ure walked smartly down the steps. It
was Thomas Farwell, a thin red book under his arm. He went straight
through to the old table, propped his book against the cruet and began
to read. Victoria surveyed him critically. He was thinner than ever; his
hair was more plentifully sprinkled with grey but had receded no
further. He was quite near her, so she could see his unbrushed collar
and his frayed cuffs. After a moment the girl came and stood before him;
it was Nelly, big and raw-boned as ever, handsome still like the fine
beast of burden she was. She wore no apron now in proud token of her
new position as head waitress. Now the voices by her side were talking
holidays.

'No, Ramsgit's good enough for me. Broadstairs and all these little
places, they're so tony--'

Maud passed quickly before Victoria. The poor little girl was as white
as ever; her flaccid cheeks danced up and down as she ran. The other
voice was relating at length how its owner had taken his good lady to
Deal. Nelly had left Farwell, walking more slowly than the other girls,
as befitted her station. Victoria felt herself pluck up a little
courage, crossed the room followed by many admiring glances, and quickly
sat down at Farwell's table. He looked up quickly. The book dropped
suddenly from the cruet.

'Victoria,' he gasped.

'Yes,' she said smiling.

'Well . . .' His eyes ran over her close fitting tussore dress, her
white kid gloves.

'Is that all you've got to say to me?' she asked. 'Won't you shake
hands?'

Farwell put out his hand and held hers for a second. He was smiling now,
with just a touch of wistfulness in his eyes.

'I'm very glad to see you,' he said at length.

'So am I,' said Victoria. 'I hope you don't mind my coming here, but I
only thought of it this morning.'

'Mind,' snapped Farwell. 'People who understand everything never mind
anything.'

Victoria smiled again. The bumptious aphorism was a sign that Farwell
was still himself. For a minute or so they looked at one another.
Victoria wondered at this man; so powerful intellectually and
physically; and yet content to live in his ideals on a pittance, to do
dull work, to be a subordinate. Truly a caged lion. Farwell, on the
other hand, was looking in vain for some physical ravishes to justify
Victoria's profession, for some gross development at least. He looked in
vain. Instead of the pale dark girl with large grey eyes whom he had
known, he now saw a healthy and beautifu