THE HESITATION OF MR. MANNERING


The peculiar atmosphere of the room, heavy with the newest perfume from
the Burlington Arcade, and the scent of exotic flowers, at no time
pleasing to him, seemed more than usually oppressive to Mannering as he
fidgetted about waiting for the woman whom he had come to see. He was
conscious of a restless longing to open wide the windows, take the
flowers from their vases, throw them into the street, and poke out the
fire. The little room, with all its associations, its almost pathetic
attempts at refinement, its furniture which reeked of the Tottenham Court
Road, was suddenly hateful to him. He detested his presence there, and
its object. He was already in a state of nervous displeasure when the
door opened.

The girl who entered seemed in a sense as ill in accord with such
surroundings as himself. She was plainly dressed in black, her hair
brushed back, her complexion pale, her eyes brilliant with a not
altogether natural light. She regarded him with a curious mixture of fear
and welcome. The latter, however, triumphed easily. She came towards him
with out-stretched hand and a delightful smile.

"You;--so soon again!" she exclaimed. "Were there--so many mistakes?"

Mannering's face softened. He was half ashamed of his irritation. He
answered her kindly.

"Scarcely any, Hester," he answered. "Your typing is always excellent."

Her anxiety was only half allayed.