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The Road to React
The React.js in JavaScript Book (2024 Edition)

Robin Wieruch
This book is for sale at http://leanpub.com/the-road-to-learn-react

This version was published on 2024-02-05

This is a Leanpub book. Leanpub empowers authors and publishers with the Lean Publishing
process. Lean Publishing is the act of publishing an in-progress ebook using lightweight tools and
many iterations to get reader feedback, pivot until you have the right book and build traction once
you do.

© 2016 - 2024 Robin Wieruch

Tweet This Book!
Please help Robin Wieruch by spreading the word about this book on Twitter!
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Contents

Foreword . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1
About the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2
FAQ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
Who is this book for? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5
How to read the book? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 6

Fundamentals of React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 8
Hello React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
Requirements . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 11
Setting up a React Project . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13
Project Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 15
npm Scripts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 17
Meet the React Component . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
React JSX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23
Lists in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 28
Meet another React Component . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 34
React Component Instantiation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 38
React DOM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 41
React Component Declaration . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 43
Handler Function in JSX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
React Props . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50
React State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 54
Callback Handlers in JSX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59
Lifting State in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 62
React Controlled Components . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68
Props Handling (Advanced) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 71
React Side-Effects . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 82
React Custom Hooks (Advanced) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 86
React Fragments . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91
Reusable React Component . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 94
React Component Composition . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97
Imperative React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 100
Inline Handler in JSX . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 106
React Asynchronous Data . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113
CONTENTS

React Conditional Rendering . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 116

React Advanced State . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 121
React Impossible States . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 126
Data Fetching with React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131
Data Re-Fetching in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 134
Memoized Functions in React (Advanced) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138
Explicit Data Fetching with React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 141
Third-Party Libraries in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 145
Async/Await in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 148
Forms in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 151

A Roadmap for React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 155

Styling in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 158

CSS in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 161
CSS Modules in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 167
Styled Components in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 173
SVGs in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 179

React Maintenance . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 182

Performance in React (Advanced) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 183
TypeScript in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194
Testing in React . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 207
React Project Structure . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 238

Real World React (Advanced) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 244

Sorting . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 245
Reverse Sort . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 251
Remember Last Searches . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 254
Paginated Fetch . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 264

Deploying a React Application . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 274

Build Process . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 275
Deploy to Firebase . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 276

Outline . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 279
Foreword
I’ve been a React developer since its inception. When I first encountered it, there was an air of
mystery surrounding it as it distinguished itself from its competitors by emphasizing the exclusive
use of components. Over a decade later, I find myself unable to envision working with any other
framework in the near future. React continues to reinvent itself while pushing other frameworks
around it to evolve too. As a freelance web developer collaborating closely with companies, React
is my indispensable daily companion, enhancing my productivity in every project.
“The Road to React” made its debut in 2016, and since then, I’ve almost rewritten it annually. This
book teaches the core principles of React, guiding you through building a practical application in
pure React without complex tooling. The book covers everything from setting up the project to
deploying it on a server. Each chapter includes additional recommended reading and exercises. By
the end, you’ll have the skills to develop your own React applications.
In “The Road to React,” I establish a solid foundation before delving into the broader React ecosystem.
The book clarifies general concepts, patterns, and best practices for real-world React applications.
Ultimately, you’ll learn to construct a React application from scratch, incorporating features such
as pagination, client-side and server-side searching, and advanced UI interactions like sorting. My
aspiration is that this book conveys my passion for React and JavaScript, helping you embark on
your journey with confidence.
Foreword 2

About the Author

I am a German software and web developer with a passion for learning and teaching JavaScript.
Following the completion of my Master’s Degree in computer science, I immersed myself in the
startup world, extensively using JavaScript both professionally and in my free time. Collaborating
with an exceptional team of engineers in Berlin, we developed large-scale JavaScript applications
which sparked my interest in sharing this knowledge with others.
During this time, I regularly authored articles on web development for my website. Positive feedback
from readers seeking to learn from my articles motivated me to refine my writing and teaching style.
With each article, my ability to effectively educate others continued to grow. Witnessing students
thrive by providing them with clear objectives and quick feedback loops is particularly fulfilling.
Presently, I operate as a self-employed web developer, closely working with companies on their
products. More information about collaborating with me can be found on my website¹.
¹https://www.robinwieruch.de/
Foreword 3

FAQ
How to get updates?
Stay informed about the latest updates through two channels. You can subscribe to email updates²
or follow me on Twitter³. Regardless of the channel you choose, rest assured that I prioritize sharing
only high-quality content. Upon receiving a notification about an update for the book, simply visit
my website to download the latest version of the book.
Is the learning material up-to-date?
Unlike traditional programming books that quickly become outdated, this self-published book allows
for prompt updates whenever new versions of relevant tools or technologies are released. Rest
assured, you’ll always have access to the latest information.
Can I get a digital copy of the book if I’ve purchased it on Amazon?
If you’ve purchased the book on Amazon, you might have noticed it’s also available on my website.
Since I use Amazon as one way to generate revenue for my frequently free content, I genuinely
appreciate your support and I encourage you to sign up for my courses⁴. Once you’ve created an
account, send me an email detailing your Amazon purchase. This will enable me to unlock the
content for you. By having an account on my platform, you’ll always enjoy access to the most
up-to-date version of the book. Thank you for your support!
Why is the print version so large?
If you’ve acquired the print version of the book, consider making notes directly in its pages. The
deliberate choice to keep the printed book extra-large was made to provide ample space for extensive
code snippets and to afford you sufficient room for your annotations and personal notes. This size
decision was crafted with the intention of enhancing your overall reading and learning experience.
Why does the book not have many pages?
The print version’s larger dimensions contribute to fewer pages. While most sections are concise,
detailed material is available online for in-depth insights. This allows a smooth reading experience,
with essential React concepts covered in the book for a quick start. Engaging in optional exercises
is encouraged for a comprehensive understanding.
Why is the book written like a long read tutorial?
The unconventional manner in which this book is written and structured might come as a surprise to
those more accustomed to the conventional format of programming texts. When I first started coding,
there was a scarcity of practical, hands-on resources available. As a learner, I found great value
in materials that provided step-by-step instructions, guiding me through not only the ‘what’ and
‘how’ but also the ‘why’ behind each concept. With the goal of replicating this immersive learning
²https://rwieruch.substack.com/
³https://twitter.com/rwieruch
⁴https://courses.robinwieruch.de/
Foreword 4

experience, I’ve taken on the task of self-publishing, hoping to extend this valuable knowledge-
sharing opportunity to fellow developers within our community.
What do I do if I encounter a bug?
Should you come across any bugs in the code, locate the current GitHub project URL at the end of
each section. Feel free to open a GitHub issue there, and your assistance will be highly valued!
Foreword 5

Who is this book for?

