k about old times. And their voices grew louder and
more free.

"Can you tell me what time it is?" Janet asked, later. "I've broken the
spring of my watch, and I have to meet father at the station at
ten-fifteen."

"I haven't a notion!" said Hilda, rather ashamed.

"I hope it isn't ten o'clock."

"I could ask," said Hilda hesitatingly. The hour, for aught she knew,
was nine, eleven, or even midnight. She was oblivious of time.

"I'll run," said Janet, preparing to go. "I shall tell Charlie I've seen
you, next time I write to him. I'm sure he'll be glad. And you must come
to see us. You really must, now! Mother and father will be delighted. Do
you still recite, like you used to?"

Hilda shook her head, blushing.

She made no definite response to the invitation, which surprised,
agitated, and flattered her. She wanted to accept it, but she was
convinced that she never would accept it. Before departing, Janet lifted
her veil, with a beautiful gesture, and offered her lips to kiss. They
embraced affectionately. The next moment Hilda, at the top of the dim,
naked, resounding stair, was watching Janet descend--a figure infinitely
stylish and agreeable to the eye.

CHAPTER IX
IN THE STREET

I

A few minutes later, just as Hilda had sealed up the last of the
letters, Mr. Cannon issued somewhat hurriedly out of the inner room,
buttoning his overcoat at the neck.

"Good night," he said, and took his stick from the corner where he had
placed it.

"Mr. Cannon!"

"Well?"

"I wanted to speak to you."

"What is it? I'm in a hurry."

She glanced at the inner door, which he had left open. From beyond that
door came the voices of Arthur Dayson and the old clerk; Hilda lacked
the courage to cross the length of the room and deliberately close it,
and though Mr. Cannon did not seem inclined to move, his eyes followed
the direction of hers and he must have divined her embarrassment. She
knew not what to do. A crisis seemed to rise up monstrous between them,
in an instant. She was trembling, and in acute trouble.

"It's rather important," she said timidly, but not without an
unintentional violence.

"Well, to-morrow afternoon."

He, too, was apparently in a fractious state. The situation was perhaps
perilous. But she could not allow her conduct to be influenced by danger
or difficulty, which indeed nearly always had the effect of confirming
her purpose. If something had to be done, it had to be done--and le