Amory's heart had given a leap. She did not entirely understand, but there was one thing that she did understand, namely, that Mr. Dix was offering her money at once. Money at once would enable her to begin her tenancy at Cheyne Walk at once.... Mr. Dix looked into the pretty eyes again, smiled, and continued.
"Well, what shall we say? If you were to ask my private opinion--but there, I've no right to try to influence you. But a considerable sum now--say a hundren pounds--eh----?"
He almost winked at Amory. It was as if he advised her to cry "Done" at once before Mr. Crozier had time to change his mind.
"Mr. Crozier doesn't mean that he buys the pictures for a hundred pounds, does he?" she asked presently.
Mr. Dix laughed heartily. "My dear Miss Towers!... I can assure you that if Mr. Crozier had meant that he'd have had to find another messenger. No, no. You may regard this, if you like, as a mere _solatium_ for the postponement--to be a first charge, of course, on whatever the pictures may ultimately fetch. That, we trust, will be a far greater sum. We're watching the market very keenly, and you may trust Mr. Crozier to make the most of it when it comes.... Well, what am I to tell him?"
"Bravo!" cried Mr. Dix, as if Amory had performed a deed of bravery. And he bent gallantly over her hand.
Amory was beside herself with importance and delight. She had not now a mere promise from Croziers'--she was to have a proper contract, and a cheque for a hundred pounds posted to her the very moment the contract was signed. All that day she could not sit still for a minute in one place, and in the afternoon she suddenly started up, crammed her hat on her head, and ran out to the confectioner's in the King's Road, where the use of a telephone was to be had for twopence. She must tell Dorothy that she particularly wanted to see her at the studio that afternoon--why, she refused to say. Then, treading on air, she returned to the studio again, humming Laura's song "The Trees they do Grow High" as she went. Still singing, she began to potter about among the tins in the little cupboard, to see in which one the tea was kept.
Dorothy came running in an hour later, just as Amory sat down before the plate of bread-and-butter and the saucerless cup she had placed on the little gate-legged table. Her eyes were as big as the heads of Amory's hatpins.