JavaScript Beginners
JavaScript beginners with knowledge in fundamental JS, CSS, and HTML: If you just started out
with web development, and have a basic grasp of JS, CSS, and HTML, this book should give you
everything that’s needed to learn React. However, if you feel there is a gap in your JavaScript
knowledge, don’t hesitate to read up on that topic before continuing with the book. You will have
lots of references to fundamental JavaScript knowledge in this book though.
JavaScript Veterans
JavaScript veterans coming from jQuery: If you have used JavaScript with jQuery, MooTools, and
Dojo extensively back in the days, the new JavaScript era may seem overwhelming for someone
getting back on track with it. However, most of the fundamental knowledge didn’t change, it’s still
JavaScript and HTML under the hood, so this book should give you the right start into React.
JavaScript Enthusiasts
JavaScript enthusiasts with knowledge in other modern SPA frameworks: If you are coming from
Angular or Vue, there may be lots of differences in how to write applications with React, however,
all these frameworks share the same fundamentals of JavaScript and HTML. After a mindset shift
to get comfortable with React, you should be doing just fine adopting React.
Non-JavaScript Developers
If you are coming from another programming language, you should be more familiar than others
with the different aspects of programming. After picking up the fundamentals of JavaScript and
HTML, you should have a good time learning React with me.
Designers and UI/UX Enthusiasts
If your main profession is in design, user interaction, or user experience, don’t hesitate to pick up this
book. You may be already quite familiar with HTML and CSS which is a plus. After going through
some more JavaScript fundamentals, you should be good to get through this book. These days UI/UX
is moving closer to the implementation details which are often taken care of with React. It would be
your perfect asset to know how things work in code.
Team Leads, Product Owners, or Product Managers
If you are a team lead, product owner or product manager of your development department, this
book should give you a good breakdown of all the essential parts of a React application. Every
section explains one React concept/pattern/technique to add another feature or to improve the
overall architecture. It’s a well-rounded reference guide for React.
Foreword 6

How to read the book?

Most programming books are high-level and go into very much technical detail, but they lack the
ability to get their readers into coding. That’s why this book may be different from the books that
you are used to reading in this domain, because it attempts to teach aspiring developers actual
programming. Hence I try to keep a good balance between being pragmatic, by giving you all the
tools to get the job done, while still being detail-oriented, by giving you as much information as
needed to understand these tools and how they are used in practice.
Every section in this book introduces you to a new topic. For the fast pace learners who do not want
to go into much detail, it’s possible to read from section to section. However, if learners want to dive
deeper into certain topics, they can read more by following the footnotes. I want to offer you a way
to get a great overview of the topic at hand while still enabling you to dig deeper if you want to.
After reading the book either way, you should be able to code what you have learned in a pragmatic
way.
Take Notes
If you have a print version of the book, do not hesitate to underline paragraphs, to write notes, or
to annotate code snippets. That’s why it has such a large size in the first place. If you don’t have a
print version, keep a notebook on the side for your learnings. Taking notes fortifies what you have
learned and you can always come back to them. With every new learning, you will get a better
understanding of the big picture and how the smaller pieces fit together, so it’s a great exercise on
the side to write down your learnings on a piece of paper.
Code Code Code
Every section introduces you to a new topic in a pragmatic way. For this reason just reading through
the section does not suffice to become a developer, because there is lots of things going on in one
section alone. So you shouldn’t rush from section to section, but instead I recommend you to have
a computer by your side which allows you to code along the way.
Do not just copy paste code, instead type it yourself. Do not be satisfied when you just used the
code from the book, instead experiment with it. See what breaks the code and how to fix it. See how
certain changes affect the result. And see how you can extend or even improve the code by adding
a few lines to it. That’s what coding is all about after all. It does not help you to rush through the
book if you haven’t written a line of code once. So get your hands dirty and do more coding than
reading!
Anticipate
There will be many coding problems presented in this book. Often I will give you the option to solve
things yourself before reading about the solution in the next paragraph or code snippet. However,
it breaks the flow of repeating myself, so I keep these encouragements to a minimum. Instead I am
hoping for your eagerness here to jump ahead. Try to solve things before I get the chance to present
you the solution. Only by trying, failing, and solving a problem you will become a better developer.
Take Breaks
Foreword 7

Since every section introduces you to a new topic, it happens fast that you forget the learnings from
the previous section. In addition to coding along with every section, I recommend you to take breaks
between the sections which allow the learnings to sink in. Read the section, code along the way, do
the exercise afterwards, code even a bit more if you like, and then rest. Think about your learnings
while taking a walk outside or speak with someone about what you have learned even though this
other person is not into coding. After all, taking breaks is always essential if you want to learn
something new.
Fundamentals of React
In the initial phase of this learning journey, we’ll delve into the essential foundations of React,
guiding you through the creation of your first React project. As we progress, we’ll expand our
exploration of React’s capabilities, implementing practical features such as client and server-side
searching, remote data fetching, and advanced state management. This hands-on approach mirrors
the development of a real-world web application. By the end, you’ll have a fully functional React
application seamlessly interacting with real-world data.
Fundamentals of React 9

Hello React
Single-page applications (SPA⁵) have become increasingly popular with first-generation SPA frame-
works like Angular (by Google), Ember, Knockout, and Backbone. Using these frameworks made
it easier to build web applications that advanced beyond vanilla JavaScript and jQuery. React,
introduced by Facebook in 2013, is another solution for SPAs, offering yet another powerful
framework for building modern web applications in JavaScript.
Let’s take a trip back in time before the advent of SPAs: In the past, websites and web applications
were server-rendered. When a user accessed a URL in a browser, a request was made to a web
server, fetching one HTML file along with its associated HTML, CSS, and JavaScript files. After some
network delay, the user would see the rendered HTML in the browser and could begin interacting
with it. Each subsequent page transition would trigger this sequence of events again. In this earlier
version, the server handled most essential tasks, while the client’s role was minimal, primarily
focused on rendering pages. Basic HTML and CSS structured and styled the application, with a touch
of JavaScript, often in the form of the popular library jQuery, to enable interactions (e.g. toggling a
dropdown) or advanced styling (e.g. positioning a tooltip).
In contrast, SPA frameworks shifted the focus from the server to the client. In the world of SPAs, the
server primarily delivers JavaScript over the network, accompanied by a minimal HTML file. The
HTML file then executes the linked JavaScript files on the client-side (browser) to render the entire
application using HTML (and CSS), while still relying on JavaScript for interactions. In its most
extreme manifestation, a user visiting a URL requests a small HTML file and a larger JavaScript file.
Following a network and rendering delay, the user sees the HTML rendered by JavaScript in the
browser. Subsequent page transitions do not necessitate additional file requests from the web server
but instead utilize the initially requested JavaScript to render new pages.
React, along with other SPA solutions, played a pivotal role in making this transformation possible.
Essentially, a SPA is a single, organized bundle of JavaScript, neatly structured into folders and files,
creating an entire application. The SPA framework, such as React, provides the necessary tools to
architect this JavaScript-focused application. When a user visits the URL for your web application,
this JavaScript-centric application is delivered once over the network to their browser. Subsequently,
React or any other SPA framework takes charge of rendering everything in the browser as HTML
and managing user interactions with JavaScript.
With the ascent of React, the concept of components gained popularity. Each component defines its
visual and functional aspects using HTML, CSS, and JavaScript. Once a component is established, it
can be integrated into a hierarchy of components to construct a complete application. While React
primarily focuses on components as a library, its adaptable ecosystem positions it as a flexible
framework. Featuring a streamlined API, a flourishing yet stable ecosystem, and a supportive
community, React is ready to welcome you with open arms! :-)
⁵https://bit.ly/3BZOL1o
Fundamentals of React 10

