He took his leave with distinguished courtliness.
"If I have a moment I shall run in to-morrow morning just to let you know I'm all right," said he, in the white street.
"Oh, do!" said Constance.
Constance's perfect innocence made her strangely forward at times.
"A happy New Year and many of them!"
"Thanks!
Same to you!
Don't get lost."
"Straight up the Square and first on the right," called the commonsense of Mr. Povey.
Nothing else remained to say, and the visitor disappeared silently in the whirling snow.
"Brrr!" murmured Mr. Povey, shutting the door.
Everybody felt:
"What a funny ending of the old year!"
"Sophia, my pet," Mrs. Baines began.
But Sophia had vanished to bed.
"Tell her about her new night-dress," said Mrs. Baines to Constance.
"Yes, mother."
"I don't know that I'm so set up with that young man, after all," Mrs. Baines reflected aloud.
"Oh, mother!" Constance protested. "I think he's just lovely."
"He never looks you straight in the face," said Mrs. Baines.
"Don't tell ME!" laughed Constance, kissing her mother good night.
"You're only on your high horse because he didn't praise your mince.
I noticed it."
IV
"If anybody thinks I'm going to stand the cold in this showroom any longer, they're mistaken," said Sophia the next morning loudly, and in her mother's hearing. And she went down into the shop carrying bonnets.
She pretended to be angry, but she was not.
She felt, on the contrary, extremely joyous, and charitable to all the world.
Usually she would take pains to keep out of the shop; usually she was preoccupied and stern.
Hence her presence on the ground-floor, and her demeanour, excited interest among the three young lady assistants who sat sewing round the stove in the middle of the shop, sheltered by the great pile of shirtings and linseys that fronted the entrance.
Sophia shared Constance's corner.
They had hot bricks under their feet, and fine-knitted wraps on their shoulders.
They would have been more comfortable near the stove, but greatness has its penalties.
The weather was exceptionally severe.
The windows were thickly frosted over, so that Mr. Povey's art in dressing them was quite wasted.
And--rare phenomenon!--the doors of the shop were shut. In the ordinary way they were not merely open, but hidden by a display of 'cheap lines.'
Mr. Povey, after consulting Mrs. Baines, had decided to close them, foregoing the customary display.
Mr. Povey had also, in order to get a little warmth into his limbs, personally assisted two casual labourers to scrape the thick frozen snow off the pavement; and he wore his kid mittens.
All these things together proved better than the evidence of barometers how the weather nipped.
Mr. Scales came about ten o'clock.
Instead of going to Mr. Povey's counter, he walked boldly to Constance's corner, and looked over the boxes, smiling and saluting.
Both the girls candidly delighted in his visit.
Both blushed; both laughed--without knowing why they laughed.
Mr. Scales said he was just departing and had slipped in for a moment to thank all of them for their kindness of last night--'or rather this morning.'
The girls laughed again at this witticism.
Nothing could have been more simple than his speech.
Yet it appeared to them magically attractive.
A customer entered, a lady; one of the assistants rose from the neighbourhood of the stove, but the daughters of the house ignored the customer; it was part of the etiquette of the shop that customers, at any rate chance customers, should not exist for the daughters of the house, until an assistant had formally drawn attention to them.
Otherwise every one who wanted a pennyworth of tape would be expecting to be served by Miss Baines, or Miss Sophia, if Miss Sophia were there. Which would have been ridiculous.
Sophia, glancing sidelong, saw the assistant parleying with the customer; and then the assistant came softly behind the counter and approached the corner.
"Miss Constance, can you spare a minute?" the assistant whispered discreetly.