fault," said his mother. "She could not, as I told you all, make frequent journeys here--she could not command her time or her aunt's servants; she goes out a great deal." "Her aunt lives for the world, you see," said Owen apologetically. "Oh, there is no reason why May should not enjoy her youth and all her advantages," answered Mrs. Bransby softly; "she is a very sweet, lovable creature--much too good for----" Mrs. Bransby here checked herself, and stopped abruptly. "Oh, mother! that's all bosh!" cried Martin, flushing hotly. "I mean that notion of yours. Now, I ask you, Mr. Rivers, is it likely that May Cheffington would _think_ of marrying Theodore? Ah! you may well look flabbergasted! Anybody would who knew them both. You see, mother, Mr. Rivers takes it just as I did. You don't think it likely, do you, Mr. Rivers?" Owen had recovered from the first startling effect of hearing those two names coupled together; but he was inwardly raging and lavishing a variety of the most unparliamentary epithets on Theodore. "If you ask my candid opinion, I _don't_ think it likely," he answered curtly. "Of course not!" exclaimed the boy. "It's only Theodore's bounce; I told mother so."