'If he should be rather a poor man--noble-minded and affectionate, but still poor--' Owen's footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, interrupted this fancy-free meditation. Reproaching herself, even angry with herself for allowing her mind to stray upon such subjects in the face of their present desperate condition, she rose to meet him, and make tea.
Cytherea's interest to know how her brother had been received at Mr.
Gradfield's broke forth into words at once. Almost before they had sat down to table, she began cross-examining him in the regular sisterly way.
'Well, Owen, how has it been with you to-day? What is the place like--do you think you will like Mr. Gradfield?' 'O yes. But he has not been there to-day; I have only had the head draughtsman with me.' Young women have a habit, not noticeable in men, of putting on at a moment's notice the drama of whosoever's life they choose.
Cytherea's interest was transferred from Mr. Gradfield to his representative.
'What sort of a man is he?' 'He seems a very nice fellow indeed; though of course I can hardly tell to a certainty as yet. But I think he's a very worthy fellow; there's no nonsense in him, and though he is not a public school man he has read widely, and has a sharp appreciation of what's good in books and art. In fact, his knowledge isn't nearly so exclusive as most professional men's.' 'That's a great deal to say of an architect, for of all professional men they are, as a rule, the most professional.' 'Yes; perhaps they are. This man is rather of a melancholy turn of mind, I think.' 'Has the managing clerk any family?' she mildly asked, after a while, pouring out some more tea.
'Family; no!' 'Well, dear Owen, how should I know?' 'Why, of course he isn't married. But there happened to be a conversation about women going on in the office, and I heard him say what he should wish his wife to be like.' 'What would he wish his wife to be like?' she said, with great apparent lack of interest.
'O, he says she must be girlish and artless: yet he would be loth to do without a dash of womanly subtlety, 'tis so piquant. Yes, he said, that must be in her; she must have womanly cleverness. "And yet I should like her to blush if only a cock-sparrow were to look at her hard," he said, "which brings me back to the girl again: and so I flit backwards and forwards. I must have what comes, I suppose," he said, "and whatever she may be, thank God she's no worse. However, if he might give a final hint to Providence," he said, "a child among pleasures, and a woman among pains was the rough outline of his requirement."' 'Did he say that? What a musing creature he must be.' 'He did, indeed.' 3. FROM THE TWELFTH TO THE FIFTEENTH OF JULY As is well known, ideas are so elastic in a human brain, that they have no constant measure which may be called their actual bulk. Any important idea may be compressed to a molecule by an unwonted crowding of others; and any small idea will expand to whatever length and breadth of vacuum the mind may be able to make over to it. Cytherea's world was tolerably vacant at this time, and the young architectural designer's image became very pervasive. The next evening this subject was again renewed.