'Might send that telegram off if you've nothing else to do, and there's no particular reason for keeping it back,' suggested Mrs. Postwhistle.
'It's only just been handed in,' explained Grindley junior, somewhat hurt.
'You've been looking at it for the last five minutes by the clock,' said Mrs. Postwhistle.
Grindley junior sat down to the machine. The name and address of the sender was Helvetia Appleyard, Nevill's Court.
Three days passed--singularly empty days they appeared to Grindley junior. On the fourth, Helvetia Appleyard had occasion to despatch another telegram--this time entirely in English.
'One-and-fourpence,' sighed Grindley junior.
Miss Appleyard drew forth her purse. The shop was empty.
'How did you come to know Latin?' inquired Miss Appleyard in quite a casual tone.
'I picked up a little at school. It was a phrase I happened to remember,' confessed Grindley junior, wondering why he should be feeling ashamed of himself.
'I am always sorry,' said Miss Appleyard, 'when I see anyone content with the lower life whose talents might, perhaps, fit him for the higher.' Something about the tone and manner of Miss Appleyard reminded Grindley junior of his former Rector. Each seemed to have arrived by different roads at the same philosophical aloofness from the world, tempered by chastened interest in human phenomena. 'Would you like to try to raise yourself--to improve yourself--to educate yourself?'
An unseen little rogue, who was enjoying himself immensely, whispered to Grindley junior to say nothing but 'Yes,' he should.
'Will you let me help you?' asked Miss Appleyard. And the simple and heartfelt gratitude with which Grindley junior closed upon the offer proved to Miss Appleyard how true it is that to do good to others is the highest joy.
Miss Appleyard had come prepared for possible acceptance. 'You had better begin with this,' thought Miss Appleyard. 'I have marked the passages that you should learn by heart. Make a note of anything you do not understand, and I will explain it to you when--when next I happen to be passing.'
Grindley junior took the book--Bell's Introduction to the Study of the Classics, for Use of Beginners--and held it between both hands. Its price was ninepence, but Grindley junior appeared to regard it as a volume of great value.
'It will be hard work at first,' Miss Appleyard warned him; 'but you must persevere. I have taken an interest in you; you must try not to disappoint me.'
And Miss Appleyard, feeling all the sensations of a Hypatia, departed, taking light with her and forgetting to pay for the telegram. Miss Appleyard belonged to the class that young ladies who pride themselves on being tiresomely ignorant and foolish sneer at as 'blue-stockings'; that is to say, possessing brains, she had felt the necessity of using them. Solomon Appleyard, widower, a sensible old gentleman, prospering in the printing business, and seeing no necessity for a woman regarding herself as nothing but a doll, a somewhat uninteresting plaything the newness once worn off, thankfully encouraged her. Miss Appleyard had returned from Girton wise in many things, but not in knowledge of the world, which knowledge, too early acquired, does not always make for good in young man or woman. A serious little virgin, Miss Appleyard's ambition was to help the human race. What more useful work could have come to her hand than the raising of this poor but intelligent young grocer's assistant unto the knowledge and the love of higher things. That Grindley junior happened to be an exceedingly good-looking and charming young grocer's assistant had nothing to do with the matter, so Miss Appleyard would have informed you. In her own reasoning she was convinced that her interest in him would have been the same had he been the least attractive of his sex. That there could be danger in such relationship never occurred to her.
Miss Appleyard, a convinced Radical, could not conceive the possibility of a grocer's assistant regarding the daughter of a well-to-do printer in any other light than that of a graciously condescending patron. That there could be danger to herself! you would have been sorry you had suggested the idea. The expression of lofty scorn would have made you feel yourself contemptible.
