sently. "Too late."

"Your success?"

"What's the good of it to me?" He smote his leg with the rattan he was
swinging. "A couple of years ago, money would have meant everything.
Now--what do I care about it!"

Bertha's surprise obliged her to keep an unnaturally solemn visage.

"Don't you think it'll grow upon you," she said, "if you give it time?"

"Grow upon me? Why, I'm only afraid it may. That's just the danger. To
pursue success--vulgar success--when all the better part has gone out
of life--"

He ended on a sigh and again whacked his leg with the stick.

"But" urged his companion, as though gravely, "isn't it easy _not_ to
pursue success? I mean if it really makes you uncomfortable. There are
so many kinds of work in art which would protect you against the perils
of riches."

Franks was watching her as she spoke.

"Miss Cross" he said, "I suspect you are satirical. I remember you used
to have a turn that way. Well, well, never mind; I don't expect you to
understand me."

They had passed out of Ashtead Park and were now ascending by the lane
which leads up to Epsom Common.

"I suppose we are both going the same way," said Franks, who had
recovered all his cheerfulness. "There's a train at something after
five, if we can catch it. Splendid idea of yours to have a whole day's
walking. I don't walk enough. Are you likely to be going again before
long?"

Bertha replied that she never made plans beforehand. Her mood and the
weather decided an excursion.

"Of course. That's the only way. Well, if you'll let me, I must come to
Walham Green, one of these days. How's Mrs. Cross? I ought to have
asked before, but I never do the right thing.--Have you any particular
day for being at home?--All right. If you had had, I should have asked
you to let me come on some other. I don't care much, you know, for
general society; and ten to one, when I do come I shall be rather
gloomy. Old memories, you know.--Really very jolly, this meeting with
you. I should have done the walk to Epsom just as a constitutional,
without enjoying it a bit. As it is--"

CHAPTER 21

It was a week or two after the day in Surrey, that Bertha Cross,
needing a small wooden box in which to pack a present for her brothers
in British Columbia, bethought herself of Mr. Jollyman. The amiable
grocer could probably supply her want, and she went off to the shop.
There the assistant and an errand boy were unloading goods just arrived
by car