The Definite Object - Jeffery Farnol

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back when he became aware of two facts: one, that she bore a heavy suit case in her neatly gloved hand; two, that the tress of hair peeping rebellious beneath the neat hat brim was of a wondrous yellow gold. Instantly he hastened his steps, and reaching out his hand almost instinctively, sought to relieve her of her burden.

      "Allow me!" said he.

      She stopped, and turning on the stair above, looked down on him with a pair of wondering blue eyes; her cheeks glowed, and she was panting a little. For a long moment they fronted each other thus silently upon that grimy, narrow stair, she above with gracious head stooped, her dark eyes questioning and wistful. And looking up into the flushed loveliness of her face, those eyes deep and soft beneath their long, black lashes, the tender droop of those vivid lips, beholding all this, he knew her to be a thousand times more beautiful than any photograph could possibly portray, wherefore he bared his head, and striving to speak, could find no words to utter. For a moment longer she hesitated while her clear eyes searched his face, then the red lips curved in a little wistful smile.

      "Thank you!" she said, and, yielding him her burden, led the way up-stairs. "I'm afraid it's rather heavy," she said over her shoulder after they had climbed another flight.

      "It's quite too heavy for you!" he answered.

      "Oh, but I've carried it often before now."

      "Then you shouldn't!"

      "But I have to!"

      "No," said Ravenslee, shaking his head, "you should let your brother bring it up for you."

      "My brother!" she exclaimed, pausing to look her amazement. And again as she stood thus poised above him, he took joy to note the warmth of her rich colouring, the soft, round column of her white throat, the gracious breadth of hip and shoulder.

      "You know I have a brother?"

      "Oh, yes, Spike—er—that is, Arthur and I are quite—er—ancient cronies—pals, you know—friends, I mean—" Mr. Ravenslee was actually stammering.

      "Oh, really?" she said softly; but all at once, becoming aware of the fixity of his regard, the colour deepened in her cheek, the long lashes drooped and, turning away, she went on up the stair.

      "It's a long way up yet! Hadn't you better let me take it?"

      "Not for worlds!" he answered.

      "Isn't it getting heavier?" she enquired, as they climbed the next flight.

      "Decidedly heavier!"

      "Then please," said she, slackening her pace, "please let me take it!"

      "On the contrary," he answered, his gaze on her slender foot and ankle, "I should like to carry it for you all my—er—ah, that is—I mean—"

      Mr. Ravenslee was stammering again.

      "Yes?"

      He was aware that the shapely foot had faltered in its going.

      "As often as I may, Miss Hermione."

      Hereupon the shapely foot halted altogether, and once again she turned to look at him in wide-eyed surprise.

      "You know my name?"

      "I learned it from Arthur, and—I shall never forget it!"

      "Why not?"

      "Well, because it is rather uncommon and—very beautiful!"

      "Oh!" said Hermione, and went on up the stair again, yet not before he had seen the flush was back in her cheek.

      "Are you getting tired yet?" she enquired, without looking round.

      "Not appreciably," he answered, "but if you think I need a rest—"

      "No, no!" she laughed, "we should never get off these frightful stairs!"

      "Even that might have its compensations!" he murmured.

      "And we've been much longer than if you'd let me carry it up myself."

      "But then we've no cause for panting haste, have we?" he suggested.

      "And we have four more flights to climb."

      "So few!" he sighed.

      "You see, I live at the very tip-top."

      "Good!" said he.

      At this she glanced down at him over the sweep of her shoulder.

      "Why 'good'?" she demanded.

      "Because I also live at the tip-top."

      "Do you—oh!"

      "With the excellent Mrs. Trapes."

      "But I thought she had lost her lodger?"

      "She had the—er—extreme good fortune to find a new one to-day."

      "Meaning you?"

      "Meaning me."

      By this time they had reached the topmost landing, where Mr. Ravenslee set down the suit case almost reluctantly.

      "Thank you!" said Hermione, looking at him with her frank gaze.

      "Heaven send I may earn your thanks again—and very soon," he answered, lifting the battered hat.

      "You didn't tell me your name!" said she, fumbling in a well-worn little hand bag for her latchkey.

      "I am called Geoffrey."

      Hermione opened the door and, taking up the suit case, held out her hand.

      "Good-by, Mr. Geoffrey!"

      "For the present!" said he, and though his tone was light there was a very real humility in his attitude as he stood bareheaded before her. "For the present!" he repeated.

      "Well—we are very near neighbours," said she, dark lashes a-droop.

      "And neighbourliness is next to godliness—isn't it?"

      "Is it?"

      "Well, I think so, anyway? So, Miss Hermione—not 'good-by.'"

      She glanced swiftly up at him, flushed, and turning about, was gone. But even so, before her door closed quite, she spoke soft-voiced: "Good—evening, Mr. Geoffrey!"

      Thereafter, for a space, Mr. Ravenslee stood precisely where he was, staring hard at the battered hat; yet it is not to be supposed that the sight of this could possibly have brought the smile to his lips, and into his eyes a look that surely none had ever seen there before—such a preposterously shabby, disreputable old hat! Of course not!

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      "Oh!" said Mrs. Trapes, "so you've come? Good land, Mr. Geoffrey, there's parcels an' packages been a-coming for you constant ever since you went out! Whatever have you been a-buying of?" And opening the door of his small bedroom, she indicated divers packages with a saucepan lid she happened to be holding.

      "Well," said her lodger, seating himself upon the bed, "if I remember rightly, there are shirts, and socks, and pajamas, and a few other oddments of the sort. And here, when I can get it out of my pocket, is a box of candies. I don't know if you are fond of such things, but most of the sex feminine are, I believe. Pray take them as a mark of my—er—humble respect!"

      "Candy!" exclaimed Mrs. Trapes, turning the gaily bedecked box over and over, and glaring at it fierce-eyed. "Fer me?"

      "If you will deign acceptance."

      "Candy!"

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