Exercises
• Read more about Websites and Web Applications⁶.
• Watch React.js: The Documentary⁷.
• Read more about JavaScript fundamentals needed for React⁸.
• Optionally, if you need a motivational boost:
– Read more about how to learn a framework⁹.
– Read more about how to learn React¹⁰.
• Optional: Leave feedback for this section¹¹.

⁶https://www.robinwieruch.de/web-applications/
⁷https://bit.ly/3xrvxkI
⁸https://www.robinwieruch.de/javascript-fundamentals-react-requirements/
⁹https://www.robinwieruch.de/how-to-learn-framework/
¹⁰https://www.robinwieruch.de/learn-react-js/
¹¹https://forms.gle/NTqhvyDaP1RjtanC6
 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
Haven’t got his address, or I would have written to him myself. I am
absolutely on the rocks, so don’t wait. You’ll have to wire a hundred
pounds to the Bank here——”

A hundred pounds? Mightn’t he just as well have said “a million”?

What was all this about? I took the letter into my own little room
and sat down on the camp-bed to read it through....
In five minutes I have grasped all that I can take in at present of
the situation; an old one.
Jack is in trouble, worse trouble than ever before. Debts; an I O U
that was to fall due in six weeks. Threatened exposure of—
something that he doesn’t explain. “A business affair?”
Yes; Mr. Dundonald is quite right. I have “no head for business
routine.” My head’s going round with the bewilderment of it. It can’t
mean that Jack, my own brother, Father’s only son—one of the
Trants—has been “not quite straight” with the accounts that are in
his care? He must be mad! It must be the hot sun in that awful
country. Not Jack——!
But to suggest that I should turn to Sydney Vandeleur for the
money, even supposing that I knew where the Vandeleurs were to
be found just now—oh! As if I wouldn’t rather die! Yet there’s
nothing else that I can do——
Stop. There is one thing.
For, as if flashed in letters of fire over the dim purple sky over the
London roofs outside my window, I seem to see the words—

“FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS!”

And they mean, not only a solution of the difficulties of Miss Trant,
typist, not only comforts and security for Cicely, the show-girl out of
work, but the saving of our family name and honour from disgrace.
Help instead of ruin for that poor dear weak-kneed broken reed of a
brother of mine.
It’s Providence, that wildly eccentric scheme of the Governor’s. I
don’t care what its object may be. I only know that now—now—I
daren’t refuse to fall in with it. Never mind the details. The main fact
is that I must have that hundred pounds, and this is the only way to
it.

I’ve just taken supper into our sitting-room, and I’ve been able to
smile quite recklessly down into the woe-begone, girlish face under
the arnica bandages.
“Buck up, Cis, and eat some really good scrambled eggs with little
bits of ham chopped up in them. And then there’s some glass
loganberries, hot; and somebody’d been what Mrs. Skinner calls
‘pampering the milk,’ so I got a brown jar of cream for them. One
comfort of living in a ménage without any men (a joke, so please
laugh) is that we can eat what we like, instead of stodging horrible,
gristly chops and steaks and potatoes every night of our lives. And I
brought in some red ink—not Veuve Emu this time, but really decent
Burgundy to cheer us up——”
“But, my dear—!” protested Cicely, with the scared glance of the
business-girl who knows what it costs to eat and drink.
“It’s not extravagance. I can afford it.”
“You can’t! You can only just manage to scrape along for yourself
—and you know your poor darling hat’s awful, and you told me you
couldn’t get another—you haven’t managed to put by a penny for
‘extras’—you told me yesterday——”
“Ah, yesterday! But I shall have some more money—now.”
“What?—and you never told me when you came in? What, have
Waters and Son actually given you a rise?”
“Supplementary duties,” I explained briefly, drawing a wooden
chair up beside Cicely’s couch and laying a clean towel over it for a
tablecloth before I set down the plate of ham-scramble. “Pretty well-
paid, too. Yes. I got the job to-day. And,” I concluded with
resolution, “I begin it to-morrow.”
 CHAPTER IV
ACCEPTED!

