e shall have a fine evening yet.
May I, without rudeness, say that you look better since you left that
abominable place.'

'Oh, I feel better.'

After keeping his look fixed for a long time on the horse's ears,
Widdowson turned gravely to his companion.

'I told you about my sister-in-law. Would you be willing to make her
acquaintance?'

'I don't feel able to do that, Mr. Widdowson,' Monica answered with
decision.

Prepared for this reply, he began a long and urgent persuasion. It was
useless; Monica listened quietly, but without sign of yielding. The
subject dropped, and they talked of indifferent things.

On the homeward drive, when the dull sky grew dusk about them, and the
suburban street-lamps began to show themselves in long glimmering
lines, Widdowson returned with shamefaced courage to the subject which
for some hours had been in abeyance.

'I can't part from you this evening without a word of hope to remember.
You know that I want you to be my wife. Will you tell me if there is
anything I can say or do to make your consent possible? Have you any
doubt of me?'

'No doubt whatever of your sincerity.'

'In one sense, I am still a stranger to you. Will you give me the
Opportunity of making things between us more regular? Will you allow me
to meet some friend of yours whom you trust?'

'I had rather you didn't yet.'

'You wish to know still more of me, personally?'

'Yes--I think I must know you much better before I can consent to any
step of that kind.'

'But,' he urged, 'if we became acquaintances in the ordinary way, and
knew each other's friends, wouldn't that be most satisfactory to you?'

'It might be. But you forget that so much would have to be explained. I
have behaved very strangely. If I told everything to my friends I
should leave myself no choice.'

'Oh, why not? You would be absolutely free. I could no more than try to
recommend myself to you. If I am so unhappy as to fail, how would you
be anything but quite free?'

'But surely you must understand me. In this position, I must either not
speak of you at all, or make it known that I am engaged to you. I can't
have it taken for granted that I am engaged to you when I don't wish to
be.'

Widdowson's head drooped; he set his lips in a hard gloomy expression.

'I have behaved very imprudently,' continued the girl. But I don't
see--I can't see--what else I could have done. Things are so badly
arranged. It wasn't possible for us to be