heard him, and instead of showing astonishment, she took quite gratefully the chair he had automatically proffered and sank down upon it with a tired sigh.
Then in a moment she looked up, as though seeing him for the first time.
'Oh! Mr. Perry,' she exclaimed, 'I I must have been thinking, I had no idea you were there.'
He was slightly dismayed. Looking at his emasculate figure, it seemed the last possibility in the world that he should cherish, in the traditional manner, a secret passion for his employer's daughter, but such was indeed the case, and, in his highest, wildest and most furtive flights, he visualised even a partnership for an exceedingly worthy young man, to be achieved through an alliance to the house of Brodie, more binding than that of sordid trade. Mary, completely unaware of such optimistic visions, but vaguely pitying in her heart the timorous youth who lived in such manifest apprehension of her father, gazed at him mildly.
'I have a message for you, Mr. Perry,' she said. 'Mr. Brodie will not be in to-day and asks that you will attend to the business in his absence.'
'Oh! Quite, Miss Brodie! I quite understand that your father would be at the Show to-day. In fact, I have made all arrangements to be here all day! I shall lunch here. I know well that the chief is extremely fond of such functions.' Had Brodie heard himself referred to in such terms he would have annihilated his assistant with a single glance, but Perry had now recovered himself, was prepared to do himself justice, and privately considered his last florid remark rather good. 'But even in the chief's absence the work will go on, Miss Brodie, and I hope go on well,' he continued euphoniously. 'You, personally, may rest assured I shall do my best, my very utmost to make things go smoothly.' He was so earnest in his manner, his moist eye glistened so eloquently that, despite her apathy, Mary found herself thanking him, though for what reason she scarcely
knew.
Just then a customer came in, a shipwright who demanded a new cap and, though Mary would have gone at his entry, a languor of mind held her passive and relaxed, a lassitude of body bound her to the soothing comfort of the chair. She felt disinclined to begin her return home, and under her eye, although it followed his movements indifferently, Perry, seizing a delightful chance to exhibit his ability, served his client in his best style, accomplishing feats of extreme nimbleness and dexterity with boxes and the short step-ladder, and eventually with paper and string. When the purchaser had gone, he returned with a conscious air and, leaning across the counter, remarked confidentially, 'Your father has a wonderful business here, Miss Brodie practically a monopoly.' rie was proud of that word too, and although it came out of a book on Economics he was wrestling with at nights, he gave the term the flavour of his own deep and
original deduction. 'Not that if I might venture to suggest it it might not be increased by a few new ideas, a little novelty, perhaps, some new developments, even an extension of the business it could be done,' he added insinuatingly.
She did not reply, which oppressed him with the feeling that somehow he did not seem to be holding her attention; the conversation appeared to him rather one-sided.
'I hope you are well?' he enquired, after a considerable pause.
'Quite well,' she echoed mechanically.
'You look to me, if I may say so, somewhat thinner in the face.'
She raised her eyes.
'You think I'm thinner.'
'Decidedly!' He seized the opportunity to regard her impassive, shadowed face with an expression of respectful solicitude and, as he leaned upon the counter, supported his small chin in his long fingers and posed his figure generally with an air of studied admiration.
'In fact,' he continued boldly, ''although as beautiful as ever, if you will permit me to say so, you look slightly indisposed. I am afraid the heat of the day is trying you. Could I get you a glass of water?'
Before she could refuse he had raised himself in a passion of service, was off like a shot, returned instantly with a brimming tumbler of sparkling water and had pressed the cold, clouded glass into her unresistant hand. 'Drink it, Miss Mary,' he insisted, 'it will do you good.' As she took a few sips so as not to hurt his feelings, a sudden anxious thought filled him with concern.
'I trust you have not been ill. You are so pale. Have you seen your physician?' he enquired in his best manner.
At his affected words, Mary stopped with the glass half raised to her lips as though a light had broken upon her with a sudden effulgence, showing her a pathway she must follow. She looked at Perry with the full force of her attention, then turned her gaze through the open doorway and beyond, whilst her mind filled with a sudden resolution that made her lips firm and straight.
For a moment she remained still, then, with a quick impulse, she got up and murmured, 'I must go now, Mr. Perry. Thank you for your kindness'; and before he could collect himself, she moved quietly away and went out of the shop, leaving him gazing blankly at the tumbler, the vacant chair, the empty air. What a strange girl, he thought, to go like that when he was behaving so admirably to her; but then, to be sure, women were strange creatures, and on the whole he had, he considered, acquitted himself very creditably. Mr. Perry began to whistle.
When Mary walked into the street she turned, not to the right, which was the direction for home, but to the left which would take her, if she pursued the road to its termination, to the far, Knoxhill end of the Borough. Peter Perry's chance remark had given her the solution she had been blindly seeking and it was that which now impelled her in this contrary direction. She would go and see a
doctor. Doctors were wise, trustworthy, kind; they healed, advised, comforted, yet respected one's confidence. Immediately she thought of the only practitioner she knew, Doctor Lawrie who, although he had not been in her home once in ten years, was nominally the family doctor, and she now remembered vividly the last time he had spoken to her, when he had placed his hand upon her small head and
remarked with a pompous benignity, 'Penny for a curl, young lady! Come along! Is it a bargain? You'll never miss it.' She had been ten then, and while he had not secured the ringlet she had received the penny. Although she had not met him since, she saw him frequently, driving in his dogcart, everywhere and at every hour, always in a hurry and, in her eyes, maintaining always the look her childish mind had memorised, of one learned, august and apart. He lived at Knox-
hill, in a large residence, old, mottled by lichen, but still imposing, breasting the ascent halfway up the hill, and as she made her way resolutely along the street, she recollected having heard that his hour of consultation began at noon.
It was considerable distance to the doctor's house, and soon she was forced to case the impulsive rapidity of her pace, she who a few months ago could have run the whole way without once losing breath. As her steps flagged, her resolution faltered slightly, and she began to wonder how she would approach him. The thought of seeking his advice had dawned upon her so happily that the difficulties of achieving this object had not occurred to her; but now they obtruded themselves upon her notice painfully, obviously, and with every step became more insurmountable. Should she begin by consulting him about her health? He would, she realised, instantly marvel that she should have come alone, without the escort and protection of her mother. Such a thing was unheard of and she conceived that he might even refuse to see her in her unaccompanied state; if he consented to see her and she advanced, in her inexperience some insufficient reason for her visit, she felt certain that with a few searching questions he would riddle any flimsy tissue which she might fabricate and leave her helpless and ashamed. At this she reflected sadly that the only way would be to tell the truth absolutely and to throw herself upon his mercy. Suppose, then, he were to disclose the visit to her parents; did the purpose she sought to achieve justify such a frightful hazard? Her thoughts wandered on in a maze of unreasoning perplexity as she began to ascend the in-line of Knoxhill.
At length she reached the gate of the doctor's residence, where his big, brass plate, dented in its early, uneasy days by an occasional stone from some mischievous urchin, and now polished into a smooth, undecipherable, respected serenity, shone like the eye of an oracle, compelling thither the weary and the sick.
Outside the gate, as she stood for a moment quelling her misgivings and mustering her courage, she saw approaching in the distance an elderly man whom she recognised as an acquaintance of her father's, and realising with a sudden start that she could not risk going in whilst he was in sight, she turned her back upon him and walked slowly past the house. From out of the corner of her eye she observed the big, solid house with its severe Georgian porch, its windows swathed in mysterious saffron curtains; felt it, with a growing uneasiness, looming more largely
