Salthaven | Page 8

made an endorsement; looked at it with
his head on one side and struck it out again.
[Illustration: Immersed in a bundle of papers 038]
"My father?" said Miss Hartley, in a small but determined voice.
Mr. Vyner gazed at her in a preoccupied fashion. Suddenly his face
changed.
"Good gracious! yes," he said, springing up and going to the door.

"How stupid of me!"
He stepped into the corridor and stood reflecting. In some
circumstances he could be business-like enough. After reflecting for
three minutes he came back into the room.
"He will be in soon," he said, resuming his seat. Inwardly he resolved
to go and fetch him later on--when the conversation flagged, for
instance. Meantime he took up his papers and shook his head over
them.
"I wish I had got your father's head for business," he said, ruefully.
Miss Hartley turned on him a face from which all primness had
vanished. The corners of her mouth broke and her eyes grew soft. She
smiled at Mr. Vyner, and Mr. Vyner, pluming himself upon his address,
smiled back.
"If I knew half as much as he does," he continued, "I'd--I'd----"
Miss Hartley waited, her eyes bright with expectation.
"I'd," repeated Mr. Vyner, who had rashly embarked on a sentence
before he had seen the end of it, "have a jolly easy time of it," he
concluded, breathlessly.
Miss Hartley surveyed him in pained surprise. "I thought my father
worked very hard," she said, with a little reproach in her voice.
"So he does," said the young man, hastily, "but he wouldn't if he only
had my work to do; that's what I meant. As far as he is concerned he
works far too hard. He sets an example that is a trouble to all of us
except the office-boy. Do you know Bassett?"
Miss Hartley smiled. "My father tells me he is a very good boy," she
said.
"A treasure!" said Robert. "'Good' doesn't describe Bassett. He is the
sort of boy who would get off a 'bus after paying his fare to kick a piece

of orange peel off the pavement. He has been nourished on copy-book
headings and 'Sanford and Merton.' Ever read 'Sanford and Merton'?"
"I--I tried to once," said Joan.
"There was no 'trying' with Bassett," said Mr. Vyner, rather severely.
"He took to it as a duck takes to water. By modelling his life on its
teaching he won a silver medal for never missing an attendance at
school."
"Father has seen it," said Joan, with a smile.
"Even the measles failed to stop him," continued Robert. "Day by day,
a little more flushed than usual, perhaps, he sat in his accustomed place
until the whole school was down with it and had to be closed in
consequence. Then, and not till then, did Bassett feel that he had saved
the situation."
"I don't suppose he knew it, poor boy," said Joan.
"Anyway, he got the medal," said Robert, "and he has a row of prizes
for good conduct. I never had one; not even a little one. I suppose you
had a lot?"
Miss Hartley maintained a discreet silence.
"Nobody ever seemed to notice my good conduct," continued Mr.
Vyner, still bent on making conversation. "They always seemed to
notice the other kind fast enough; but the 'good' seemed to escape
them."
He sighed faintly, and glancing at the girl, who was looking out of the
window again, took up his pen and signed his blotting-paper.
"I suppose you know the view from that window pretty well?" he said,
putting the paper aside with great care.
"Ever since I was a small girl," said Joan, looking round. "I used to
come here sometimes and wait for father. Not so much lately; and now,

of course--"
Mr. Vyner looked uncomfortable. "I hope you will come to this room
whenever you want to see him," he said, earnestly. "He--he seemed to
prefer being in the general office."
Miss Hartley busied herself with the window again. "Seemed to
prefer," she said, impatiently, under her breath. "Yes."
There was a long silence, which Mr. Vyner, gazing in mute
consternation at the vision of indignant prettiness by the window, felt
quite unable to break. He felt that the time had at last arrived at which
he might safely fetch Mr. Hartley without any self-upbraidings later on,
and was just about to rise when the faint tap at the door by which
Bassett always justified his entrance stopped him, and Bassett entered
the room with some cheques for signature. Despite his habits, the youth
started slightly as he saw the visitor, and then, placing the cheques
before Mr. Vyner, stood patiently by the table while he signed them.
"That will do," said the latter, as he finished. "Thank you."
"Thank