seemed that of an educated man. And certainly his
clothes were such as a gentleman wears. He had thin, hairy hands,
unmarked by any effect of labour; the nails could not have been better
cared for. Was it a bad sign that he carried neither gloves nor
walking-stick?

His talk aimed at nothing but sober friendliness; it was perfectly
inoffensive--indeed, respectful. Now and then--not too often--he fixed
his eyes upon her for an instant. After the introductory phrases, he
mentioned that he had had a long drive, alone; his horse was baiting in
preparation for the journey back to London. He often took such drives
in the summer, though generally on a weekday; the magnificent sky had
tempted him out this morning. He lived at Herne Hill.

At length he ventured a question. Monica affected no reluctance to tell
him that she was in a house of business, that she had relatives in
London, that only by chance she found herself alone to-day.

'I should be sorry if I never saw you again.'

These words he uttered with embarrassment, his eyes on the ground.
Monica could only keep silence. Half an hour ago she would not have
thought it possible for any remark of this man's seriously to occupy
her mind, yet now she waited for the next sentence in discomposure
which was quite free from resentment.

'We meet in this casual way, and talk, and then say good-bye. Why
mayn't I tell you that you interest me very much, and that I am afraid
to trust only to chance for another meeting? If you were a man'--he
smiled--'I should give you my card, and ask you to my house. The card I
may at all events offer.'

Whilst speaking, he drew out a little case, and laid a visiting-card on
the bench within Monica's reach. Murmuring her 'thank you,' she took
the bit of pasteboard, but did not look at it.

'You are on my side of the river,' he continued, still with scrupulous
modesty of tone. 'May I not hope to see you some day, when you are
walking? All days and times are the same to me; but I am afraid it is
only on Sunday that you are at leisure?'

'Yes, only on a Sunday.'

It took a long time, and many circumlocutions, but in the end an
appointment was made. Monica would see her acquaintance next Sunday
evening on the river front of Battersea Park; if it rained, then the
Sunday after. She was ashamed and confused. Other girls were constantly
doing this kind of thing--other girls in business; but it seemed to put
her on the level of a servant. And why