between the rusty nails of the enclosure, the most vivid object within sight was the big red pillar-post on the southeast corner.

‘Henrietta will ask him to get into the cab and go with her to Jermyn Street,’ Ralph observed. He always spoke of Miss Stackpole as Henrietta.

‘Very possibly,’ said his companion.

‘Or rather, no, she won’t,’ he went on. ‘But Bantling will ask leave to get in.’

‘Very likely again. I’m very glad they’re such good friends.’

‘She has made a conquest. He thinks her a brilliant woman. It may go far,’ said Ralph.

Isabel was briefly silent. ‘I call Henrietta a very brilliant woman, but I don’t think it will go far. They would never really know each other. He has not the least idea what she really is, and she had no just comprehension of Mr Bantling.’

‘There’s no more usual basis of union than a mutual misunderstanding. But it ought not to be so difficult to understand Bob Bantling,’ Ralph added. ‘He is a very simple organism.’

‘Yes, but Henrietta’s a simpler one still. And, pray, what am I to do?’ Isabel asked, looking about her through the fading light, in which the limited landscape-gardening of the square took on a large and effective appearance. ‘I don’t imagine that you’ll propose that you and I, for our amusement, shall drive about London in a hansom.’

‘There’s no reason we shouldn’t stay here—if you don’t dislike it. It’s very warm; there will be half an hour yet before dark; and if you permit it I’ll light a cigarette.’

‘You may do what you please,’ said Isabel, ‘if you’ll amuse me till seven o’clock. I propose at that hour to go back and partake of a simple and solitary repast—two poached eggs and a muffin—at Pratt’s Hotel.’

‘Mayn’t I dine with you?’ Ralph asked.

‘No, you’ll dine at your club.’

They had wandered back to their chairs in the centre of the square again, and Ralph had lighted his cigarette. It would have given him extreme pleasure to be present in person at the modest little feast she had sketched; but in default of this he liked even being forbidden. For the moment, however, he liked immensely being alone with her, in the thickening dusk, in the centre of the multitudinous town; it made her seem to depend upon him and to be in his power. This power he could exert but vaguely; the best exercise of it was to accept her decisions submissively—which indeed there was already an emotion in doing. ‘Why won’t you let me dine with you?’ he demanded after a pause.

‘Because I don’t care for it.’

‘I suppose you’re tired of me.’

‘I shall be an hour hence. You see I have the gift of foreknowledge.’

‘Oh, I shall be delightful meanwhile,’ said Ralph. But he said nothing more, and as she made no rejoinder they sat some time in a stillness which seemed to contradict his promise of entertainment. It seemed to him she was preoccupied, and he wondered what she was thinking about; there were two or three very possible subjects. At last he spoke again. ‘Is your objection to my society this evening caused by your expectation of another visitor?’