There had been no world in which Mattie would have let this untimely visitor slip through her finger, however shabby his coat was. In fact, she had since decided that the shabbiness of his clothes accentuated his charm: and money certainly could not buy stature like that. She would have liked to see him less put together than anything. Perhaps with his sleeves rolled up, to better prove just how muscular he actually was – but that seemed an unlikely outcome, given how uncomfortable he already looked sitting on the sofa, sipping tea from a cup and saucer like he had come to call. Of course, now she knew of his existence she could always find some reason to visit the printer’s herself, and see if she could catch him at work, in full swing... But she hadn’t yet given up on the possibility of getting him to take his coat off, here and now. She was rather invested in divesting him of it, actually. She was sure she could find a way.
But of course that demanded his staying a while longer – and, tragically, Mr. Buchanan already seemed itching to go. Either it was warm in here, or he was blushing: his cheeks were ruddy. Mattie was near enough to witness this, and she was not polite enough to pretend to be looking at something else to avert her gaze from him.
If she hadn’t tossed the sleeping Mrs. Cole another glance since the snores had started sounding, it was not from carelessness. In fact, from pure forethought of planning, there was simply no need to – Mattie had schemes upon schemes stored up for rainy days, and since her father had already been out of the house, there had been no one to prevent her from slipping a sleeping draught into the housekeeper’s tea, along with her milk. So there was really no chance of Mrs. Cole waking and cramping Mattie’s style for some time – nor was Mr. Farris likely to be back for at least another forty-five minutes or maybe an hour. But she couldn’t say that, or Mr. Buchanan would feel obliged to go.
“I’m quite sure he’ll be back soon,” Mattie whispered back, widening her eyes in mock-earnest. “He wasn’t meant to be gone long at all. Did you come for the proof corrections of one of his chapters?” (His academic work usually had to go through a few rounds of editing pre-printing; they were working chapter by chapter through his latest book, receiving and checking and correcting pages, adjusting layouts and any compositing errors before the chapters could go to print officially.) “Oh, please say you’ll wait for him to get back, Mr. Buchanan. He’ll be furious to think he missed you,” she entreated him – and he would be a little annoyed, but Mattie might be exaggerating her father’s reaction for effect, because she thought the printer might feel bad for her, and thus duty-bound to stay. She touched her hand hopefully to the printer’s forearm to mean stay, to impress the urgency of her plea upon him.
But of course that demanded his staying a while longer – and, tragically, Mr. Buchanan already seemed itching to go. Either it was warm in here, or he was blushing: his cheeks were ruddy. Mattie was near enough to witness this, and she was not polite enough to pretend to be looking at something else to avert her gaze from him.
If she hadn’t tossed the sleeping Mrs. Cole another glance since the snores had started sounding, it was not from carelessness. In fact, from pure forethought of planning, there was simply no need to – Mattie had schemes upon schemes stored up for rainy days, and since her father had already been out of the house, there had been no one to prevent her from slipping a sleeping draught into the housekeeper’s tea, along with her milk. So there was really no chance of Mrs. Cole waking and cramping Mattie’s style for some time – nor was Mr. Farris likely to be back for at least another forty-five minutes or maybe an hour. But she couldn’t say that, or Mr. Buchanan would feel obliged to go.
“I’m quite sure he’ll be back soon,” Mattie whispered back, widening her eyes in mock-earnest. “He wasn’t meant to be gone long at all. Did you come for the proof corrections of one of his chapters?” (His academic work usually had to go through a few rounds of editing pre-printing; they were working chapter by chapter through his latest book, receiving and checking and correcting pages, adjusting layouts and any compositing errors before the chapters could go to print officially.) “Oh, please say you’ll wait for him to get back, Mr. Buchanan. He’ll be furious to think he missed you,” she entreated him – and he would be a little annoyed, but Mattie might be exaggerating her father’s reaction for effect, because she thought the printer might feel bad for her, and thus duty-bound to stay. She touched her hand hopefully to the printer’s forearm to mean stay, to impress the urgency of her plea upon him.
