ran at her full
speed. Waymark followed in the same way, somewhat oppressed by a sense
of ridiculousness. They reached the shelter of the restaurant, and the
girl led the way upstairs, laughing immoderately.

Supper was served to them, and honoured with due attention by both.
Waymark had leisure to observe his companion's face in clearer light.
It was beautiful, and, better still, full of character.

He presently bent forward to her, and spoke in a low voice.

"Isn't this the man who followed us just coming in now? Look, he has
gone to the table on the right."

She looked round hastily, and shuddered, for she had met the man's eyes.

"Why did you tell me?" she exclaimed impatiently. "Now I can't finish
my supper. Wait till he has given his order, and then we will go."

Waymark examined this mysterious persecutor. In truth, the countenance
was no good one, and a woman might well dislike to have such eyes
turned upon her. It was a strong face; coarse originally, and, in
addition to the faults of nature, it now bore the plainest traces of
hard living. As soon as he perceived Waymark and his companion, he
fixed them with his eyes, and scarcely looked away as long as they
remained in the room. The girl seemed shrinking under this gaze, though
she sat almost with her back to him. She ceased talking, and, as soon
as she saw that Waymark had finished, made a sign to him to pay quickly
(with a sovereign she pushed across the table) and let them be gone.
They rose, accordingly, and left. The man watched them, but remained
seated.

"Are you in a hurry to get home?" the girl asked, when they were in the
street again.

"No; time is of no consequence to me."

"Do you live far off?"

"In Kennington. And you?"

"If you like, I'll show you. Let us walk quickly. I feel rather cold."

She led the way into the Strand. At no great distance from Temple Bar
she turned off into a small court.

"This is a queer place to live in," observed Waymark, as he looked up
at the dark houses.

"Don't be afraid," was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the door
with a latch-key. They went up two flights of stairs, then entered a
room where a bright fire was burning. Waymark's conductor held a piece
of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp. It was a small, pleasantly
furnished sitting-room.

"Do you play?" Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon it.

"I only wish I could. My landlady's daughter is giving me lessons. But
I