be glad to run down; but she was by no means to alter
any plans she had made. He awaited her answer with impatience. In it she
said that if she had only known before she could have arranged it, but she
had promised to go to a music-hall on the Saturday night; besides, it
would make the people at the boarding-house talk if he stayed there. Why
did he not come on Sunday morning and spend the day? They could lunch at
the Metropole, and she would take him afterwards to see the very superior
lady-like person who was going to take the baby.

Sunday. He blessed the day because it was fine. As the train approached
Brighton the sun poured through the carriage window. Mildred was waiting
for him on the platform.

"How jolly of you to come and meet me!" he cried, as he seized her hands.

"You expected me, didn't you?"

"I hoped you would. I say, how well you're looking."

"It's done me a rare lot of good, but I think I'm wise to stay here as
long as I can. And there are a very nice class of people at the
boarding-house. I wanted cheering up after seeing nobody all these months.
It was dull sometimes."

She looked very smart in her new hat, a large black straw with a great
many inexpensive flowers on it; and round her neck floated a long boa of
imitation swansdown. She was still very thin, and she stooped a little
when she walked (she had always done that,) but her eyes did not seem so
large; and though she never had any colour, her skin had lost the earthy
look it had. They walked down to the sea. Philip, remembering he had not
walked with her for months, grew suddenly conscious of his limp and walked
stiffly in the attempt to conceal it.

"Are you glad to see me?" he asked, love dancing madly in his heart.

"Of course I am. You needn't ask that."

"By the way, Griffiths sends you his love."

"What cheek!"

He had talked to her a great deal of Griffiths. He had told her how
flirtatious he was and had amused her often with the narration of some
adventure which Griffiths under the seal of secrecy had imparted to him.
Mildred had listened, with some pretence of disgust sometimes, but
generally with curiosity; and Philip, admiringly, had enlarged upon his
friend's good looks and charm.

"I'm sure you'll like him just as much as I do. He's so jolly and amusing,
and he's such an awfully good sort."

Philip told her how, when they were perfect strangers, Griffiths had
nursed him through an illness; and in the telling Grif