serted. Now and then as they hurried
along, for Joan walked as fast as she could to ward off conversation,
they passed a solitary policeman doing his beat, and dim, scarce seen
lovers emerged out of the shadows holding each other's hands.

"Will you not take my arm?" Mr. Simpson ventured presently. He was
slightly out of breath in his effort to keep up with her.

"No, thank you," Joan answered. The whole occurrence was too ridiculous,
yet for once in her life her sense of humour was failing her. "And I
wish you would not bother to come any further, it is quite unnecessary."

Her tone was more than chilly. Mr. Simpson, however remained undaunted.
His slow and ponderous mind had settled on a certain course; it would
need more than a little chilliness to turn it from its purpose.

"I was going to ask you," he went on, "whether you would do me the
honour of coming to the theatre one evening? If you have a mind that
turns that way sometimes."

"No, thank you," answered Joan once more. "I never go to theatres, and I
shouldn't go with you in any case," she added desperately, as a final
resource.

"I meant no offence," the man answered, humble as ever. "I should always
act straight by a girl, and for you----"

"Oh, don't, please don't," Joan interrupted. She stopped in her walk and
faced round on him. "Can't you see how impossible it would be for
me----" she broke off abruptly, rather ashamed of her outburst. "I am
going to be a snob in a minute, if I am not careful," she finished to
herself.

"I know I am not amusing, or anything," the man went on; "but you have
always seemed so kind and considerate. If I have offended in any way, I
am more than sorry."

Joan felt that he was frowning as he always frowned in hopeless
perplexity over his shorthand.

"I am not offended," she tried to explain more gently. "Only, please do
not ask me to go out with you again, or offer to walk home with me. Here
we are anyway, this is where I live." She turned at the bottom of
Shamrock House steps and held out her hand to him. "Good-night," she
said.

Simpson did not take her hand, instead he stared up at her; she could
see how shiny and red his face was under the lamp.

"You are not angry with me?" he stuttered.

"Why, no, of course not," Joan prevaricated. Then she ran up the steps
and let herself into the hall without looking back at him.

For two or three days she attempted to ignore the man's presence in
class next her, and S