Her eyes and her arms, almost her lips, were calling
him to her.
CHAPTER XII
A BOLT FROM THE BLUE
Burton's life moved for a time among the easy places. The sub-editor of
the Piccadilly Gazette, to which he still contributed, voluntarily
increased his scale of pay and was insatiable in his demand for copy.
Burton moved into pleasant rooms in a sunny corner of an old-fashioned
square. He sent Ellen three pounds a week--all she would accept--and
save for a dull pain at his heart which seldom left him, he found much
pleasure in life. Then came the first little break in the clear sky.
Mr. Waddington came in to see him one day and Mr. Waddington was
looking distinctly worried. He was neatly and tastefully dressed, and
his demeanor had lost all its old offensiveness. His manner, too, was
immensely improved. His tone was almost gentle. Nevertheless, there
was a perplexed frown upon his forehead and an anxious look in his eyes.
"Business all right, I hope?" Burton asked him, after he had welcomed
his late employer, installed him in an easy chair and pushed a box of
cigarettes towards him.
"It is better than all right," Mr. Waddington replied. "It is
wonderful. We have never had such crowds at the sales, and I have taken
on four more clerks in the house-letting department.
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