dowson, I am going to make you a cup of
tea--with my own fair hands, as the novelist say.'

Monica begged that he would not trouble. Under the circumstances she
had better not stay. She would come again very soon.

'No, I can't, I can't let you go!' Bevis exclaimed, softening his gay
tone as he stood before her. 'How shall I entreat you? If you knew what
an unforgettable delight it will be to me to make you a cup of tea! I
shall think of it at Bordeaux every Saturday.'

She had risen, but exhibited no immutable resolve.

'I really must go, Mr. Bevis--!'

'Don't drive me to despair. I am capable of turning my poor sisters out
of house and home--flat and home, I mean--in anger at their delay. On
their account, in pity for their youth, do stay, Mrs. Widdowson!
Besides, I have a new song that I want you to bear--words and music my
own. One little quarter of an hour! And I know the girls will be here
directly.'

His will, and her inclination, prevailed. Monica sat down again, and
Bevis disappeared to make the tea. Water must have been already
boiling, for in less than five minutes the young man returned with a
tray, on which all the necessaries were neatly arranged. With merry
homage he waited upon his guest. Monica's cheeks were warm. After the
vain attempt to release herself from what was now distinctly a
compromising situation, she sat down in an easier attitude than before,
as though resolved to enjoy her liberty whilst she might. There was a
suspicion in her mind that Bevis had arranged this interview; she
doubted the truth of his explanation. And indeed she hoped that his
sisters would not return until after her departure; it would be very
embarrassing to meet them.

Whilst talking and listening, she silently defended herself against the
charge of impropriety. What wrong was she committing? What matter that
they were alone? Their talk was precisely what it might have been in
other people's presence. And Bevis, such a frank, good-hearted fellow,
could not by any possibility fail in respect to her. The objections
were all cant, and cant of the worst kind. She would not be a slave of
such ignoble prejudices.

'You haven't made Mr. Barfoot's acquaintance yet?' she asked.

'No, I haven't. There seems to have been no opportunity. Did you
seriously wish me to know him?'

'Oh, I had no wish in the matter at all.'

'You like Mr. Barfoot?'

'I think him very pleasant.'

'How delightful to be praised by you, Mrs.