! And Raynor! he can never have been worthy to black her
boots." Peignton had a hatred of waste, and it was waste of the worst
sort to find this adorable woman thrown away on a man who was quite
obtrusively unappreciative. There was such unconscious commiseration in
his glance, that Cassandra drew back sharply.

"Goodness, how serious we are growing! It's the rarest thing in the
world for me to theorise. It must be the pernicious effect of paying
calls. I'm not responsible for anything I say after being cooped up
with rows of women discussing cooks, and Mothers' Meetings. Forgive me
if I've bored you!"

"I'm not bored. I'll think over what you say. I expect you are right,
and I'm wrong. When one is obliged to slack physically, as I've done
these last years, the mind is apt to slack in sympathy. It _is_ a sort
of slacking to be content with makeshifts. I must brace up, and aim at
the sky, or if a makeshift is inevitable, at least one can use a little
deception and pretend that it is the best."

"_Could_ you do that?"

Cassandra's eyes were incredulous, but Peignton smiled with easy
assurance.

"Oh, yes, certainly. If I chose. It's a question of temperament. It
is always easier to me to be happy, than the other thing. One adapts
oneself--"

The car stopped at the cross roads and Cassandra held out her hand in
farewell. The melancholy air had disappeared, an elf of mischief danced
in her eyes.

"Captain Peignton, you are hopelessly prosaic. It must be a second best
after all, for the dream would be wasted upon you. The second best,
and--shall I help you to it?"

"Do!" he cried, and they parted with a mutual laugh. It was only after
the car had whizzed ahead and he was left alone upon the road, that it
occurred to him to connect Teresa Mallison with the offer.

"Poor little girl. Too bad!" he said to himself then, and there was
tenderness in his eyes, tenderness in his heart. With every conscious
thought he was loyal to Teresa, yet one thing puzzled him,--when apart
from her, he found it impossible to visualise the girl's face. As often
as he tried to summon it, it eluded him; he could see nothing but the
sweep of dark hair across a white brow, the oval of delicately flushed
cheeks, a little chin nestled deep into grey furs. And Raynor was
indifferent to her,--indifferent to that woman!

CHAPTER SIX.

THE EAST END.

Mrs Mallison was one of the kindest of women; she was also one of