But he was to learn the nature of Matilda's sentiments sooner than he expected. It was growing dusk, and he was unpacking a parcel of goods in his front shop--for his saloon happened to be empty just then--when the outer door swung back, and a slight girlish figure entered, after a pause of indecision on the threshold. It was Matilda.
Had she come to break it off--to reproach him? He was prepared for no less; she had never paid him a visit like this alone before; and some doubts of the propriety of the thing seemed to be troubling her now, for she did not speak.
"Matilda," he faltered, "don't tell me you have come in a spirit of unpleasantness, for I can't bear it."
"Don't you deserve that I should?" she said, but not angrily. "You know, you were very strange in behaving as you did last night. I couldn't tell what to make of it."
"I know," he said confusedly; "it was something come over me, all of a sudden like. I can't understand what made me like that; but, oh, Tillie, my dearest love, my 'art was busting with adoration all the time! The circumstances was highly peculiar; but I don't know that I could explain them."
"You needn't, Leander; I have found you out." She said this with a strange significance.
"What!" he almost shrieked. "You don't mean it, Matilda! Tell me, quick!
has the discovery changed your feelings towards me? Has it?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I--I think it has; but you ought not to have done it, Leander."
"I know," he groaned. "I was a fool, Tillie; a fool! But I may get out of it yet," he added. "I can get her to let me off. I must--I will!"
Matilda opened her eyes. "But, Leander dear, listen; don't be so hasty.
I never said I _wanted_ her to let you off, did I?"
He looked at her in a dazed manner. "I rather thought," he said slowly, "that it might have put you out a little. I see I was mistook."
"You might have known that I should be more pleased than angry, I should think," said Matilda.
"More pleased than----I might have known!" exclaimed the bewildered man.
"Oh, you can't reely be taking it as cool as this! Will you kindly inform me _what_ it is you're alludin' to in this way?"
"What is the use of pretending? You know I know. And it _is_ colder, much colder, this morning. I felt it directly I got up."
"Quite a change in the weather, I'm sure," he said mechanically; "it feels like a frost coming on." ("Has Matilda looked in to tell me the weather's changed?" he was wondering within himself. "Either I'm mad, or Matilda is.")
"You dear old goose!" said Matilda, with an unusual effusiveness; "you shan't tease me like this! Do you think I've no eyes and no feelings?
Any girl, I don't care how proud or offended, would come round on such proof of devotedness as I've had this evening. When I saw it gone, I felt I must come straight in and thank you, and tell you I shouldn't think any more of last night. I couldn't stop myself."
"When you saw _what_ gone?" cried the hairdresser, rubbing up his hair.
"The cloak," said Matilda; and then, as she saw his expression, her own changed. "Leander Tweddle," she asked, in a dry hard voice, "have I been making a wretched fool of myself? _Didn't_ you buy that cloak?"
He understood at last. He had gone to Miss Twilling's chiefly because he was in a hurry and it was close by, and he knew nowhere else where he could be sure of getting what he required. Now, by some supreme stroke of the ill-luck which seemed to be pursuing him of late, he had unwittingly purchased the identical garment on which Matilda had fixed her affections! How was he to notice that they took it out of the window for him?
All this flashed across him as he replied, "Yes, yes, Tillie, I did buy a cloak there; but are you sure it was the same you told me about?"
"Do you think a woman doesn't know the look of a thing like that, when it's taken her fancy?" said Matilda. "Why, I could tell you every clasp and tassel on that cloak; it wasn't one you'd see every day, and I knew it was gone the moment I passed the window. It quite upset me, for I'd set my heart on it so; and I ran in to Miss Twilling, and asked her what had become of it; and when she said she'd sold it that morning, I thought I should have fainted. You see, it never struck me that it could be you; for how could I dream that you'd be clever enough to go and choose the very one? Leander, it _was_ clever of you!"
"Yes," he said, with a bitter rail against himself. "I'm a clever chap, I am! But how did you find out?"
"Oh, I made Miss Twilling (I often get little things there), I made her describe who she sold it to, and she said she thought it was to a gentleman in the hair-cutting persuasion who lived near; and then, of course, I guessed who bought it."
"Tillie," gasped Leander, "I--I didn't _mean_ you to guess; the purpose for which I require that cloak is my secret."
"Oh, you silly man, when I've guessed it! And I take it just as kind of you as if it was to be all a surprise. I was wishing as I came along I could afford to buy it at once, it struck so cold coming out of our place; and you had actually bought it for me all the time! Thank you ever so much, Leander dear!"
He had only to accept the position; and he did. "I'm glad you're pleased," he said; "I intended it as a surprise."
"And I am surprised," said Matilda; "because, do you know, last night, when I went home, I was feeling very cross with you. I kept thinking that perhaps you didn't care for me any more, and were trying to break it off; and, oh, all sorts of horrid things I kept thinking! And aunt gave me a message for you this morning, and I was so out of temper I wouldn't leave it. And now to find you've been so kind!"
She stretched out her hand to him across the counter, and he took and held it tight; he had never seen her looking sweeter, nor felt that she was half so dear to him. After all, his blunder had brought them together again, and he was grateful to it.
At last Matilda said, "You were quite right about this wrapper, Leander; it's not half warm enough for a night like this. I'm really afraid to go home in it."
He knew well enough what she intended him to do; but just then he dared not appear to understand. "It isn't far, only to Millman Street," he said; "and you must walk fast, Tillie. I wish I could leave the shop and come too."
"You want me to ask you downright," she said pouting. "You men can't even be kind prettily. Don't you want to see how I look in your cloak, Leander?"
What could he say after that? He must run upstairs, deprive the goddess of her mantle, and hand it over to Matilda. She had evidently made up her mind to have that particular cloak, and he must buy the statue another. It would be expensive; but there was no help for it.
"Certainly," he said, "you shall have it now, dearest, if you'd like to.
I'll run up and fetch it down, if you'll wait."
He rushed upstairs, two steps at a time, and, flinging open the door of a cupboard, began desperately to uncloak his Aphrodite. She was lifeless still, which he considered fortunate.
But the goddess seemed to have a natural propensity to retain any form of portable property. One of her arms was so placed that, tug and stretch as he would, Leander could not get the cloak from her shoulders, and his efforts only broke one of the oxidized silver fastenings, and tore part of the squirrel's-fur lining.
It was useless, and with a damp forehead he came down again to his expectant _fiancee_.
"Why, you haven't got it, after all!" she cried, her face falling.
"Tillie, my own dear girl," he said, "I'm uncommon sorry, upon my soul I am, but you can't have that cloak this evening."
"But why, Leander, why?"
"Because one of the clasps is broke. It must be sent back to be repaired."
"I don't mind that. Let me have it just as it is."
"And the lining's torn. No, Matilda, I shan't make you a present of a damaged article. I shall send it back. They must change it for me."
("Then," he thought, "I can buy my Matilda another.")
"I don't care for any other but that," she said; "and you can't match it."
"Oh, lor!" he thought, "and she knows every inch of it. The goddess must give it up; it'll be all the same to _her_. Very well then, dearest, you _shall_ have that, but not till it's done up. I must have my way in this; and as soon as ever I can, I'll bring it round."
"Leander, could you bring it me by Sunday," she said eagerly, "when you come?"
"Why Sunday?" he asked.
"Because--oh, that was the message your aunt asked me to bring you; it was in a note, but I've lost it. She told me what was inside though, and it's this. Will you give her the pleasure of your company at her mid-day dinner at two o'clock, to be introduced to mamma? And she said you were to be sure and not forget her ring."