“And when do you think the ‘engagement’ had better be

announced? At once?”
This was what the Governor said to me this morning when I again
presented myself at his desk; this time with the timid “acceptance”
which, after poor Jack’s desperate appeal, is my only alternative.
“At once?” I gasped. “Oh, but—How could it? The—well—people
would think it so”—I checked a hysterical laugh—“so funny!”
“Funny? What’s funny about it?” took up the Governor, as sharply
as if he didn’t see anything at all odd in the whole situation. But he
does. He must! What a hateful trick men have of pretending they’re
not pretending—when you’re unable to prove, in so many words,
that they are! People talk about women being more complicated;
good gracious! It’s we who are simple and straightforward. What
was I to make of the Governor, when he asked me, in quite an
annoyed tone of voice, “I suppose men at the heads of offices have
become engaged to their employees before now Miss Trant?”
“Y-yes—of course—Become engaged.”—He was talking now as if
this were that!—“But not if——”
“Not if what?”
“Well, not if they have never seen them to speak to!” I explained
falteringly. “You see, Mr. Waters, the three other typists in my room
——”
“Oh! Those girls!” said Mr. Waters casually, and I caught my
breath.
 For in the tone of those two words from the Head of Affairs I
heard the rest of his meaning—“If they think it odd—if they make
difficulties, they can go, at once.”
I saw that nightmare threat of “the sack” looming again, this time
over the heads of three girls who had worked with and always been
very decent to me. They—if they stood the least bit in this young
office tyrant’s way—could go!
“It’s not only the girls,” I urged, clenching my hands to keep them
from shaking, and hating the man who made me so nervous. “It’s—
everybody. Mr. Dundonald, Mr. Alexander, they must all know that
you scarcely exchanged a word with me until you sent for me
yesterday, when we—they all thought you were going to dismiss me
——”
“Ah?” said the Governor coolly.
“—S-so I can’t tell them, right on the top of that, that we are
actually engaged to be married! There’ll have to be—some—some
other sort of warning!”
“Don’t see the necessity myself,” said Still Waters, fixing those
keen grey eyes upon me as if I were a letter-file or a paper-weight,
or some other inanimate object that they’d happened to fall upon
while he was meditating on other things. I wondered if he were
thinking that, sooner than be bothered over this affair, he would sack
Mr. Dundonald, Mr. Alexander and his whole staff! “Still, if you prefer
it. You mean that there had better be some intermediate stages;
that I ought to begin by singling you out from the others, seeing
more of you, and so on. Quite so.”
It was uncanny, the cut-and-dried way in which he spoke of
proceedings which—well, are always looked upon as so intensely the
opposite of cut-and-dried! This affair was the imitation of something
very different; still, one hardly expected him to be able to map it all
out, like the diagrams in scientific dressmaking!
“Now, how am I supposed to ‘see more’ of you?” he went on, in
the same tone as he might have asked, “Where must I join this
dotted line to section D?”
“Ah, I have it.” (The sections were beginning to fit in neatly.) “You
will come into my room here each afternoon in Mr. Alexander’s place,
and take down my letters.”
“Very well,” I agreed, relapsing into my usual outward meekness
and inward rebelliousness.
What a fearful nuisance, to be banished to the Siberia of the
Governor’s private room, after the murky but cheery atmosphere of
the typists’ “glory-hole,” and the society of three other girls!
A couple of years ago I should have used the shibboleth of my set
at home to describe these same girls—“Terrible!—Impossible!” I
should have noticed nothing about them beyond their cheap “stock”
clothes and the Cockney accents that used to be such an hourly jar
to my nerves. I shouldn’t have differentiated the sentimental
“Smithie” from Miss Robinson, who has more capacity in her carbon-
stained little finger than most of the girls who were with me at
Wycombe Abbey had in their heads. I should scarcely have
considered them of the same race of being as myself, and as for
being on friendly, talkative terms with them—Well, having to fend for
oneself in the labour-market does knock a good deal of the
nonsense out of one. Here I was, quite annoyed at the prospect of
giving up the companionship of the three for the afternoons!
Still, it would be worth it. My employer would be as good as his
word about the five hundred pounds. He’d open an account for me.
And at lunch-time I shall be able to cable that much-needed
hundred to Cape Town.
I’m to begin earning it as private clerk—to a living tape-machine!
“Yes. That will be quite the best plan,” he went on. “That will pave
the way for it.” His tone became if anything more “scientifically
diagrammatic” still as he said, “To-day is May fourteen; let me see—
How long do you suppose it would take before it would be
considered the natural thing for me to fall in love with you?”
 “‘Natural’? How could it ever be considered natural” was on the tip
of my tongue, “for you to fall in love with anybody?—You, who think
it ought to be mapped out into a certain number of days, like that
sum about ‘twenty reapers reaping so many acres in a week.’”
Primly I answered aloud, “I should think you could please yourself,
Mr. Waters.”
“Well, we will see about that presently,” said my employer, turning
to the desk. “And now there is this——” After speaking about “the
time it took to fall in love,” I thought he’d reached his limit. But no.
He went further.
From a drawer that he unlocked he took out a paper that he
handed to me.
“I have taken the precaution of having our whole arrangement put
down in black-and-white, if you will kindly sign it here.”
—“In black-and-white!”—“sign——!”
I felt the angry colour surging up into my face; I was all the more
furious because I dare not show the real rage I was in.
“Oh, yes. I’ll sign it,” I said, with desperate meekness, “if you
really think it’s necessary. If you imagine that I am the kind of girl
who might take advantage of our—our contract afterwards, sue you
for breach of promise, or——”
“Come, come!” Still Waters interrupted briskly, peremptorily. “It’s
just because I didn’t think you were ‘that kind of girl,’ amongst other
reasons, that I selected you for my post. This instrument is drawn
up largely on your own account. You have a pen——?”
I took it out of the case fastened to the front of my very utilitarian
blue delaine blouse. I hate wearing it there. I always look upon it as
the sign of servitude and the mark of the beast, but it’s the custom
—and business-like.
“Right. Now, Miss Trant, I think that’s all for this morning. You can
arrange to come in and take down my letters each afternoon at a
quarter to three, beginning to-morrow.”
“Yes,” I said, in my meekest tone.

Loud were the murmurs of commiseration that broke from my

three friends in my own room when they heard of this novel
arrangement.
“What, my dear? You to take down his old letters? That’s the
Governor’s idea of giving you one more chance, I suppose,” sniffed
Miss Robinson, “before he sacks you! Pity he didn’t tell you to go,
and get it over yesterday!”
“He’s simply impossible to please. Why, when I come here first,”
said Miss Holt, “he had had three girls at it in one week and they all
came out in tears because the Machine had snapped their heads off.
For one thing, he dictates at such a rate that I don’t know how he
expects anyone to follow him without they have to ask him to repeat
it, and then he glowers at you like a Gordian! See if he doesn’t!”
“It’ll be ‘Now, Miss Trant!’” mimicked Miss Robinson, gabbling at
top-speed. “‘Got that? Go on—
“‘We can offer no further explanation of same beyond facts
already supplied, and are of opinion that there is nothing to be
gained by prolonging this correspondence.’ Certainly nothing to be
gained by you, my poor dear!”
“No, he’ll be sending for that stolid Scotch Sandy back before the
afternoon’s over!”
“Don’t discourage the girl too much before she starts. Still, I wish
you weren’t forsaking our room for the afternoons, Miss Trant. We
shall miss your merry prattle and your footstep on the stair.”
“Yes, and there won’t be much prattling for you in there,” said
Miss Smith. “More like sitting among the mummies and sphinxes and
things in the British Museum. Girls, can you imagine Still Waters
‘prattling’ to anybody, even as a little boy?”
 “That man was never anything so human as a little boy,” declared
Miss Robinson. “He was created grown-up and ready-made and put
together like a Remington. Probably in the very act of clicking out—
“‘Contract B.954. Our buyers advise us as under,’ and so on.
“I wouldn’t mind what I betted that he never cried over going to
school for the first time, or began to fancy himself more when he’d
sat out at a dance and flirted——”
“Flirted! The Governor!” I put in—quite forgetting What would
presumably be my cue very soon, and laughing with the others.
“You might just as well think of him falling really desperately in
love with——”
“Talk-ing, ladies,” broke in the usual voice, followed by the usual
lull.
But the usual twinge of fear didn’t visit me this time.
Let Mr. Dundonald report me; let him complain of me, bitterly, to
the Governor if he likes! All Caledonia, stern and wild, can’t get me
turned out of the Near Oriental now. To-morrow sees me unshakably
installed as—the Governor’s private clerk!

