“What difference does that make? The distance is nothing if you come to think of it. Your hall door is just two hours and a quarter from our place of business in the New Road; and it’s one pound five and nine if you go by first-class and cabs, or sixteen and ten if you put up with second-class and omnibuses. There’s no other way of counting. Miles mean nothing now-a-days.”

“They don’t mean much, certainly.”

“They mean nothing. Why, Miss Mackenzie, I should think it no trouble at all to run down and consult you about anything that occurred, about any matter of business that weighed at all heavily, if nothing prevented me except distance. Thirty shillings more than does it all, with a return ticket, including a bit of lunch at the station.”

“Oh! and as for that—”

“I know what you mean, Miss Mackenzie, and I shall never forget how kind you were to offer me refreshment when I was here before.”

“But, Mr Rubb, I hope you won’t think of doing such a thing. What good could I do you? I know nothing about business; and really, to tell the truth, I should be most unwilling to interfere—that is, you know, to say anything about anything of the kind.”

“I only meant to point out that the distance is nothing. And as to what you were advising me about getting married—”

“I didn’t mean to advise you, Mr Rubb!”

“I thought you said so.”

“But, of course, I did not intend to discuss such a matter seriously.”

“It’s a most serious subject to me, Miss Mackenzie.”

“No doubt; but it’s one I can’t know anything about. Men in business generally do find, I think, that they get on better when they are married.”

“Yes, they do.”

“That’s all I meant to say, Mr Rubb.”

After this he sat silent for a few minutes, and I am inclined to think that he was weighing in his mind the expediency of asking her to become Mrs Rubb, on the spur of the moment. But if so, his mind finally gave judgment against the attempt, and in giving such judgment his mind was right. He would certainly have so startled her by the precipitancy of such a proposition, as to have greatly endangered the probability of any further intimacy with her. As it was, he changed the conversation, and began to ask questions as to the welfare of his partner’s daughter. At this period of the day Susanna was at school, and he was informed that she would not be home till the evening. Then he plucked up courage and begged to be allowed to come again,—just to look in at eight o’clock, so that he might see Susanna. He could not go back to London comfortably, unless he could give some tidings of Susanna to the family in Gower Street. What was she to do? Of course she was obliged to ask him to drink tea with them. “That would be so pleasant,” he said; and Miss Mackenzie owned to herself that the gratification expressed in his face as he spoke was very becoming.