was now his turn to be surprised. She went on:

"It's a thing any woman should be proud of, a man asking her to share
her life with him."

His lips parted, but he did not speak.

She drew herself up to her full, queenly height to say:

"I am very proud."

"Ah! Then--then--"

His hands caught hers.

"Let me go," she pleaded.

"But--"

"I want to think. Let me go: let me go!"

His hands still held hers, but with an effort she freed herself, to run
from him in the direction of her lodging. She did not once look back,
but hurried as if pursued by danger, safety from which lay in the
companionship of her thoughts.

Arrived at Mrs Farthing's, she made no pretence of sitting down to her
waiting supper, but went straight upstairs to her room. She felt that a
crisis had arisen in her life. To overcome it, it was necessary for her
to decide whether or not she loved Charlie Perigal. She passed the best
part of a sleepless night endeavouring, without success, to solve the
problem confronting her. Jill, who always slept on Mavis' bed, was
alive to her mistress' disquiet. The morning sun was already high in
the heavens when Jill crept sympathetically to the girl's side.

Mavis clasped her friend in her arms to say:

"Oh, Jill, Jill! If you could only tell me if I truly loved him!"

Jill energetically licked Mavis' cheek before nestling in her arms to
sleep.

The early morning post brought a letter from Perigal to Mavis, which
she opened with trembling hands and beating heart. It ran:--

"For your sake, not for mine, I'm off to Wales by the early morning
train. If you care for me ever so little (and I am proud to believe you
do), in clearing out of your life, I am doing what I conceive to be the
best thing possible for your future happiness. If it gives you any
pleasure to know it, I should like to tell you I love you. My going
away is some proof of this statement, C. P.

"P.S.--I have written by the same post to Windebank to give him your
address."

Mavis looked at her watch, to discover it was exactly half-past seven.
She ran downstairs, half dressed as she was, to look at the time-table
which Mr Medlicott presented to her on the first of every month. After
many false scents, she discovered, that for Perigal to catch the train
at Bristol for South Wales, he must leave Melkbridge for Dippenham by
the 8.15. Always a creature of impulse, she scrambled into her clothes,
swallowed a mouthful of tea, pinned on her