I must say Mr. Waters is even more paralysingly alarming to work

for in this capacity.
His dictation—Well! Miss Robinson described it. He simply doesn’t
realize, doesn’t mean to realize, that “a clerk” is composed of
anything more than a pad and a scurrying pencil. He literally does
not see that these objects may be trembling in the grasp of the
anxious slip of a young woman, who has to guide them! He’s
excruciatingly particular about the transcribing of his sheaf of letters.
And I shudder—that is, I should have shuddered only last week—to
think what would happen to Miss Trant, typist, if she brought in
anything to be signed one second after four-thirty, which is his time
for leaving.
 But now I’m secure in the knowledge that however much that
machine of a young man with the closed cash-box of a mouth may
long to sack me as a typist, my other, more lucrative, post could not
be so easily filled.
Hurray!

To-day is Friday: that Day of Terror in the office, the day of the
outward mails. But it’s brought no terror to me. My week’s salary, if
you please, has amounted to eleven pounds, five shillings.
Twenty-five shillings of that was paid out to me in the usual way
by Mr. Wallis, our cashier—little dreaming that my purse was already
bulging with ten more than welcome sovereigns that I got in
exchange for my own cheque (The grandeur of that!) at the Bank
where that providential five hundred pounds (four hundred since)
has been put down to the account of “Miss M. Trant.”
I daren’t allow myself to think what would have happened if it
hadn’t been for that.
As it is, I am able to take home quite a lot of invalid dainties to
Cicely (left to the tender mercies of Mrs. Skinner) as well as a lovely
lemon-coloured azalea in a pot, and a brand-new novel (four-and-six
—half her share of the house-keeping money!).
Spending this fortune will come fatally easily to me, I know. But
I’ve a dim presentiment that the earning of it isn’t going to be as
easy as that!
This morning, which now seems about a year since I began my
“supplementary duties,” Harold summoned me to appear at twelve
o’clock, instead of after lunch, before the Governor.
First of all I was seized with nervous flurry, wondering what on
earth I’d done. Then I remembered that it wouldn’t really matter
about that. What mattered was what I should have to do next?
There was another cut-and-dried plan for this in the very tone of
the Governor’s “Good morning” when he glanced up to see me
standing submissively beside his desk again.
“Now, Miss Trant, you have been working in here exactly a
fortnight,” he reminded me.
“Exactly a fortnight.” I wonder if he is going to keep count of
every one of the three-hundred-and-sixty-five days of the year which
must elapse before I shall be able to say a gleeful good-bye to him
and his diagrammatic “engagement?” I expect so: I expect there’s a
time-table for each one, drawn up and carefully put away for
reference in one of the locked drawers of his big cleared desk.
“I think that something more might be done at once about this
arrangement of ours.”
“Oh, yes?”
(A fortnight! Neither too long nor too short a time, he probably
considered, for some “fresh development” to take place.)
“So what about my taking you out to lunch to-day?”
What about it? A vivid mental picture of the expression on the
faces of Miss Robinson, Miss Holt and Smithie rose before me. What
—what would they look like when——Well! They’ve got to look it
sooner or later, so it might as well begin to-day.
“Certainly,” I nearly said. Then I hesitated. No! Why should he be
able to “fit in” every single detail of his plans, with the ease of a
born jig-saw genius? Why shouldn’t he have to make some
rearrangement, consult someone else’s convenience for once in his
life? I would just try to put my tiny little spoke in his wheel here, to
see.
“Mr. Waters, would you mind making it to-morrow instead?”
“Much the same to me,” returned my employer rather
unexpectedly—still, I suppose he would allow a twenty-four hours’
margin in these arrangements, in case of accidents. “But why wait?”
“Oh, because”—No woman ever does anything for one
unadulterated motive; a thing men won’t understand! So I had my
second choice of reasons quite ready, and it was quite naturally, as
well as truthfully (for I was thinking of Smithie’s preparations for an
outing), that I suggested—“it would seem more ‘natural’ if I were to
have on a new—my best hat to go out to lunch in instead of the little
old cap I put on because of this drizzle to-day.”
“Ah! Very well,” said Mr. Waters, with his succinct nod. He added,
“I suppose that sort of thing is what they mean when they say—
when women say—that women have a much better eye to detail in
business than men have?”
(I don’t quite know how he meant that. But never mind, Mr. Cut-
and-Dried. I have altered your time-table by a day, at least!)
“To-morrow, then,” said Mr. Waters, after I had said “Is that all?”
And I went.

