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On arriving in his office upstairs, George seated himself comfortably, and read Miss Fairbrother's note for the sixth or seventh time. He was not one of those men who are prostrated by a sudden change of fortune, but there were materials in this epistle with which even the most unimaginative man might build castles in the air. Taking it word for word, it was at the least most soothing to the heart of George. The note was as follows:—

George lunched that day at the Carlton, and from there proceeded in a hansom cab to Brunswick Terrace.

Miss Fairbrother had elected to remove her aunt for the time being, so that the interview was quite private.

The ordeal of being thanked by a rich young lady whose life you have saved must be a most embarrassing one to most men; to George it did not prove so. He found himself much more at ease than he had expected to be. The embarrassment was all on Miss Fairbrother's side.

She was not sparing in her praise of what she called "his noble action," but, though her voice had the ring of honesty, and her words were sincere, she found it easier to look at the pictures and the furniture than at George Early. Whenever she caught his eye, the pink glow in her cheeks deepened, and her fingers toyed nervously with the lace on her gown. Any young man with a proper regard for the delicate sensibilities of the fair sex would, on finding a young lady so prettily confused, make a valiant effort to put her at her ease. This George did by assuming a very modest demeanour and concentrating his gaze on the hearthrug. It was effectual, for it gave Miss Fairbrother confidence, and led her to speak of the valuable help George had given to the firm since he had accepted the office of junior clerk, facts which surprised George, and were a testimonial to Miss Fairbrother's skill as an inventor.

"I feel sure," she said impulsively, "that some day you will be a partner in the firm."

"No," said George, modestly; "I shouldn't think so."

"Oh, but I am sure you will! You are so—you know so many things. Doesn't it surprise the others to find how much you know?"

George valiantly suppressed a sudden fit of coughing.

"Now you come to mention it," he said, "I think it does."

"I'm sure it must do," said Miss Fairbrother, warmly. "I think courage and cleverness are things that people cannot help noticing. And unselfishness; think how noble it is to do things for others!"

"Splendid!" said George. "But you can't help it if it's born in you."

"It isn't always that," said Miss Fairbrother. "Some men are very brave. They give their lives up to benefiting their fellow-creatures, and watching over them as if they were helpless little children."

"Yes," said George, turning his imagination to the past; "my old father used to say, 'Never mind yourself, George; others first—others first, m' lad.'"

"I knew it," cried Miss Fairbrother, with a brightening of the eye that George didn't fail to notice. "You've been following that good advice in spite of all obstacles. Oh, if only everybody would fight and overcome difficulties like that!"

"It's been a bit hard," said George, reminiscently.

"But think of the victory," cried Miss Fairbrother, "when you look back on what you have done."

"Ah! If people only knew."

"Yes," a little doubtfully; "but of course you don't exactly want people to know."

"That's just it; they mustn't know a word about it."

"If they did?" she breathed.

"It wouldn't do," said George; "they wouldn't all be so grateful as you."

Miss Fairbrother's fingers grew nervous again, and the point of one tiny little shoe attracted all her attention. George, looking out of the corner of one eye, felt that matters were progressing most satisfactorily.

"I suppose," said Miss Fairbrother, softly, without turning her head, "you've—you've saved other people before?"

George at once became so modest and so concerned about the inside lining of his hat, that Miss Fairbrother looked up, and added quickly—

"You have; I'm sure you have. Do tell me about it! Oh, I should like to know!"

George took out his handkerchief and rubbed his nose very hard, a performance that may have been actuated by emotion or equivocation.

"I don't want to talk about it," he said, with a suspicion of huskiness in his throat.

"Perhaps they were very ungrateful," Miss Fairbrother observed sympathetically.

"That's it," said George; "some people don't deserve to be saved."

"I'm afraid I haven't given you much but my thanks."

"Don't mention it. It's a pleasure to save any one like you. I'd like to do it every day."

Miss Fairbrother suddenly became so interested in something she saw outside the window that only one pink ear was visible to her rescuer.

"When I think of yesterday," continued George, leaning forward and speaking slowly, "I can't understand why I called up that cab so soon and put you in it, and why I didn't stand there holding you."

He paused a moment, but Miss Fairbrother never moved. The pink ear seemed to be growing pinker. George went on daringly—

"That ride home in the cab was a ride I shall always think about. I don't think I took my eyes off you once all the way. How could I, when——"

Here the conversation, which threatened to take an alarming turn, was interrupted by the sudden entrance of a maid with tea.

That interval of a few minutes so destroyed the continuity of George Early's argument that he decided to abandon it. Miss Fairbrother, having satisfied her curiosity through the window pane, immediately on the entrance of the tea affected to forget what he had been talking of, and invited him with an uncommon lightness of spirits to draw nearer to the small tea-table.

Whatever George Early may have thought of the lady's charms on the previous evening, he was now convinced that they were many and various. In the office she was usually bored and a little bewildered, and at times inclined to be cross about business problems. Her speech was frequently plaintive, and her hair out of curl. Here, with all the worries of business left behind, she was demure, pretty, and altogether charming. Her eyes sparkled, and the little frowns that were apt to pucker her fair brow gave place to smiling lines around the mouth. In that big office she looked out of place, a frail and worried little body; in this drawing-room she was in perfect harmony with her surroundings, while George seemed out of place there. He felt out of place too, at first; but being of a nature that easily adapts itself to circumstances, he was soon chattering as pleasantly as if he'd been used to drawing-rooms all his life. It was evident that Miss Fairbrother approved of him, and felt satisfied that her rescuer was a young man of noble ideas and a true hero. She was probably not unaware that he was also a good-looking young man, with well-brushed hair, and a smile that was not without charm. These things she had doubtless overlooked before in the worries of business.

George was not a man to miss opportunities, in spite of the adverse criticism of his fellow-workers in the firm of Fairbrother. Having created a good impression, he knew that the next thing to do was to make it lasting. Afternoon tea and pleasant conversation with a girl you have rescued from an untimely death are not among the unsweetened things of this world, but George saw fit to bring his visit to an early close by evincing an earnest desire to return to Fairbrothers' on business which could not be neglected.

Miss Fairbrother approved of his close application to the firm's affairs, but was not sure that she had thanked him sufficiently for what he had done for her. George assured her that by supplying him with a final cup of tea the debt would be fully paid.

Whereat Miss Fairbrother laughed—a sweet, tinkling, little darling of a laugh.

Whereat George laughed—a polite, hearty, good-humoured laugh.

What more natural than that George's big manly hand should press Miss Fairbrother's little finger in taking that cup of tea, and that Miss Fairbrother should blush and hurriedly pour out an extra cup for herself? What more natural than that George should look at her out of the corner of his eye, and find her looking at him out of the corner of her eye; and that they should both be ashamed at having caught each other in the very act? Nothing more natural, surely.

But George knew what a good many men would not have known—that this was the very moment to go. And go he did.

"Good-bye," said Miss Fairbrother, smiling and holding out a very pretty white hand; "I'm very grateful to you."

"Good-bye," said George, taking the pretty hand in his; "I'm glad I was there."

George walked away in a most satisfied frame of mind. He halted half-way up the terrace and looked back at the great portico and massive windows of the Fairbrother mansion.

"Nice house that," he said; "nice girl too—devilish nice girl!"

Then he called a hansom and drove to Liverpool Street, for, urgent as the firm's business happened to be, his own at the moment was of more consequence.

That night when Gray got home his lodger's room was vacant; George Early had moved into West End lodgings.

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