-pity at the realisation of
her helplessness, defiance, desire to protect the good name of the
loved one, filled her being. She walked for some moments in silence, he
following.

"Are you very angry?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry."

The deep note of sincerity in his voice might have arrested her wrath.
If anything, his emotion stimulated her anger.

"Why do, you take pleasure in spying on me?" she cried. "I always knew
you were a beast."

"Eh! Oh, rot!" he replied.

"Why can't you leave me alone? You would if you knew how I hated you."

"Do you mean that?" he asked quietly.

"You shouldn't have spied on me."

"Don't be angry: at least not very. You wouldn't if you knew how I've
longed to see you again, to find out what's become of you."

"You know now!" she exclaimed defiantly.

"And since I know, what is the use of your getting angry?"

"I hate meanness," cried Mavis.

"Eh!"

"Spying's meanness. It's hateful: hateful."

"So are fools," he cried, with a vehemence approaching hers.

She looked at him, surprised. He went on:

"I hate fools, and much, much as I think of you and much as you will
always be to me, I can't help telling you what a fool you've been."

"Not so loud," urged Mavis. They had now reached the corner of
much-frequented Lupus Street, where the man's emphatic voice would
attract attention.

"I'll say what I please. And if I choose to tell you I think you a
precious fool, nothing on earth shall stop me."

"That's right: insult me," remarked Mavis, who was secretly pleased at
his unrestrained anger.

"'Insult' be hanged! You're an arrant, downright fool! You'd only to
say the word to have been my wife."

"What an honour!" laughed Mavis, saying the first words which came into
her head. The next moment she would have given much to have been able
to recall them.

"For me," said Windebank gravely. "And I know I'd have made you happy."

"I believe you would," admitted Mavis, wishing to atone for her
thoughtless remark.

As if moved by a common impulse, they crossed Lupus Street and sought
the first quiet thoroughfare which presented itself. This happened to
be Cambridge Street, along the shabby pretentiousness of which they
walked for some minutes in silence, each occupied with their thoughts.

"How did you find out where I was?" she asked.

"Miss Toombs."

"You've seen her?"

"She sent me 'Halverton Street' written on a piece of paper. I guessed
what it meant."

"Yo