The next day was a regular “new-hat” day. Just the sort of day to
go out to lunch with a “hovering” fiancé—a real one!—I thought, as I
set off down the Embankment, leaving Cicely, whose foot isn’t quite
right even yet, at the open sitting-room window with a novel.
It was brightly sunny, but, although we’re nearly in June now,
there was a nip of cold in the breeze; the smile of a flirt—of a “cold
coquette,” as Major Montresor described me once. I wonder what
he’d think if ever he met me again? Probably that it was just like
little Monica to “pull off” making a good match with another froggy-
natured person.
I laughed at this as I was walking along to the corner where I get
the motor-bus. After all, there’s nothing to do but laugh at it—at the
whole affair. Actually, it was a momentous choice to have thrust
upon any girl; and it might have cruelly embarrassing side-issues.
But what’s the good of dwelling on momentous and cruel aspects of
subjects that have a comic side to them? The only way is to look
hard at that comic side—to see the joke, the whole joke, and, most
important of all, nothing but the joke.
 I felt satisfactorily strung up to the coming “fun” of the situation
when I got into the typists’ dressing-room at the Near Oriental.
Here I found Miss Holt listening to Miss Smith, evidently a little
headachy and nervous, attempting to “stand up” to Miss Robinson in
some argument.
“The matter with you,” she was saying pettishly, “is that you’re
setting up to be a man-hater!”
“Setting up? No such luck,” said Miss Robinson, maddeningly
good-tempered. “If I could ever see a fellow I didn’t think was awful,
I’d begin thinking of setting up. But where are all the men, good
gracious? What does a girl ever see, working in holes of offices?
Weeds! Indoor weeds, smelling of stale Virginians and wearing
Number Thirteen collars.”
“Collars aren’t anything!” Miss Smith flushed an angry pink.
“No; but what they go round are. And I must say I like to see a
chap with a good, thick, strong-looking one (that’s why all the nice
girls love a sailor, Smithie) with plenty of sunburn and no spots on it,
and—Hul-lo, Miss Trant!”
I had turned up at the right moment to prevent a squabble—I and
my brand-new hat bought out of Chérisette’s window, no less! and
provided by the princely salary.
“I say, Miss Trant, my child, you’re blossoming out!” commented
Miss Holt, all eyes and envy. “How much did that roof cost you? It’s
a good one.”
“It is rather a good one,” I admitted quietly. “I’m so glad you like
it.”
But I said no more until the morning’s work was over and we had
trooped back into the dressing-room to get ready for going out at
one o’clock. Then:
“I can’t come to lunch to-day,” I said, drawing on the deliciously
“fresh”-feeling white gloves I’d bought for myself at the same time
as the hat, and giving a glance round the dressing-room to make
sure that they all took in the next announcement. “I’m going out.”
“Who with?” seemed to burst, of its own accord, from three pairs
of lips at once.
Drawing myself up to what there is of my full height, I smothered
an inclination to giggle foolishly, and answered with starchy dignity,
“Since you must know, I’m going out to lunch with Still Waters.”
“Oh, my dear, give that old joke a rest,” urged the most frequent
user of “the old joke,” Miss Smith, flushing anew with interest, “and
tell us who HE is! This is something quite new, Miss Trant, isn’t it?
Doesn’t she look conscious, girls? Didn’t I know that hat meant
something? How exciting! I’m so glad, dear; but, do tell us! Not his
name, of course——”
For in the code of these girls, it’s not fair to ask for names.
“—but just his Christian name!”
“William,” I admitted, smiling as “coyly” as I could.
“William! Sounds a bit—stand-offish,” objected Miss Holt. “D’you
call him ‘Billy,’ by any chance?”
“Never,” I said solemnly, “not by any chance.”
“Of course not. ‘Billy’s’ no class,” said Miss Robinson. “‘William?
Ahem! William!’” in a pompous bass voice. “Dark or fair, Miss Trant?”
“Fair.”
“M’m. Well, I suppose Miss Trant would pick a fair one, her being
such a reel brunette,” commented Miss Holt, “but as for me, I never
could take to a fair man. Puts me in mind of weak tea. About as fair
’s the Governor, Miss Trant?”
“Ye-es; just about.”
“Anything for a bit of a change,” said Miss Robinson satirically. “I
should have thought you’d have liked another colour to sit opposite
to at lunch, after having to have the same sort of thing staring you
in the face all the afternoon. However!—no accounting for ’em!... I
hope he’s tall, though?”
“Over six foot, I should think.”
“Ah! Well grown, William! Is the young gentleman in the City, may
I ask?”
“Yes, he is.”
“Isn’t she a good sort, answering all our impertinent questions like
this! One more, Miss Trant, and we won’t bother you. Where are you
going to meet him?”
I don’t think she expected that I would answer this. But I said
quite frankly, “I am to meet him just outside the front entrance in
Leadenhall Street.” And I whisked out of the room to the lift. I didn’t
tell the girls “Look out of that window on the other side of the
landing and you’ll see him.”
I knew it wasn’t necessary.
In two minutes’ time I was being helped into a taxi by the august
hand of our Governor himself.
I lifted my head and looked straight up at the landing window.
Yes, there they were, all three of them, flattening their noses against
the pane. I nodded and smiled with bravado. My three colleagues
were too utterly taken by surprise to even smile back at me. The
expression on their three faces was even more pronounced than as I
had foreseen it. Miss Holt was standing in front, and as we drove
away I saw her eyebrows rise to her netted hair, while her mouth
dropped open.
I could almost hear the gasp that came from it, of:
“Girls! Did you ever? She really is!—with Still Waters! Well! What
ever next?”
 CHAPTER V
THE FIRST LUNCH TOGETHER

“To the Carlton,” ordered Mr. Waters; and off we drove.

