masterly worker – and the succession of a girl ignorant of business. For the rest we were, as I say, settling down. Even Cartmell's activity caused us at Breysgate no sense of bustle, for it took him to London the day after the funeral and kept him there for above a fortnight.
When I say that "we" were settling down I mean the trio formed by Miss Driver, myself – and Miss Emily Chatters. It is my duty to introduce Miss Chatters with proper formality, and I will introduce her presently – but let us take people in their order. Miss Driver had inspected her property (except the wine cellar which, to Loft's dismay, she declined to enter); she had chosen her own set of rooms and given orders for them to be entirely refurnished; she had announced her intention – and small blame to her – of extending the refurnishing process to all the sitting-rooms – at least to the sitting-rooms; she had chosen her own hack from the stables – and I have no doubt that she had done what was immediately requisite as regards her wardrobe. At any rate, an air of achievement dwelt about her. For my part I performed my duties, and began to find that I had less work to do – and more time occupied in doing it. In Mr. Driver's day we worked as few men except Mr. Driver understood work from ten to one; then, as a rule, I was free. Under the new régime we worked at a gentler pressure – a much gentler pressure – for the same morning hours; but I stayed to lunch always, I came back to tea frequently, and I returned to dinner two or three evenings in the week. My duties as secretary grew lighter, but I seemed to be assuming the functions of a companion. I may do myself the incidental justice of saying that I rather resented this tendency to transform my office; but it was not easy to resist. She was paying for my whole time as her father had paid for it; it was her right, within wide limits, to say to what uses it should be put. Or – I could go. The liberty – perhaps it is rather theoretical – of "chucking my job" remained to me as to every free-born Englishman – who sees his way to getting another whereby to live. Not that I wished to surrender mine; I was interested and – to tell the truth – I grew, within our jurisdiction, important. She approached the assumption of her power cautiously, and at first would return almost any answer to almost any letter at my suggestion. I did not expect this to last, but so it was for the moment. For instance it was I, in ultimate reality, who offered that ten thousand pounds toward the Memorial Hall. I had a great difficulty in fixing the proper figure. If I may judge from the language employed by the Mayor (Councillor Bindlecombe) in public, I exceeded all possible anticipations of munificence; in private, I am told, he confessed to having entertained a hope of fifteen thousand. I imagine that my figure was not, on a balancing of considerations, far wide of the mark. Cartmell thought five thousand would have served – but old Cartmell was a screw with other people's money. I remembered "Give handsomely when you give." So, I think, did Jenny Driver. All the same, Bindlecombe did, in my opinion, open his mouth a bit too wide.
Miss Chatters came two days after the funeral – in the new black silk dress: it rustled powerfully. She was tall, had pale-brown hair with a broad parting in the middle, a very long inquiring nose, faded blue eyes, an absolutely flat chin, and – inconceivable gentility. If we others were settling she settled far quicker. She took the bedroom next to Jenny Driver's; she annexed a small sitting-room for her own – next but one to Jenny Driver's; she had a glass of the best port every day at eleven. ("She came down to the cellar and chose the bin herself, sir," Loft informed me with a wry smile of grudge for his dearest possessions.) Yet all these acts of proprietorship – for they pretty nearly came to that – were performed with a meekness, a deprecation, a ladylikeness (I can find no other word) that made opposition seem unkind and criticism ungenerous. It was only "Poor Chat!" She had a habit of talking to Jenny in a kind of baby-language, and used to refer to herself as "Poor Chat." "Poor Chat doesn't know!" "Poor Chat's not wise!" Also she did keep talking about her name and the respectability of her descent. In fact she was a woman of a number of silly affectations and one or two exasperating foibles, and Cartmell never varied from his impromptu judgment – expressed before he had seen her – that she was a fool. It is my deliberate opinion that she wished to be thought more of a fool than she was – partly from an idea that little sillinesses and affectations were genteel, partly with the notion that they were disarming. She seemed always bent on showing you that she was not the sort of person from whom any opposition need be feared, nor any undue exercise of influence apprehended. It could only be supposed that she had found this line of conduct useful in her relations toward her employers; by contrast it flattered both their superior brains and their superior positions. I allow for her natural taste, for her standards of gentility. But she was a snob, too, "Poor Chat," and a time-server.
No harder words than those need be used about her – and they are too hard perhaps; for there is one thing to be said on the other side – and it is a thing of weight. Chat was fifty; as a governess she was hopelessly out of date; I do not suppose that she saw her daily bread secure for three months ahead. For a hundred pounds a year certain – secure from the caprice of employers or of fate – she would probably have done or been anything – even, so far as she could, honest.
But honesty alone, as she may well have reflected, does not breed security of tenure in subordinate positions. I am far from saying that it ought; on the whole I consider it to be a commoner, and therefore a cheaper and more easily obtainable – and replaceable – commodity than either a good brain or an agreeable demeanor. At any rate how easily it may come near to costing a man his place I was very soon to discover by my own experience. Well, perhaps, to honesty I ought to add a lack of diplomacy and a temper naturally hot. But I am not sure: I cannot see how any man could have done anything very different – given that he was barely honest.
"There's a person in the drawing-room with the ladies, sir," said Loft one day when I came up to tea at four o'clock.
Loft's social terminology was exact. When he said a "person" he did not mean a "gentleman" – who was a gentleman – nor a "man" – who was a member of the definitely lower orders of the community; he meant somebody in between, one of the doubtful cases.
"A Mr. Powers, sir. He's been here perhaps half an hour."
It may readily be supposed that I had not forgotten the name of Powers; the name and the incident were irrevocably – and uncomfortably – fixed in my mind. This "person" might not be the same Powers, but in overwhelming probability he was. Even if Jenny had not been in communication with him – and I did not believe that she had – the paragraphs would easily have brought about this visit – or visitation. He came scenting prey – he had read of the heiress! But why had she let him in?
"Did he give you a card, Loft?"
"Yes, sir. I took it in, and Miss Driver told me to ask the person to come in."
If it were not material, neither was it necessary to ask what Loft thought about the matter. Plainly Mr. Powers was not up to his standard for drawing-room visitors.
"Have you got the card?"
He took it from the hall table. "Mr. Nelson Powers." There was no address.
"All right, Loft. But before I join them, I want to telephone to London." Of course Mr. Driver had installed a telephone, and many a day we had kept it very busy.
By luck I got into speedy communication with Cartmell at his hotel. He heard my news. His answer was to the point: "Kick him out."
"But if I try to do that, it gives you away. You're not supposed to have told me."
"Then give me away," came back instantly. "Only get him out. He's a dangerous rascal – and not fit for any decent man or woman to talk to. How in Heaven's name she can – "
"Perhaps she's frightened," I pleaded. He answered only "Kick him out," and cut off communication.
She did not look at all frightened when I went in. She was standing opposite Powers, smiling gayly and mischievously. Powers was apparently just taking his leave. So much gained! I determined to go to the hall with him and give him a hint, on Cartmell's behalf, that
