ht there was any chance of that I should go down to see her."

"You couldn't force her to come up. She seems to be admiring the
view."

Then Lily left the embankment and turned towards the Temple.

"She is coming!" Mike cried, and laying down the opera-glass he took
up the scent and squirted it about the room. "You won't make much
noise, like a good fellow, will you? I shall tell her I am here
alone."

"I shall make no noise--I shall finish my article. I am expecting
Lizzie about four; I will slip out and meet her in the street.
Good-bye."

Mike went to the head of the staircase, and looking down the
prodigious height, he waited. It occurred to him that if he fell, the
emparadised hour would be lost for ever. If she were to pass through
the Temple without stopping at No. 2! The sound of little feet and
the colour of a heliotrope skirt dispersed his fears, and he watched
her growing larger as she mounted each flight of stairs; when she
stopped to take breath, he thought of running down and carrying her
up in his arms, but he did not move, and she did not see him until
the last flight.

"Here you are at last!"

"I am afraid I have kept you waiting. I was not certain whether I
should come."

"And you stopped to look at the view instead?"

"Yes, but how did you know that?"

"Ah! that's telling; come in."

The girl went in shyly.

"So this is where you live? How nicely you have arranged the room.
I never saw a room like this before. How different from the convent!
What would the nuns think if they saw me here? What strange
pictures!--those ballet-girls; they remind me of the pantomime.
Did you buy those pictures?"

"No; they are wonderful, aren't they? A friend of mine bought them
in France."

"Mr. Escott?"

"Yes; I forgot you knew him--how stupid of me! Had it not been for
him I shouldn't have known you--I was thinking of something else."

"Where is he now? I hope he will not return while I am here. You did
not tell him I was coming?"

"Of course not; he is away in France."

"And those portraits--it is always the same face."

"They are portraits of a girl he is in love with."

"Do you believe he is in love?"

"Yes, rather; head over heels. What do you think of the painting?"

Lily did not answer. She stood puzzled, striving to separate the
confused notions the room conveyed to her. She wore on her shoulders
a small black lace shawl and held a black silk parasol. She was very
slender, and her