my annoyance shamed me thoroughly and made me
lower my eyes. I would no longer be a trouble to them; out of sheer
gratitude I would follow them with my gaze, not lose sight of them
until they entered some place safely and disappeared.

Outside No. 2, a large four-storeyed house, they turned again before
going in. I leant against a lamp-post near the fountain and listened
for their footsteps on the stairs. They died away on the second floor.
I advanced from the lamp-post and looked up at the house. Then
something odd happened. The curtains above were stirred, and a second
after a window opened, a head popped out, and two singular-looking eyes
dwelt on me. "Ylajali!" I muttered, half-aloud, and I felt I grew red.

Why does she not call for help, or push over one of these flower-pots
and strike me on the head, or send some one down to drive me away? We
stand and look into one another's eyes without moving; it lasts a
minute. Thoughts dart between the window and the street, and not a word
is spoken. She turns round, I feel a wrench in me, a delicate shock
through my senses; I see a shoulder that turns, a back that disappears
across the floor. That reluctant turning from the window, the
accentuation in that movement of the shoulders was like a nod to me. My
blood was sensible of all the delicate, dainty greeting, and I felt all
at once rarely glad. Then I wheeled round and went down the street.

I dared not look back, and knew not if she had returned to the window.
The more I considered this question the more nervous and restless I
became. Probably at this very moment she was standing watching closely
all my movements. It is by no means comfortable to know that you are
being watched from behind your back. I pulled myself together as well
as I could and proceeded on my way; my legs began to jerk under me, my
gait became unsteady just because I purposely tried to make it look
well. In order to appear at ease and indifferent, I flung my arms
about, spat out, and threw my head well back--all without avail, for I
continually felt the pursuing eyes on my neck, and a cold shiver ran
down my back. At length I escaped down a side street, from which I took
the road to Pyle Street to get my pencil.

I had no difficulty in recovering it; the man brought me the waistcoat
himself, and as he did so, begged me to search through all the pockets.
I found also a couple of pawn-tickets which I pocketed as I thanked the
obliging little man f