fun" to hear what he had
to say. There was also another and far more potent reason. If he
walked with her, Lillie would be proved in the wrong; for he would not
walk and talk with one whom he regarded as his relatives' maid-servant.
But he was nearly past and did not look her way.

"Good evening, Mr. Wilson," she piped then; her voice sounding crudely
loud to herself in the grey stillness. But she had to prove her place
in the world--make certain of it, lest she should lose it.

"Oh!" He swung round, peering into her face--at first not remembering
her. Then something in her bright glance reminded him. "So it is you,
is it? Hurrying home to get ready to dance again to-night, I suppose?"
He spoke indifferently, disinclined for adventure in the chill, damp
atmosphere of this late afternoon. Still he went on, being by nature
somewhat expansive. "Is Miss Wilson at home this afternoon, do you
know?" then fell into step by Caroline's side without thinking of it.

"Yes. Were you wanting to see her?" said Caroline; but underneath, she
was saying to herself: "If I'd done what Aunt Creddle wanted, and been
a servant out and out, I should never have walked with Mr. Wilson like
this." She felt consciously proud of being a "business girl"--one of
the great company that had every evening free, and could wear low necks
and powder their faces. But there was more than that in it----

Wilson glanced sideways at her, vaguely satisfied with the lightness of
her step by his side and the look of her lips and eyes through the
mist. His interest was beginning to wake again. "I am going to the
Cottage with some tickets for that Garden Fete for the Hospital which
Miss Ethel and Miss Temple are helping to get up."

"Oh, can I take them?" said Caroline.

"No, thank you. I have a message from Miss Temple to deliver as well,"
he answered.

There was practically no one to be seen on the road--only a few distant
objects moving in the mist--and it would have been awkward for either
of them to leave the other, so they settled down to walk all the way to
the Cottage together.

She spoke abruptly, nervously. "I'm leaving soon, you know. I'm going
into an office. I can type, but I can't do shorthand. Still, I aren't
afraid of work. If only I could get a bit more practice I should be a
very quick typist--the teacher says so."

He walked on, saying nothing, and she thought she had offended him--no
doubt he feared she was going to