I hadn’t been inside the Carlton since the days before the
“smash”—the days when I was a young lady of leisure, without an
idea that I should presently be toiling in the grimy typists’ room at
the Near Oriental from nine o’clock until six, wearing home-made
delaine shirts, and trembling lest I might lose my hard-earned
twenty-five shillings a week!
The last time I’d been taken there to tea, after a matinée, by my
brother Jack and Sydney Vandeleur, who had ordered roses of a very
special pink to match the frock I’d worn then, and had sent a
message to the band to play my favourite waltzes. Yes, as Jack said,
Sydney would do anything for me, always. I expect Jack thought
that the hundred pounds which saved his name came, as he
suggested, from the Vandeleurs. Well, I couldn’t possibly “give
away” the truth about the anomalous position his sister accepted in
order to earn the money!
Thank goodness, the Vandeleurs were at the other end of the
world, and wouldn’t be home for a year, thought I. By then my time
would be up, and they needn’t know of my make-believe
“engagement”—except that it was “broken off”!
“I telephoned for a table,” said Mr. Waters, as we left the ordinary
work-a-day world of hurrying people and crowded, petrol-breathing
motor-buses in the Haymarket, and entered the restaurant—warm,
perfumed, bright with dainty clothes and pretty faces that smiled
above the little tables.
 Ours was in a delightfully cosy corner, next to an empty table
reserved for three persons. The decorations were of pink hothouse
roses, almost the same as Sydney’s! How very different from that
marble-topped table in the crowded “Den of Lyons” above which
Miss Robinson, Smithie and little Miss Holt were probably even now
gossiping excitedly over this event; but how much rather I would
have been with them!
“Now, Miss Trant, what do you prefer for lunch?”
(My only variation of lunch for the last year having been from
“Bovril and a baked apple” to “Poached-egg-on-toast, with a glass of
hot milk.”)
“I don’t mind at all.”
“Then I’ll order.”
And very delicious were the things he did order. Apparently even a
machine liked perfect bisque de homard, and crisp whitebait—his
one touch of nature, in fact.
I longed for Cicely—who does love nice food, poor child!—to be
there to help me enjoy this. In fact, I wished that Cicely and I could
have had the lunch to our two gossiping selves. How we should have
enjoyed all the luxuries, from the pretty glass to the freedom to
chat, softly but unrestrainedly, about everyone we noticed in the
place. I have heard it said that “Women would rather talk to other
women than to men, even when they would rather talk to a man
than to a woman.” I don’t think I’ve often met any single man I’d
rather talk to than to a fairly amusing member of my own sex. You
have to say most things twice to men, and then they don’t really
understand....
Still Waters, of course (as his typists explain to each other at least
four times in a morning), isn’t what you could call a man. Somehow,
in surroundings that used to be more familiar to me than offices and
City streets, I lost a little of that awe-struck nervousness of my
employer. For a time I could almost forget he was that. He became—
Well! he made me feel as I did in the old days when I had got
someone very heavy-in-hand to take me in to dinner, or as if I were
sitting out a dance with some rather hopeless partner. I mean that
was about as far as any conversation between us went—a few
stilted, distrait remarks, punctuating long stretches of silence.
Meanwhile, I glanced round the big place at the other luncheon-
parties, people laughing and chatting together—out evidently for
amusement, not “business”!
Several times I caught glances directed at our own table. I
wondered what the people were thinking of us—of the enormously
tall, fair young man with “City” stamped all over him, from his
smooth head to his glossy boots, and the small, dark-eyed girl in the
black velours hat which looked so very much more expensive and
stylish than her neatly-cut but ancient serge costume would lead
them to expect.
Perhaps they thought that the big young man with the face as
expressionless as a fireproof curtain was slightly bored by taking his
country cousin round the sights of London? Perhaps they thought we
were really engaged? It didn’t matter. There was no one in the
restaurant who knew either of us. Idly I wondered who would come
in and take the “reserved” table close to us.
“Miss Trant, you took good care that the other typists knew for a
fact with whom you were coming out?”
“Oh, yes. They were all looking out of the landing window as we
drove off.”
“Good!” said Still Waters.
And again I almost fancied that I caught that flash of something
like humour in his granite-grey eyes, as I’d fancied it before, when
he spoke about my “intelligence” and my work. But again it was
gone before I could make sure. I was glad. One doesn’t want a
machine to have any sense of humour. And I shouldn’t find it so
easy and unembarrassing to be on terms of “official fiancéedom”
with anything but a machine.
 “I shall take you out to lunch two or three times this week,” he
announced, in his orders-for-the-day voice, “and perhaps to tea. On
Saturday I shall ask you to come with me to a matinée that you can
talk about, and so on, to the others.”
“Very well, Mr. Waters,” I said meekly.
“And now that we’ve led up to it in this way, I see no point in
waiting. So next week, Miss Trant, the ‘engagement’ had better be
announced.”
“Certainly,” I agreed, again picturing to myself the stupefaction of
everybody at the Near Oriental, from Mr. Dundonald (a pity the
shock can’t incapacitate him for life!) down to Harold.
At home there’d be Cicely. I’m fond of her, but I dread this. She
takes such an exasperating interest in anything that can be called a
love-affair. I myself can’t see what there is so thrilling about “Who is
going to marry whom, and why?”
But Cicely positively “collects,” just as some people collect book-
plates, all she can find out on this hackneyed subject. I know she’ll
insist on treating this arrangement between my employer and myself
as a real, romantic “affaire de cœur.” Well, I suppose I shall have to
keep from slapping her!
Then there’ll be Mr. Waters’ friends, whoever they are, to whom I
shall have to be introduced as the girl he’s going to marry. (Oh, lor’!
as Mrs. Skinner puts it.)
“After which,” pursued the Governor, “I think I shall have to ask
you to——What is it, Miss Trant? Just seen somebody you know?”
“Yes,” I managed to murmur; “I know the lady who has just come
in—at the next table.”
For at the table which had been reserved for three, two of the
party had just turned up.
One was a fair-haired young girl, expensively frocked in blue
velvet, but still looking like school-room tea. The other—how well I
knew the slim, well-preserved silhouette of her figure, the carefully-
graded bloom of her face!
It was Lady Vandeleur, whom I’d imagined to be in Japan!
She is a charming woman, but she has two faults. One is that,
with a son of thirty-two, she insists on remaining twenty-five. The
other is that, unlike dear old Sydney, to whom the downfall of the
Trant fortunes made absolutely no difference, she’s never really liked
me since the “smash.”
Before that, she was quite eager to explain that I was “already”
like a young daughter to her. But it’s two years since I heard the
tone of effusive affection with which Sydney’s mother was speaking
to the girl beside her.
“My dear child, aren’t you starving? I vote we begin. That naughty
boy of mine is so late. We really can’t wait for Sydney!”
“For Sydney!” Goodness! Then presently Sydney himself would
join them. He would take the chair that faced our table—to which his
mother sat with her back turned. He would see me—he’d be sure to
come across and speak!
My mind was in a whirl of wondering what Sydney Vandeleur
would think when he saw the girl he admired lunching tête-à-tête at
the Carlton with that big, imperturbable stranger. And then Sydney
himself came in.
I was in the middle of a particularly ambrosial pêche Melba, and
anyone would have thought I didn’t raise my eyes from it. But thank
goodness, my eyelashes are long enough for the purpose they’re
given a girl—to be looked up through, without a man seeing. In a
flash I’d taken in all of Sydney that one could see; his general
appearance of a Cavalier’s portrait; his look at the girl, his mood, a
slightly different way he’d had his hair (longish) and his little
Vandyke beard trimmed since I saw him last, the clothes he was
wearing....
 Of course nine girls out of ten never notice a man’s ordinary
clothes. Evening-dress they recognize; and, of course, flannels,
because those are white, and allow the man (especially after a hard
game) to look a decent shape if he is one. Anything else is lost on
them. But I’m the tenth girl. As Major Montresor once said, when he
was huffy with me for telling him his new Norfolk jacket was “too
undergraduatey” for him, “Little Monica notices like a valet!”
Sydney’s clothes one couldn’t help noticing; he’s so well-turned-
out, but never in a stereotyped style; in fact, he refuses to be
dressed, as he calls it, “through a stencil.” I’m sure he’d rather put
on a false nose and walk down St. James’s Street in it than appear in
that hideous conventional “rig” of the Governor’s. To-day, for the
Carlton, Sydney wore grey of such an exquisite soft stuff that it was
hard to believe it came from any ordinary man’s tailor; the tie below
his bare throat was dove-colour shot with heliotrope, and his silk
