Arriving at the house, he found that Mr. and Mrs. Boffin were out, but that Miss Wilfer was in the drawing-room. Miss Wilfer had remained at home, in consequence of not feeling very well, and had inquired in the evening if Mr. Rokesmith were in his room.
“Make my compliments to Miss Wilfer, and say I am here now.”
Miss Wilfer’s compliments came down in return, and, if it were not too much trouble, would Mr. Rokesmith be so kind as to come up before he went?
It was not too much trouble, and Mr. Rokesmith came up.
Oh she looked very pretty, she looked very, very pretty! If the father of the late John Harmon had but left his money unconditionally to his son, and if his son had but lighted on this loveable girl for himself, and had the happiness to make her loving as well as loveable!
“Dear me! Are you not well, Mr. Rokesmith?”
“Yes, quite well. I was sorry to hear, when I came in, that you were not.”
“A mere nothing. I had a headache—gone now—and was not quite fit for a hot theatre, so I stayed at home. I asked you if you were not well, because you look so white.”
“Do I? I have had a busy evening.”
She was on a low ottoman before the fire, with a little shining jewel of a table, and her book and her work, beside her. Ah! what a different life the late John Harmon’s, if it had been his happy privilege to take his place upon that ottoman, and draw his arm about that waist, and say, “I hope the time has been long without me? What a Home Goddess you look, my darling!”