Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 24).djvu/537

Rh "And poor little us! Whatever shall we do?"

It was a tragic moment, a shattering blow. But Eva perceived Muriel's pretty mouth to be trembling towards tears, and this was a sign she must not give way herself.

"If the King only recovers, the rest won't matter much," said she. "Cook, run out, like a dear, and get us a paper. And after all, Birdie," this was her pet name for Muriel, "after all we need not despair. People will have to eat just the same. Town is just as full as it was five minutes ago. Everybody is not going to run away instantly, you may be sure. On the contrary, they will want to remain on the spot to get news of the King. You may be sure that everyone who is here already will stay for the week. And perhaps even on Coronation Day (poor Coronation Day!) we shall do better business than we expected. For instead of people being on the stands all the time, and having their luncheon there, they will be wandering about and very likely coming in here to us. So cheer up, darling, and help me move this table nearer the window. There! It looks prettier like that, doesn't it?"

It was dreadfully sad about the King, but, of course, as Eva said, people would want their luncheons just the same. So everything was prepared for the expected guests, and the sisters flitted about with an anxious eye upon the clock.

Ten-thirty struck; eleven; eleven-thirty; twelve.

The tea ladies' hearts began to beat, for now at any moment the first customer might arrive.

Half-past twelve; one o'clock; half-past one.

Not a single person had come into the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms. The girls looked at each other in silent agitation. What could it mean? For Bond Street was full of people passing to and fro, and for over an hour a steady stream had been pouring in and out of the tea-rooms opposite.

The door opened with a cling, and both girls moved forward to welcome the incoming guest. But it was only a telegraph boy, who handed Eva the orange envelope containing a message from home.

"So sad about the dear King," it ran, "but how are things going with you?Mumsie."

"Any answer, miss?" queried the boy, and Eva, compressing her lips, took a pencil and wrote: "Awfully sad, but everything going splendidly here."

Muriel, looking over her shoulder, nodded approval. They couldn't let the poor little mother know how miserably disappointed, how humiliated they felt. Time enough when they had to write to her, and, besides, by tea-time the position would be quite changed. Oh, by tea-time they would have their hands full; of that there could be no doubt!

And piles of delicious sandwiches stood ready, platefuls of tempting cakes, dozens of pots of tea waiting only to be "wetted," as cook expressed it; and meanwhile the hands crept round the little Louis Seize clock on the mantelpiece from two to three, from three to four, from four to five, and the street was always filled with people, but, as Muriel said, it seemed as though some malignant fairy had touched the Cosy Corner Tea-Rooms and made them invisible, for not a soul so much as paused at the door.

It was inexplicable, it was heart-breaking, and two pale, tired, pretty girls crept about the rooms they had prepared with such gay anticipations, and made a poor pretence of keeping up each other's spirits, and feared to look into each other's eyes lest they should burst into tears.

When, breaking the silence, six strokes chimed out from the ormolu time-piece, Muriel gave way. She sat down by one of the unneeded tables, sank her little head on the snowy cloth, and wept into her hands.

Eva bent over her, caressing her hair.

"Dearest Birdie, don't cry!" she pleaded. "The day isn't ended yet. Some people might come still. And whatever would they think if they were to find the tea ladies in tears?"

"They'd think the tea must have been horribly nasty to have had such an effect!" said Muriel, suddenly smiling up, although her long eyelashes were all beaded with diamonds. "And, oh! Heavens! Here, actually, is a real customer at last!"

Breathlessly the girls sprang to attention as a young man entered the shop.

He was a very tall young man, with splendidly broad shoulders, and strong, nervous hands, and a very sun-burned face. He didn't look quote English, and yet assuredly he was not foreign, but he might have been Canadian or Colonial. He bowed deferentially, and holding his hat in his hands said, with a little smile which showed milk-white teeth:

"I wonder whether it would be possible for me to have any tea?"