thinking, to put the events of yesterday into something like connection and tout ensemble; but with no great success. The one comforting thought seemed to be, that the clerk had said he would send me up anything that came. Surely something must come! I could not believe I was destined to die here like a rat in a hole.—I played upon my inclination to be cheerful, till it had brought me to cheerfulness: and, getting up briskly, perceived a letter on the chair by ray bedside. The agent, of course!
'Ha,' I said, 'the tide's on the turn! . . . What's in here?' I hesitated. The sun was shining in through the window upon the envelope. I ripped it open; took out the letter, and scanned it.
'Dear Sir,—Please call early to-morrow on Alexander Brooke, Esq., 5 Dunraven Place, Piccadilly, W., who wishes to engage at once a secretary to go abroad with him. The engagement would be at least for a year, if not more.
'Terms between;£100 and £150 per annum.
'Please inform us of the result of your interview.—And oblige. Yours faithfully,
I threw the letter on to the table with new life in me, and began to wash, whistling to myself. As I was folding on my necktie I noticed how dirty my collar was, and then my shirt, and more particularly the cuffs. I put on a clean,—the last,—collar in the bag. And that set me off thinking for a moment about my clothes. 'Well, well!' I said, 'I shall have to tell the man the truth I suppose: and why not?' For I did not doubt but that he would have me.
Rosy was of course off to her work these three hours. This, and what she would think about the secretaryship, came to me as I passed her door and went down the dark stuffy old wooden staircase. What would the Rosebud think? 'Well, well!' I said as before, 'it'll be time enough to think about what she thinks when I've got it.' And yet did not doubt for one moment but that I should get it.
I knew my way to Piccadilly. It was a crisp clear morning: the stir of the breezy air and of the life brighter than usual elated me a little. I went along
