e that she had never deserved
anything but sympathy and respect and affection. He was sure that she
was the very incarnation of honesty--possibly she was too honest for the
actual world. Did not the Orgreaves worship her? And could he himself
have been deceived in his estimate of her character?

She recognised him only when she was close upon him. A faint,
transient, wistful smile lightened her brooding face, pale and stern.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

FOUR.

"Oh! There you are!" she exclaimed, in her clear voice. "Did I say
six, or five, in my note?"

"Six."

"I was afraid I had done, when I came here at five and didn't find you.
I'm so sorry."

"No!" he said. "I think I ought to be sorry. It's you who've had the
waiting to do. The pier's closed now."

"It was just closing at five," she answered. "I ought to have known.
But I didn't. The fact is, I scarcely ever go out. I remembered once
seeing the pier open at night, and I thought it was always open." She
shrugged her shoulders as if stopping a shiver.

"I hope you haven't caught cold," he said. "Suppose we walk along a
bit."

They walked westwards in silence. He felt as though he were by the side
of a stranger, so far was he from having pierced the secret of that
face.

As they approached one of the new glazed shelters, she said--

"Can't we sit down a moment. I--I can't talk standing up. I must sit
down."

They sat down, in an enclosed seat designed to hold four. And Edwin
could feel the wind on his calves, which stretched beyond the screened
side of the structure. Odd people passed dimly to and fro in front of
them, glanced at them with nonchalant curiosity, and glanced away. On
the previous evening he had observed couples in those shelters, and had
wondered what could be the circumstances or the preferences which led
them to accept such a situation. Certainly he could not have dreamed
that within twenty-four hours he would be sitting in one of them with
her, by her appointment, at her request. He thrilled with excitement--
with delicious anxieties.

"Janet told you I was a widow," Hilda began, gazing at the ferule of her
umbrella, which gleamed on the ground.

"Yes." Again she was surprising him.

"Well, we arranged she should tell every one that. But I think you
ought to know that I'm not."

"No?" he murmured weakly. And in one small unimportant region of his
mind he r