Coote, speaking out of a darkness which he was illuminating strangely with efforts to strike a match, said that it was beautiful. He could not have _wished_ Kipps a better fortune....
He lit a cigarette, and Kipps was moved to do the same, with a sacramental expression. Presently speech flowed more freely.
Coote began to praise Helen and her mother and brother. He talked of when "it" might be, he presented the thing as concrete and credible.
"It's a county family, you know," he said. "She is connected, you know, with the Beaupres family--you know Lord Beaupres."
"No!" said Kipps, "reely!"
"Distantly, of course," said Coote. "Still----"
He smiled a smile that glimmered in the twilight.
"It's too much," said Kipps, overcome. "It's so all like that."
Coote exhaled. For a time Kipps listened to Helen's praises and matured a point of view.
"I say, Coote," he said. "What ought I to do now?"
"What do you mean?" said Coote.
"I mean about calling on 'er and all that."
He reflected. "Naturally, I want to do it all right."
"Of course," said Coote.
"It would be awful to go and do something--now--all wrong."
Coote's cigarette glowed as he meditated. "You must call, of course," he decided. "You'll have to speak to Mrs. Walshingham."
"'Ow?" said Kipps.
"Tell her you mean to marry her daughter."
"I dessay she knows," said Kipps, with defensive penetration.
Coote's head was visible, shaking itself judiciously.
"Then there's the ring," said Kipps. "What 'ave I to do about that?"
"What ring do you mean?"
"'Ngagement Ring. There isn't anything at all about that in 'Manners and Rules of Good Society'--not a word."
"Of course you must get something--tasteful. Yes."
"What sort of a ring?"
"Something nace. They'll show you in the shop."
"Of course. I 'spose I got to take it to 'er, eh? Put it on her finger."
"Oh, no! Send it. Much better."
"Ah!" said Kipps, for the first time, with a note of relief.
"Then, 'ow about this call--on Mrs. Walshingham, I mean. 'Ow ought one to go?"
"Rather a ceremonial occasion," reflected Coote.
"Wadyer mean? Frock coat?"
"I _think_ so," said Coote, with discrimination.
"Light trousers and all that?"
"Yes."
"Rose?"
"I think it might run to a buttonhole."
The curtain that hung over the future became less opaque to the eyes of Kipps. To-morrow, and then other days, became perceptible at least as existing. Frock coat, silk hat and a rose! With a certain solemnity he contemplated himself in the process of slow transformation into an English gentleman, Arthur Cuyps, frock-coated on occasions of ceremony, the familiar acquaintance of Lady Punnet, the recognised wooer of a distant connection of the Earl of Beaupres.
Something like awe at the magnitude of his own fortune came upon him. He felt the world was opening out like a magic flower in a transformation scene at the touch of this wand of gold. And Helen, nestling beautiful in the red heart of the flower. Only ten weeks ago he had been no more than the shabbiest of improvers and shamefully dismissed for dissipation, the mere soil-burned seed, as it were, of these glories. He resolved the engagement ring should be of expressively excessive quality and appearance, in fact, the very best they had.
"Ought I to send 'er flowers?" he speculated.
"Not necessarily," said Coote. "Though, of course, it's an attention."...
Kipps meditated on flowers.
"When you see her," said Coote, "you'll have to ask her to name the day."
Kipps started. "That won't be just yet a bit, will it?"
"Don't know any reason for delay."
"Oo, but--a year, say."
"Rather a long time," said Coote.
"Is it?" said Kipps, turning his head sharply. "But----"
There was quite a long pause.
"I say," he said, at last, and in an unaltered voice, "you'll 'ave to 'elp me about the wedding."