bviously
sincere expression of a desire to meet Miss Scarratt again. The
wholesale draper praised Edward's financial qualities behind his back,
and wondered that a man of such aptitude should remain in Manchester
while London existed. As for May, she decided that she would have a new
frock before she came to Manchester in the following month.

She had a new frock, but not of the colour intended. By the following
month her father was enclosed in a coffin, and it happened to his
estate, as to the estates of many successful men who employ
stockbrokers, that the liabilities far more than covered the assets. May
and her mother were left without a penny. The mother did the right
thing, and died--it was best. May went direct to Brunt's, the largest
draper in the Five Towns, and asked for a place under 'Madame' in the
dress-making department. Brunt's daughter, who was about to be married,
gave her the place instantly. Three years later, when 'Madame' returned
to Paris, May stepped into the French-woman's shoes.

On Sundays and on Thursday afternoons, and sometimes (but not too often)
at the theatre, May was the finest walking advertisement that Brunt's
ever had. Old Brunt would have proposed to her, it was rumoured, had he
not been scared by her elegance. Sundry sons of prosperous
manufacturers, unabashed by this elegance, did in fact secretly propose,
but with what result was known only to themselves.

Later, as May waxed in importance at Brunt's, she was sent to Manchester
to buy. She lunched at the Exchange Restaurant. The world and Manchester
are very small. The first man she set eyes on was Edward Norris. Another
week, Norris said to her with a thrill, and he would have been gone for
ever to London. Chance is not to be flouted. The sequel was inevitable.
They loved. And all the select private bars in Hanbridge tinkled to the
news that May Scarratt had been and hooked a stockbroker!

When the toilette was done, and the maid gone, she wound a thin black
scarf round her olive neck and shoulders, and sat down negligently on a
Chippendale settee in the attitude of a portrait by Boldini; her little
feet were tucked up sideways on the settee; the perforated lace ends of
the scarf fell over her low corsage to the level of the seat. And she
waited, still the bride. He was late, but she knew he would be late.
Sure in the conviction that he was a strong man, a man of imagination
and of deeds, she could easily excuse this failing i