. It had been constructed to hold Darius
Clayhanger; but in practice it generally held Edwin, as his father's
schemes for the enlargement of the business carried him abroad more and
more. It was a device of Edwin's for privacy; Edwin had planned it and
seen the plan executed. The theory was that a person concealed in the
structure (called `the office') was not technically in the shop and must
not be disturbed by anyone in the shop. Only persons of authority--
Darius and Edwin--had the privilege of the office, and since its
occupant could hear every whisper in the shop, it was always for the
occupant to decide when events demanded that he should emerge.

On Janet's entrance, Edwin was writing in the daybook: "April 11th.
Turnhill Oddfellows. 400 Contrib. Cards--" He stopped writing. He held
himself still like a startled mouse. With satisfaction he observed that
the door of the fortress was closed. By putting his nose near the
crystal wall he could see, through the minute transparent portions of
the patterned glass, without being seen. He watched Janet's graceful
gestures, and examined with pleasure the beauties of her half-season
toilet; he discerned the modishness of her umbrella handle. His
sensations were agreeable and yet disagreeable, for he wished both to
remain where he was and to go forth and engage her in brilliant small
talk. He had no small talk, except that of the salesman and the
tradesman; his tongue knew not freedom; but his fancy dreamed of light,
intellectual conversations with fine girls. These dreams of fancy had
of late become almost habitual, for the sole reason that he had raised
his hat several times to Janet, and once had shaken hands with her and
said, "How d'you do, Miss Orgreave?" in response to her "How d'you do,
Mr Clayhanger?" Osmond Orgreave, in whom had originated their
encounter, had cut across the duologue at that point and spoilt it. But
Edwin's fancy had continued it, when he was alone late at night, in a
very diverting and witty manner. And now, he had her at his disposal;
he had only to emerge, and Stiff would deferentially recede, and he
could chat with her at ease, starting comfortably from "The Light of
Asia." And yet he dared not; his faint heart told him in loud beats
that he could only chat cleverly with a fine girl when absolutely alone
in his room, in the dark.

Still, he surveyed her; he added her up; he pronounced, with a touch of
conventional male patronag