Chapter XV Koko is Thanked
Dora often looked at her engagement ring. It was a beautiful ring, and had cost Mr Jefferson thirty pounds. Dora did not know this, but she knew it was a very expensive and valuable ring, and she was very proud of it. She often looked at it—she was for ever holding up her left hand and admiring this lovely, shining, diamond ring—this ring which glittered in dark places and flashed and twinkled even when her hand was quite still.
Dora felt that she was a very lucky girl to have a lover who could give her such a ring. Her stepmother had told her that she ought to consider herself very lucky, and so Dora supposed that she ought to. Yes, it was a beautiful ring, and Dora had blushed when Mr Jefferson had put it on her finger and kissed her. She felt that she was very fond of Mr Jefferson. Few girls, indeed, could boast such a lover as he—good-looking, perfectly dressed, the pink of politeness, and very much in love with her.
She was sure now that she was fond of him. He had proposed to her quite suddenly one night as they were driving home from the theatre. Dora had been considerably flurried by the suddenness of the proposal, and had asked for time to consider her answer. Mr Jefferson had seemed a little put out at her not accepting him at once, but with as good a grace as he could muster he had consented to give her the time she required in which to think him over, and went off for a fortnight’s shooting in Scotland.
During this period Dora gave the matter careful consideration, and discussed it with her stepmother. She did not do this very willingly, but Mrs Maybury insisted on introducing the topic, she having been informed by Mr Jefferson of the fact that he had asked Dora to marry him. Mrs Maybury pointed out to Dora that she would, in all probability, never get such a good offer again—that it would be the wildest folly on her part to refuse Mr Jefferson. What was she—Dora? A post-office clerk! Did she wish to go on performing such drudgery? Of course not! This was one of a thousand reasons why she ought to accept Mr Jefferson!
As to the nine hundred and ninety-nine other reasons—well, one of them that must occur to Dora was the fact that her father was employed by the Jeffersons. It was in young Mr Jefferson’s power to put Mr Maybury in a much better position at the office. Dora must bear that in mind.
But apart from all this, she had always understood that Dora was very fond of Mr Jefferson. Had she not accepted presents from him and accompanied him to the theatre, to the Exhibition, to all sorts of places? In short, Dora had encouraged him in every possible way, and Mrs Maybury was surprised—greatly surprised—to hear that Dora had even asked for time in which to consider her reply. In Mrs Maybury’s opinion, Mr Jefferson had acted in a most considerate manner; he would have been justified in demanding an immediate “Yes” or “No.” As it was, he had shown great forbearance.
Mrs Maybury had introduced the topic one evening when Miss Bird and Mr Cleave were present, as well as herself and Dora. She supposed that they both knew that Mr Jefferson had proposed to Dora. They would, therefore, be rather surprised to hear that Dora had asked for time in which to consider her answer.
“Ridiculous!” said Miss Bird. “She ought to write and accept him at once. What do you say, Mr Cleave?”
“Didn’t quite catch——” replied Mr Cleave, putting his hand up to his ear.
“I say she ought to write and accept him at once!” howled Miss Bird.
Mr Cleave nodded rapidly. “Yes, an admirable offer. A most temperate young man. Yes—as you say—at once!”
“I am sure, Mr Cleave, I can get on quite well without your advice!” snapped Dora.
“My advice,” said Mr Cleave, who only caught the last word of her sentence, “is to accept him. Yes, a good match. A most temperate young man.”
“It’s got nothing to do with temperance,” roared Miss Bird.
Mr Cleave heard this remark—the people in the next house probably did as well—and looked at Miss Bird reproachfully.
“I hope you are not falling away from the Cause?” he said.
“It’s got nothing to do with the Cause!” bellowed Miss Bird. “What I say is, a bad husband is better than no husband at all. Even a pretty girl doesn’t get too many offers nowadays. Mr Jefferson will make a very good husband, and if Dora doesn’t accept him she’ll be a fool!”
“You hear what Miss Bird says!” observed Mrs Maybury, looking at Dora.
“Thank you,” said Dora, in an icy voice, “I think I can manage my affairs without assistance from Miss Bird!”
With which declaration she flung off to bed.
Eventually, however, she accepted Mr Jefferson. The argument that weighed with her most was that by becoming engaged to Mr Jefferson she could not help but benefit her father. One of the first things Mr Jefferson would do (asseverated Mrs Maybury), after becoming engaged to Dora, would be to find some way of bettering Mr Maybury’s position at the office.
It must be borne in mind, too, that Dora was by no means indifferent to Mr Jefferson. Had he suddenly ceased to pay her attentions she would have felt greatly hurt and annoyed, for she had become accustomed to his society, and always enjoyed herself very much whenever he took her out.
“Oh, Miss, what a lovely ring!” cried Mary, when she saw the trinket with which Jefferson had clinched the engagement; “oh! what gleamin’ jools! What a rich gentleman he must be, Miss! Dr Mortimer couldn’t give you a ring like that, Miss—he’s too poor!”
Dora, who had been allowing the little servant to examine the ring (they were in her bedroom at the time, which was bedtime), drew her hand away sharply.
“Don’t be so silly, Mary. You really are very stupid sometimes; you say such absurd things.”
“I didn’t mean anything, Miss,” replied Mary, who had really spoken quite innocently; “it only came into my head, like.”
“Then you have a very silly head!” exclaimed Dora.
Mary was going out of the room when Dora called her back.
“I’m so tired, Mary. Would you mind brushing my hair for me?”
“Of course I will, Miss,” cried Mary (who had been pattering about since six in the morning); “I always love to do things for you, Miss!”
