, and gripped his hand.

"Rather," he cried, "let the girl we both love remain with you. She
will be here waiting for me--should I return."

"More likely," said the minister, "she will be at the bank."

The banker was unmarried, and had once in February and again in June
seen Clarrie home from the Dorcas Society. The town talked about it.
Strictly speaking, gentlemen should not attend these meetings; but in
Wheens there was not much difference between the men and the women.

That night, as Clarrie bade Andrew farewell at the garden gate, he took
her head in his hands and asked what this talk about the banker meant.

It was no ignoble curiosity that prompted him. He would rather have
got engaged to her there and then than have left without feeling sure
of her.

His sweetheart looked her reply straight his eyes.

"Andrew!" was all she said.

It was sufficient. He knew that he did not require to press his point.

Lover's watches stand still. At last Andrew stooped and kissed her
upturned face.

"If a herring and a half," he said anxiously, "cost three half-pence,
how many will you get for elevenpence?"

Clarrie was mute.

Andrew shuddered; he felt that he was making a mistake.

"Why do I kiss you?" he cried. "What good does it do either of us?"

He looked fiercely at his companion, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Where even is the pleasure in it?" he added brutally.

The only objectionable thing about Clarrie was her long hair.

She wore a black frock and looked very breakable. Nothing irritates a
man so much.

Andrew gathered her passionately in his arms, while a pained, puzzled
expression struggled to reach his face.

Then he replaced her roughly on the ground and left her.

It was impossible to say whether they were engaged.

CHAPTER II

Andrew reached King's Cross on the following Wednesday morning.

It was the first time he had set foot in England, and he naturally
thought of Bannockburn.

He left his box in the cloak-room, and, finding his way into
Bloomsbury, took a bed-room at the top of a house in Bernard Street.

Then he returned for his box, carried it on his back to his lodgings,
and went out to buy a straw hat. It had not struck him to be lonely.

He bought two pork pies in an eating-house in Gray's Inn Road, and set
out for Harley Street, looking at London on the way.

Mr. Gladstone was at home, but all his private secretaryships were
already filled.

Andrew