sses and
foolish motives; but his will resisted. He felt coldly towards her; she
was no longer the woman he loved and worshipped, but one who had
asserted a superiority of mind and character, and belittled him to
himself. He was tired of her society--the simple formula which
sufficiently explains so many domestic troubles.

He would have lunch somewhere in town; then see whether he felt
disposed to go home or not.

In the afternoon he loitered about the Strand, looking at portraits in
shop-windows and at the theatre-doors. Home was more, instead of less,
repugnant to him. He wanted to postpone decision; but if he returned to
Cecily, it would be necessary to say something, and in his present mood
he would be sure to make matters worse, for he felt quarrelsome. How
absurd it was for two people, just because they were married, to live
perpetually within sight of each other! Wasn't it Godwin who, on
marrying, made an arrangement that he and his wife should inhabit
separate abodes, and be together only when they wished? The only
rational plan, that. Should he take train and go out of town for a few
days? If only he had some one for company; but it was wearisome to
spend the time in solitude.

To aggravate his dulness, the sky had clouded over, and presently it
began to rain. He had no umbrella. Quite unable to determine whither he
should go if he took a cab, he turned aside to the shelter of an
archway. Some one was already standing there, but in his abstraction he
did not know whether it was man or woman, until a little cough, twice
or thrice repeated, made him turn his eyes. Then he saw that his
companion was a girl of about five-and-twenty, with a pretty,
good-natured face, which wore an embarrassed smile. He gazed at her
with a look of surprised recognition.

"Well, it really _is_ you!" she exclaimed, laughing and looking down.

"And it is really _you_!"

They shook hands, again examining each other.

"I thought you didn't mean to know me."

"I hadn't once looked at you. But you have changed a good deal."

"Not more than you have, I'm sure."

"And what are you doing? You look much more cheerful than you used to."

"I can't say the same of you."

"Have you been in London all the time?"

"Oh no. Two years ago I went back to Liverpool, and had a place there
for nearly six months. But I got tired of it. In a few days I'm going
to Brighton; I've got a place in a restaurant. Quite time, too; I've
had nothing f