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Updated: May 13, 2025
The locker room had countless rows of narrow cells with iron gratings for doors; and the gimlet gaze of two stalwart young females pierced each newcomer. It was their business to see that Peter Rolls's hands did not pilfer each other's belongings.
Billy, alias "Bud," et cetera, was a permanent fixture at Peter Rolls's, having been in his present position for some time and possessing no ambition to better it, though he had reached the mature age of "twelve, going on thirteen." He adored her promptly and passionately, and she responded, out of which arose a situation.
Rolls," she told herself. And the idea seemed to her so original, so filled with possibilities of romance, that it was as soothing to the bruise in her heart as an application of Peter Rolls's Balm of Gilead. She guessed that he had put aside his reserve and told her about the "dryad girl" because Ena had put him up to think that she Eileen had "begun to care."
Never had she entirely recovered "tone" after that attack of grippe which had lost her a good position, and the strenuous work during these weeks at Peter Rolls's had pulled her down. If she were to be "out of a job" things would be very bad for her; yet, as she moved up slowly, step by step, to the desk of destiny, she was reading a novel, calmly straining her eyes in the trying light.
The cheerful grins would be wiped from the two strong faces as by an artist who, with a stroke, changes the expression of a portrait. Peter Rolls's word was at least as good as Jim Logan's. Questions would be asked. Jottings would be made in notebooks. Perhaps they would both have to go to the police station. The girl's name would be demanded; Logan might be forced to tell it.
"I think that white dress is the meltingest thing I ever saw," said Lady Eileen, who had walked into the room without waiting for Miss Devereux's answer to Peter Rolls's objection. She was a kind-hearted girl, but, after all, living models were living models until they were dead, and she wasn't going to lose the chance of getting a dreamy frock out of Rags!
When she saw the brother and sister coming toward her, however, the smile on Miss Rolls's face was encouraging. It was dimly like Peter's smile, and there was a certain family resemblance about the faces: both dark, with eager eyes that seemed light in contrast with dead-black hair, but the eagerness of Miss Rolls's look was different from the eagerness of her brother's.
Her tone tried not to be too patronizing, lest patronage should be considered to verge on snobbishness. "Thank you. I never did want anything that you could do. Though it was kind of you to offer," Win returned, and was aware that every one was listening. Oh, why had she believed Mr. Löwenfeld when he vowed that the one secure sanctuary against the Rolls family was in Peter Rolls's store?
Besides, even had she possessed the dollars, she lacked energy of late. It was easier to keep on doing what one had done than do anything new. And, in any case, nothing that one did seemed to matter. As for the lion tamer, Peter Rolls's shop saw him no more.
There was a dinner at Sea Gull Manor that night in honour of the Rolls's guests, and just as Eileen had finished dressing, her brother Raygan knocked at her door. "Want me to say your tie's all right?" she chirped. "No, my child, I do not," said Rags. "I wouldn't trust your taste round the corner with a tie. You're looking rather pleased with yourself what?"
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