The Making of a Soul | Page 8

a bit better than militancy, less upsetting; but women are so
incomprehensible when they're in what they are pleased to call love
that it's rather difficult to know what they're driving at."
"Oh, all right!" Owen's flippancy disturbed Barry, and he spoke shortly,
whereupon Owen smiled meaningly, and Barry went out of the room
rather hurriedly.
Once safe in his own sanctum he lamented the unkind Fate which had
given Owen's heart as a plaything into the hands of an unscrupulous

woman such as Miss Rees had proved herself to be. Although Owen
rarely mentioned the subject, Barry knew well enough that he had not
relinquished the idea of a speedy marriage. Once or twice Owen had
asked him his opinion of this or that woman with whom they were both
acquainted; but so far he had shown no signs of forming any new
engagement, though Barry lived in a state of apprehension lest his
friend should suddenly announce a more or less undesirable tie.
For Owen, perhaps naturally, shunned the women of his own set. They
all knew too much, knew the history of his disastrous engagement too
well--were, in many cases, friends of the woman who had jilted him;
and were therefore no acquaintances for a man in his mood.
But there were other women, with whom, before his departure for the
East, he had been on terms of casual acquaintance; the daughters of
City friends, girls who lived in Kensington or Hampstead, girls with
brothers who had knocked up against the young men in athletic or
journalistic circles; an actress or two; good-hearted, ordinary young
women for the most part, commonplace in spite of suburban leanings
towards "culture," and in many cases entirely out of sympathy with the
aims and ideals of both Owen and his friend.
As a matter of fact Owen and Barry were too busy during these
strenuous days to have time for social delights; but now and then they
met one or other of these various girls, visited one of the actresses on a
"first night," dined, reluctantly, in Earl's Court or Belsize Road, and on
the following morning Owen would ask Barry, half-teasingly, whether
Rose or Sybil or Gwendoline struck him as the most suitable bride for
an already jilted bachelor.
Barry never took up the subject, showed plainly by his manner that he
did not like the jest; but the occasional queries went to show that the
idea of marriage was still in his friend's thoughts; and Barry was now
and again seriously uneasy lest some designing woman--that was the
way he put it--should make the vague possibility into an accomplished
fact.
And then, just when the idea seemed to be fading, lost in the pressure

of work, the interest of bringing forth the first realization of a lifelong
dream, the woman herself--but she was not designing--came.
CHAPTER IV
Miss Antonia Gibbs came from the typewriting office with excellent
testimonials. Though but eighteen years of age, she was vouched for as
a steady, conscientious worker, well-educated and of exceptional
intelligence. Quick, accurate, and possessed of a capital memory, she
would seem to be the ideal typist for an office such as that presided
over by Owen Rose; and after perusing the certificates and other
documents forming what one might call her dossier, Owen had really
no choice but to engage the prodigy.
When she received the letter announcing the fact Miss Gibbs danced
with delight.
"Two pounds a week! Think of it!" Thus she besought her cousin
Fanny, a rather full-blown young woman employed in a
"drapery-house" at Brixton. "And easy hours--with an hour off for
lunch! Isn't it lovely!"
"You'll have the office 'commish' to pay," her cousin reminded her,
"and I know all about those short hours! Sound well, but they generally
want overtime out of you--without paying for it either!"
"Do they?" Antonia's joy was momentarily checked. Then she
recovered her spirits. "Anyway, even then it's a good post, and I can
easily pay the commission out of two pounds!"
"Yes, of course." Fanny, whose natural optimism was somewhat
impaired by her experience in drapers' shops, cheered up also. "It's a
grand opportunity for you, Toni, and mind you make the most of it."
"Rather," returned Toni gaily. "I'm to start to-morrow, so this is my last
free night. Aren't you glad some people are coming in to tea?"
"Yes." Fanny, recalled to the immediate present, began her preparations

for the tea-party. "Josh'll be pleased to hear of your luck, Toni; he's real
fond of you, you know."
"Is he?" Toni, pulling off her flannel blouse, spoke a trifle absently.
"Yes. If I weren't fond of you myself I declare I'd be jealous! Don't
know how it is, all the boys seem to take to you straight away, Toni,
and you