socks and the line in his shirt with its soft collar matched it exactly.
There was one dark Russian violet in his button-hole.
All these details were familiar to me before Sydney so much as
cast a glance at our table. Then, in a lull, when I refused coffee, he
seemed to prick up his ears. With a quick turn from the girl in blue
velvet, he looked straight across and saw me at last.
“Monica——!”
I heard the quick, delighted, recognizing exclamation break from
my old admirer’s lips. (I know he admires me, so why not say so?)
For the life of me, I couldn’t help raising my eyes and meeting his
own fixed upon me.
He half rose. Then his glance fell upon my companion. Mr. Waters
was then in the act of putting money down upon the little tray the
waiter handed.
And then I saw the expression of eager delight on Sydney’s dark,
rather dreamy-looking, face give place to a hurt surprise, as he sat
back again in his chair.
 At the same moment Lady Vandeleur turned quickly, fixing her
own gaze upon our table.
Immediately the gaze became a blank stare, while her exquisitely-
pencilled eyebrows rose almost to the edge of her costly
“transformation.” She’d recognized me, of course. But stony
displeasure and outraged convention gleamed in the eyes that she
instantly averted.
You see, in her world a girl of my age is not supposed to lunch at
the Carlton without a chaperon of some sort, and with an
unspecified young man.
Up to this occasion I, Colonel Trant’s daughter, had been of that
world, of those conventions. The Vandeleurs were evidently shocked
at the lapse.
Dear old Sydney, old-fashionedly chivalrous towards women, was
also old-fashionedly strict; and his mother—well! she was merely
glad of the excuse to cut me.
Under the circumstances I need not have minded. But one is not
consistent. I minded horribly the idea of what they might be thinking
about me—that I had become horrid, forward, fast.
Something that seemed as hard and hot as a baked paving-stone
seemed to settle between my chest and my throat as I fumbled at
the last button of my long white gloves, and, in answer to Mr.
Waters’ business-like “Ready, Miss Trant?” I rose to follow him out.
Lady Vandeleur’s tortoiseshell-handled lorgnette rose also. I saw
her turn a searching scrutiny upon my blond, glossily-groomed, well-
to-do looking escort.
Again a horrible hint of what she might be thinking of me passed
through my mind. She knew I worked now in the City; she would
think—Sydney would think—I had made it an excuse for “picking up”
the attentions of a wealthy business-man, perhaps my employer.
From every point of view it is considered “bad form” for the head of
a firm to have anything to say to his typist out of business-hours.
 All this she would say to Sydney, and to that girl. No, I couldn’t
stand that! There seemed only one thing in the world for me to do.
“I’m forced into it,” I thought rapidly, “so here goes.”
I touched Mr. Waters’s sleeve, murmuring:
“Please wait a moment.”
He stopped, looking down at me inquiringly. I turned, smiling, to
that slim, expensively-gowned figure of outraged propriety at the
other table. I accosted her as if I thought she had not seen me.
“Lady Vandeleur, don’t you know me?”
My own voice sounded strangely artificial in my ears, but, thank
goodness, it was steady enough, with every syllable distinct.
“Will you allow me to introduce Mr. Waters, my fiancé?”
There! It was said!
Transformation scene upon that carefully-preserved face at the
table! Gone, vanished, was the icy displeasure. A radiant smile, a
gracious bow to the imperturbable Mr. Waters met my
announcement. An effusive clasp of both my own hands.
“My dear child, what surprising, what delightful news! How glad I
am for you,” cooed Lady Vandeleur.
How glad she was for herself—glad to think that a hopelessly
ineligible girl, for whom Sydney had always displayed a regrettable
weakness, was now safely out of harm’s way—and his!
Her gratification at this made her quite as affectionate as she had
been in the days when the Trant family was still worth marrying into.
“So long since we heard anything of you, you naughty child! But
this quite makes up. Yes, we were away; but there were alterations
in our plans”—with a quick gesture, a quick glance, towards the
pretty débutante opposite to her, evidently her latest “plan” for
Sydney. “Now we are back in town for the season. The old address,
you know, in Belgrave Square. Wednesday is my afternoon. Now,
promise you will come and see us. A ‘soon’ Wednesday, mind! Do
bring your fiancé!”
“I shall be delighted.” It was the Governor’s imperturbable voice
that answered her. At that moment I could not have spoken.
For as Sydney was murmuring conventional congratulations I had
caught sight of the look in his eyes. They are handsome eyes, deep
and brown and soft, like the eyes of some spaniels; and just then
they looked so bitterly hurt that I felt as if I had been cruel to some
nice dog or some helpless child. Perhaps Sydney cared more than I
had ever imagined.
I felt quite miserable when at last the purring farewells and the
“so very glad, dear childs” were left behind us, and we passed out of
the restaurant, through the wheeling glass doors into the Haymarket
once more.
As we walked up to Piccadilly Circus I turned to the Governor with
the apologies I felt I owed him.
“I’m so very sorry, Mr. Waters! There seemed nothing else to be
done. Those people—they were old friends of my father’s; they
would have thought it so odd for me to be lunching alone with you.”
“Oh, quite so, quite so!” put in the Governor, matter-of-fact and
reassuring. “I quite realized the situation.”
Did he?
Not all of it! Poor Sydney! I have never felt nearer the possibility
of falling in love with Sydney in my life. But the Governor was still
speaking.
“In fact, I was not at all sorry that the occasion happened to come
up. It means, of course, that the announcement will have to be
made rather earlier.”
“Oh, yes,” I agreed, with the usual sinking of the heart.
We had reached the Circus now, and before I knew what he was
going to do, Mr. Waters had stepped quickly across to those sailor-
hatted, shawled flower-women, whose baskets make such a
gorgeous splash of colour against the stone background of the
fountain.
Back he came with a cluster of great red, fragrant carnations,
which he handed to me.
“Oh, but really you should not have——” I was beginning, when I
realized that this also was part of the business—that never had
flowers been offered from man to maid under quite such unromantic
circumstances before, and that I had better take Still Waters’ gift as
ostentatiously as I could.
I tucked the sweet crimson blooms into the breast of my blue
serge coat.
As we whizzed citywards in a taxi, the Governor spoke again.
“Now, Miss Trant, there is another suggestion I have to make to
you,” he began. “To begin with, if I may say so, I like the way you
dress.”
Crisp, concise, business-like syllables; no girl could have
interpreted them into a compliment!
“I like the way you go to business—always neat, always ladylike.
No ear-rings, no dingle-dangles and low necks like some of them;
always a very clean collar and a quiet tie, I notice—just the thing for
the office. But when I take you out rather more, I suppose you will
have to have one or two rather special evening gowns and afternoon
frocks, and theatre-wraps, and so on. I don’t know what they’re
called. No doubt you know the kind of thing to order. All part of the
arrangement, you understand. I’ll get a friend of mine in the City,
whose wife runs a really first-class dressmaking business, to let me
have the address; and then you will go to her—”
All cut-and-dried, like all his other schemes! But this was
something different—very different as well.
—“have yourself fitted out with all that is necessary, and send in
the bills to me.”
 “Please, no. Not that,” I heard myself say quickly.
My employer turned upon me a face with some of the
imperturbability quite jerked out of it by surprise.
“What’s that?”
“If you don’t mind, I can’t—I would rather not do so as you
suggest about that,” said I, holding my head very high, but feeling
myself turn as crimson as the flowers in my coat, and speaking
rather shakily, for this was the first time I had ever asserted my own
feelings in even the mildest way before him. “I—I know it seems like
straining at a gnat after all the camels that I am preparing to
swallow. Of course I will get the frocks and things. Only—please, you
must allow me to pay for them out of my allowance—my salary.”
He looked at me doubtfully.
“That seems scarcely fair—to you. It means paying out your own
money on things, that—well! I thought that would obviously come
out as ‘business expenses.’”
I said, feeling miserably uncomfortable, “Don’t you see that I can’t
possibly allow you to pay for—to give me frocks?”
“But—don’t you understand that—in the way of business, you will
have to allow me to give you other things?”
“Other things? What?”
“Why, presents. I don’t know what, exactly. You will probably have
to come round the shops with me yourself, and tell me. You are the
best judge of what a girl would like to show, as gifts, keepsakes,
what-nots, from the man to whom she is, presumably, engaged. It is
part of this affair!” explained Mr. Waters, a little impatiently, as the
taxi was held up at a crossing and waited panting for the signal to
get on. “It would ‘look odd,’ as you yourself expressed it once, if I
did not offer you presents.”
“Presents,” I said, feeling really indignant with him for being so
obtuse, “are very different. For one thing, I should not have to keep
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