rce of character declared itself in his
countenance, and his mode of speech did not suggest a very active
brain. Speculating again about his age, Monica concluded that he must
be two or three and forty, in spite of the fact that his grizzled beard
argued for a higher figure. He had brown hair untouched by any sign of
advanced life, his teeth were white and regular, and something--she
could not make clear to her mind exactly what--convinced her that he
had a right to judge himself comparatively young.

'I supposed you were not a Londoner,' he said, when she came to a pause.

'How?'

'Your speech. Not,' he added quickly, 'that you have any provincial
accent. And even if you had been a Londoner you would not have shown it
in that way.'

He seemed to be reproving himself for a blunder, and after a short
silence asked in a tone of kindness,--

'Do you prefer the town?'

'In some ways--not in all.'

'I am glad you have relatives here, and friends. So many young ladies
come up from the country who are quite alone.'

'Yes, many.'

Their progress to familiarity could hardly have been slower. Now and
then they spoke with a formal coldness which threatened absolute
silence. Monica's brain was so actively at work that she lost
consciousness of the people who were moving about them, and at times
her companion was scarcely more to her than a voice.

They had walked along the whole front of the park, and were near
Chelsea Bridge. Widdowson gazed at the pleasure-boats lying below on
the strand, and said diffidently,--

'Would you care to go on the river?'

The proposal was so unexpected that Monica looked up with a startled
air. She had not thought of the man as likely to offer any kind of
amusement.

'It would be pleasant, I think,' he added. 'The tide is still running
up. We might go very quietly for a mile or two, and be back as soon as
you like.'

'Yes, I should like it.'

He brightened up, and moved with a livelier step. In a few minutes they
had chosen their boat, had pushed off, and were gliding to the middle
of the broad water. Widdowson managed the sculls without awkwardness,
but by no means like a man well trained in this form of exercise. On
sitting down, he had taken off his hat, stowed it away, and put on a
little travelling-cap, which he drew from his pocket. Monica thought
this became him. After all, he was not a companion to be ashamed of.
She looked with pleasure at his white hairy hands with their