omnibus.

Olga, her eyes cast down as she turned homeward, was not aware that
someone who had held her in sight for a long time grew gradually near,
until he stepped to her side. It was Mr. Kite. He looked at her with a
melancholy smile on his long, lank face, and, when at length the girl
saw him, took off his shabby hat respectfully. Olga nodded and walked
on without speaking. Kite accompanying her.

CHAPTER XVII

Olga was the first to break silence.

"You ought to take your boots to be mended," she said gently. "If it
rains, you'll get wet feet, and you know what that means."

"You're very kind to think of it; I will."

"You can pay for them, I hope?"

"Pay? Oh, yes, yes! a trifle such as that--Have you had a long walk?"

"I met a friend. I may as well tell you; it was the Italian, Mr.
Florio."

"I saw you together," said Kite absently, but not resentfully. "I half
thought of coming up to be introduced to him. But I'm rather shabby, I
feared you mightn't like it."

"It wouldn't have mattered a bit, so far as I'm concerned," replied
Olga good-naturedly. "But he isn't the kind of man you'd care for. If
he had been, I should have got you to meet him before now."

"You like him?"

"Yes, I rather like him. But it's nothing more than that; don't imagine
it. Oh, I had a call from my cousin Irene this morning. We don't quite
get on together; she's getting very worldly. Her idea is that one ought
to marry cold-bloodedly, just for social advantage, and that kind of
thing. No doubt she's going to do it, and then we shall never see each
other again, never!--She tells me that Piers Otway is coming to England
again."

"Oh, now I should like to know _him_, I really should!" exclaimed Kite,
with a mild vivacity.

"So you shall, if he stays in London. Perhaps you would suit each
other."

"I'm sure, because you like him so much."

"Do I?" asked Olga doubtfully. "Yes, perhaps so. If he hasn't changed
for the worse. But it'll be rather irritating if he talks about nothing
but Irene still. Oh, that's impossible! Five years; yes, that's
impossible."

"One should think the better of him, in a way," ventured Kite.

"Oh, in a way. But when a thing of that sort is hopeless. I'm afraid
Irene looks down upon him, just because--you know. But he's better than
most of the men she'll meet in her drawing-rooms, that's Certain. Shall
I ask him to come to my place?"

"Do. And I hope he'll stay in England, and that you'l