peated. He looked as if he would say more, but he did
not speak. She wondered if he were moved at seeing her again.

Mavis, not knowing what to say, put out her hand, which he clasped.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" he asked.

"Of course."

"And you're not going to run away again?"

She looked at him inquiringly.

"I mean as you did before, into the fog!"

"There's no fog to run into," she remarked feebly.

"Little Mavis! Little Mavis! I'd no idea you could look so well and
wonderful as you do."

"Hadn't we better walk? People are staring at us already."

"I can't see you so well walking," he complained.

They strolled along; as they walked, Windebank half turned, so that his
eyes never left her face.

"What a beautiful girl you are!" he said.

"You mustn't say that."

"But it's true. And to think of you working for that outsider Devitt!"

"He means well. And I've been very happy there."

"You won't be there much longer! Do you know why?"

"Tell me about yourself," she said evasively, as she wondered if
talking to Windebank were unfair to Perigal.

"Do you remember this?" he asked, as he brought out a crumpled letter
for her inspection.

"It's my writing!" she cried.

"It's the foolish, dear letter you wrote to me."

She took it, to recall the dreary day at Mrs Bilkins's on which she had
penned the lines to Windebank, in which she had refused to hamper his
career by acceding to his request.

"Give it back," he demanded.

"You don't want it?"

"Don't I! A girl who can write a letter like that to a chap isn't
easily forgotten, I can tell you."

Mavis did not reply. Windebank, seeing how she was embarrassed, told
her of his more recent doings; how, after getting Perigal's letter, he
had set out for England as soon as he could start; how he had saved
three days by taking the overland route from Brindisi (such was his
anxiety to see his little Mavis, who had never been wholly out of his
thoughts), to arrive home before he was expected.

"I had an early feed and came out hoping to see you," he concluded.

Mavis did not speak. She was deliberating if she should tell Windebank
of her approaching marriage; if he cared seriously for her, it was only
fair that he should know her affections were bestowed.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" he asked.

"Of course, but--"

"There are no 'buts.' You're coming home with me."

"Home!"

"To meet my people again. They're just back from Switzerland. It is