ully in one of her silk handkerchiefs and put it away in her
trunk. From time to time, she would take the brick out, to have it
about her when she was at her lodgings. She also took an acute interest
in bricks that were either built into houses, or heaped upon the
roadside. She was proudly convinced there were no bricks that could
compare with the one she prized for finish or durability. Perigal was
much diverted and, perhaps, touched by her interest in his possible
source of success.

The clamourings of Mavis' ardent nature had been so long repressed,
that the disturbing influences of her passion for Perigal were more
than sufficient to loose her pent up instincts. Her lover's kisses
proved such a disturbing factor, that, one evening when he had been
unusually appreciative of her lips, she had not slept, having lain
awake, trembling, till it was time for her to get up. For the future,
she deemed it prudent to allow one kiss at meeting, and a further one
at parting.

Perigal protested against this arrangement, when he would say:

"I love to kiss you, little Mavis, because then such a wistful, faraway
look comes into your eyes, which is one of the most wonderful things
I've seen."

Mavis, with an effort, resisted Perigal's entreaties.

One August evening, when it was late enough for her to be conscious
that the nights were drawing in, she was returning from a happy hour
spent with her lover. It now wanted but a week to their marriage; their
hearts were delirious with happiness.

"Don't you miss all the bridesmaids and all the usual thing-uma-jigs of
a wedding?" he had asked her.

"Not a bit."

"Sure, darling?"

"Quite. I only want one thing. So long as I get that, nothing else can
possibly matter."

"And that?"

"You," she had replied, at which Perigal had said after a moment or two
of silence:

"I will, I really will do all I know to make my treasure of a little
Mavis happy."

Mavis was walking home with a light step and a lighter heart: more than
one red-cheeked, stolid, Wiltshire man and woman turned to look after
the trimly-built, winsome girl, who radiated distinction and happiness
as she walked.

A familiar voice sounded in Mavis's ear. "At last," it said heartfully.

She turned, to see Windebank standing before her, a Windebank stalwart
as ever, with his face burned to the colour of brick red, but looking
older and thinner than when she had last seen him. Mavis' heart sank.

"At last," he re