Miss Appleyard's judgment of mankind was justified; no more promising pupil could have been selected. It was really marvellous the progress made by Grindley junior, under the tutelage of Helvetia Appleyard. His earnestness, his enthusiasm, it quite touched the heart of Helvetia Appleyard. There were many points, it is true, that puzzled Grindley junior. Each time the list of them grew longer. But when Helvetia Appleyard explained them, all became clear. She marvelled herself at her own wisdom, that in a moment made darkness luminous to this young man; his rapt attention while she talked, it was most encouraging. The boy must surely be a genius. To think that but for her intuition he might have remained wasted in a grocer's shop! To rescue such a gem from oblivion, to polish it, was surely the duty of a conscientious Hypatia. Two visits--three visits a week to the little shop in Rolls Court were quite inadequate, so many passages there were requiring elucidation. London in early morning became their classroom: the great, wide, empty, silent streets; the mist-curtained parks, the silence broken only by the blackbirds' amorous whistle, the thrushes' invitation to delight; the old gardens, hidden behind narrow ways. Nathaniel George and Janet Helvetia would rest upon a seat, no living creature within sight, save perhaps a passing policeman or some dissipated cat. Janet Helvetia would expound. Nathaniel George, his fine eyes fixed on hers, seemed never to tire of drinking in her wisdom.
There were times when Janet Helvetia, to reassure herself as to the maidenly correctness of her behaviour, had to recall quite forcibly the fact that she was the daughter of Solomon Appleyard, owner of the big printing establishment; and he a simple grocer. One day, raised a little in the social scale, thanks to her, Nathaniel George would marry someone in his own rank of life. Reflecting upon the future of Nathaniel George, Janet Helvetia could not escape a shade of sadness. It was difficult to imagine precisely the wife she would have chosen for Nathaniel George. She hoped he would do nothing foolish. Rising young men so often marry wives that hamper rather than help them.
One Sunday morning in late autumn, they walked and talked in the shady garden of Lincoln's Inn. Greek they thought it was they had been talking; as a matter of fact, a much older language. A young gardener was watering flowers, and as they passed him he grinned. It was not an offensive grin, rather a sympathetic grin; but Miss Appleyard didn't like being grinned at. What was there to grin at? Her personal appearance? some gaucherie in her dress? Impossible. No lady in all St. Dunstan was ever more precise. She glanced at her companion: a clean- looking, well-groomed, well-dressed youth. Suddenly it occurred to Miss Appleyard that she and Grindley junior were holding each other's hand. Miss Appleyard was justly indignant.
'How dare you!' said Miss Appleyard. 'I am exceedingly angry with you. How dare you!'
The olive skin was scarlet. There were tears in the hazel eyes.
'Leave me this minute!' commanded Miss Appleyard.
Instead of which, Grindley junior seized both her hands.
'I love you! I adore you! I worship you!' poured forth young Grindley, forgetful of all Miss Appleyard had ever told him concerning the folly of tautology.
'You had no right,' said Miss Appleyard.
'I couldn't help it,' pleaded young Grindley. 'And that isn't the worst.'
Miss Appleyard paled visibly. For a grocer's assistant to dare to fall in love with her, especially after all the trouble she had taken with him! What could be worse?
'I'm not a grocer,' continued young Grindley, deeply conscious of crime. 'I mean, not a real grocer.'
And Grindley junior then and there made a clean breast of the whole sad, terrible tale of shameless deceit, practised by the greatest villain the world had ever produced, upon the noblest and most beautiful maiden that ever turned grim London town into a fairy city of enchanted ways.
Not at first could Miss Appleyard entirely grasp it; not till hours later, when she sat alone in her own room, where, fortunately for himself, Grindley junior was not, did the whole force and meaning of the thing come home to her. It was a large room, taking up half of the top story of the big Georgian house in Nevill's Court; but even as it was, Miss Appleyard felt cramped.
'For a year--for nearly a whole year,' said Miss Appleyard, addressing the bust of William Shakespeare, 'have I been slaving my life out, teaching him elementary Latin and the first five books of Euclid!'
As it has been remarked, it was fortunate for Grindley junior he was out of reach. The bust of William Shakespeare maintained its irritating aspect of benign philosophy.
'I suppose I should,' mused Miss Appleyard, 'if he had told me at first--as he ought to have told me--of course
