e into the quiet district that
skirts Regent's Park, Widdowson talking all the way in a strain of all
but avowed tenderness, his head bent towards her and his voice so much
subdued that occasionally she lost a few words.

'I can't live without seeing you,' he said at length. 'If you refuse to
meet me, I have no choice but to come wandering about the places where
you are. Don't, pray don't think I spy upon you. Indeed, it is only
just to see your face or your form as you walk along. When I have had
my journey in vain I go back in misery. You are never out of my
thoughts--never.'

'I am sorry for that, Mr. Widdowson.'

'Sorry? Are you really sorry? Do you think of me with less friendliness
than when we had our evening on the river?'

'Oh, not with less friendliness. But if I only make you unhappy--'

'In one way unhappy, but as no one else ever had the power to. If you
would let me meet you at certain times my restlessness would be at an
end. The summer is going so quickly. Won't you come for that drive with
me next Sunday? I will be waiting for you at any place you like to
appoint. If you could imagine what joy it would give me!'

Presently Monica assented. If it were fine, she would be by the
southeast entrance to Regent's Park at two o'clock. He thanked her with
words of the most submissive gratitude, and then they parted.

The day proved doubtful, but she kept her appointment. Widdowson was on
the spot with horse and trap. These were not, as he presently informed
Monica, his own property, but hired from a livery stable, according to
his custom.

'It won't rain,' he exclaimed, gazing at the sky. 'It _shan't_ rain!
These few hours are too precious to me.'

'It would be very awkward if it _did_,' Monica replied, in merry
humour, as they drove along.

The sky threatened till sundown, but Widdowson was able to keep
declaring that rain would not come. He took a south-westward course,
crossed Waterloo Bridge, and thence by the highways made for Herne
Hill. Monica observed that he made a short detour to avoid Walworth
Road. She asked his reason.

'I hate the road!' Widdowson answered, with vehemence.

'You hate it?'

'Because you slaved and suffered there. If I had the power, I would
destroy it--every house. Many a time,' he added, in a lower voice,
'when you were lying asleep, I walked up and down there in horrible
misery.'

'Just because I had to stand at a counter?'

'Not only that. It wasn't fit for yo