Some such apprehension of her Sabre had expressed to Twyning on the occasion that came to his mind during young Perch's entreaty for some one to live with his mother. Sabre had been standing with Twyning at Mr. Fortune's window, Mr. Bright and Effie leaving the office and crossing the street together beneath them. Twyning, who was on intimate terms with Mr. Bright, had given a short laugh and said, "Hullo, you seem to have been thinking a lot about the fair Effie!"
The kind of laugh and the kind of remark that Sabre hated and he gave a slight gesture which Twyning well knew meant that he hated it. This was what Twyning called "stuck-uppishness" and equally hated, and he chose words expressive of his resentment,--the class insistence.
"Well, she's got to earn her living, however jolly she is. She's not one of your fine ladies, you know."
Sabre recognised the implication but ignored it. "What's old Bright going to do with her?"
"He doesn't quite know. He was talking to my missus about it the other day. He's as good as we are, you know. He's an idea of getting her out as a sort of lady's companion somewhere."
This was what Sabre had remembered; and he went straight from young Perch to Twyning and recalled the conversation.
Twyning said, "Hullo, still interested in the fair Effie?"
"It's for young Perch over at Penny Green I'm asking. For his mother. He's a young man"--Sabre permitted his eyes to rest for a moment on Harold, seated at his desk--"and he feels he ought to join the army. He wants the girl to be with his mother while he's away."
Twyning, noting the glance, changed his tone to one of much friendliness. "Oh, I see, old man. No, Effie's got nothing yet. She was over to our place to tea last Sunday."
"Good. I'll go and talk to old Bright. I'm keen about this."
Mr. Bright received the suggestion with a manner that irritated Sabre. While he was being told of the Perches he stared at Sabre with that penetrating gaze of his as though in the proposal he searched for some motive other than common friendliness. His first comment was, "They'll want references, I suppose, sir?"
Sabre smiled. "Oh, scarcely, Mr. Bright. Not when they know who you are."
The old man was standing before Sabre in the little cupboard bending his head close towards him as though he would sense out, if he could not see, some hidden motive behind all this. He contracted his great brows as if to squeeze more penetration into his gaze. "Yes, but I'll want references, Mr. Sabre. My girl's been well brought up. She's not going here, there, nor anywhere."