Dora sat down in front of the looking-glass, and Mary took her hair down and combed it and brushed it, “just like a grand lady’s,” as she said.
“I expect you’ll have your own maid when you’re married to Mr Jefferson, Miss,” added Mary.
Dora made no reply. She was thinking—and the poor overworked little servant, with her woman’s instinct, divined her thoughts.
“Don’t you think, Miss,” she said, presently, “that Dr Mortimer’s thinner than when he first came?”
“Oh, I haven’t noticed it,” said Dora, carelessly.
“I have,” returned Mary.
She brushed away vigorously without speaking for some little time, and then she said: “I wonder if he’s in love, Miss!”
“Who?” demanded Dora, quite unnecessarily.
“Why, Miss, Dr Mortimer!”
“How should I know!” cried Dora. “Please be quick, Mary—I’m so tired.”
“I sometimes think that he is,” continued the sentimental little servant, “by the look in his eyes, Miss. I should think,” added Mary thoughtfully “that he would be a very faithful lover, like the knights and barons you read of in books. Don’t you think so too, Miss?”
“What idiotic things you say, Mary!” cried Dora, impatiently. “There, I think you’ve brushed my hair quite enough. Thank you very much.”
“Quite welcome, Miss,” said the little servant; “Good-night, Miss!”
“Good-night, Mary.”
The diamond ring, twinkling and flashing, attracted a good deal of attention at the post-office. The other clerks went into raptures about it, and told Dora that she was a very lucky girl. Everybody—it seemed to Dora—said she was a lucky girl. Dora did not altogether appreciate being informed so frequently of her stupendous luck. After all, this ring was only the symbol of a bargain. Was she not giving herself in exchange for it? She did not put the matter to herself quite in these words, but this was the drift of her reflections on the subject. Why should she be considered so very, very lucky?
Miss Cook and she got away from the post-office early one afternoon.
“We will have a nice tea somewhere,” said Dora; “I will treat you, dear.”
“Shall we go to tea with Mr Somers?” suggested Miss Cook.
“Mr Somers! But he will be out.”
“No, he won’t. I saw him last night at the house of some friends of mine, and he told me he would be in to-day. I knew we should get off early to-day, and so I asked him,” added Miss Cook, a little shamefacedly.
Dora sighed. She was fond of Miss Cook, and she was afraid that Mr Somers was never likely to take a fancy to her friend.
“Very well, dear; we will go and see Mr Somers.”
They turned their steps, therefore, in the direction of the Adelphi, where, along a modest terrace, Koko did dwell.
Presently Dora said: “What friends did you go to see last night, Rose?”
“Oh, some old friends of ours—not at all grand. He is a bookseller.”
“I suppose he has all the new novels. I wonder if he ever reads them!”
“He doesn’t have any new novels, Dora. He is a second-hand bookseller. He deals in all sorts of old books.”
“Oh!” said Dora. “Mr Somers is very fond of collecting old books, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he has found some very good ones in the twopenny boxes—you know—the boxes which they mark ‘THIS LOT 2d.’”
Dora laughed.
“Does Mr Somers go routing about for old books in those boxes?”
“Yes; he has made several ‘finds,’ as he calls them. My friend bought some from him a short time ago.”
“What! has he been selling them again?”
“Yes; I wonder why! He called on my friend quite late one night, and sold him twelve very valuable books. He got fifty pounds for them. I wonder why he sold them—he is so fond of his old books! But here we are! Isn’t it a queer, musty old place!”
Koko received the girls with a smile of genuine pleasure. He bustled about and got tea for them, and then Dora played to them both on a very old but still tuneful piano that Koko had picked up at a sale years since.
Then, while Miss Cook sat down and tried to pick out a march on the piano, Koko showed Dora his treasures, and spent quite a time telling her little anecdotes as to how this book and that book had come into his possession. While he talked, Dora was putting two and two together. She remembered how amazed Jim had looked when Koko said he was going to set up in Mount street, and she remembered how Koko had hurried away in the middle of dinner. She understood now why he had done so.
“Some have gone from here,” said Dora, pointing to a gap in one of the shelves.
“Yes,” said Koko, in an off-hand way, “I have a clear-out occasionally.”
“Did you sell them?” she asked.
“Rather—I don’t give my books away.”
“And did you get a good price for them?”
“Fair,” said Koko; “yes, a fair price.”
Miss Cook ended up with a loud and inharmonious chord, and rose from the piano.
“Come, Dora—we must be going.”
“Oh, don’t go yet,” urged Koko.
“We must—it is getting late, and Dora is expected at home. Good-bye, Mr Somers.”
They shook hands, and Miss Cook sauntered out into the passage.
And now Dora had to say good-bye.
“Mr Somers—I know why you sold those books. You wanted to help Dr Mortimer.”
Koko gazed at her for a few moments without speaking, and then said, quite simply: “Yes, I did. Jim’s my best friend. I’d do anything to help him.”
As he spoke, his glance wandered to the half-emptied shelf. Much as he loved his old books, however, he did not regret his recent sacrifice.
“You are a very good man, Mr Somers—very kind and good. I only wish,” she added, with demure hesitation, “that I were a little younger, for then it would be quite proper for me to—to kiss you.”
“Are you coming, Dora?” Miss Cook was growing impatient.
Koko turned to Dora with a smile and took her hand.
“If I were a little younger, perhaps it would not be proper,” he said gently, “but as I’m ever so much older than you, don’t you think that——”
“Why, yes,” said Dora, and, bending swiftly, she kissed him.