she said. "To-day every minute is precious. That
wretched PROBE spoils the morning, and directly it is over, I have to
rush to an organ-lesson--that's why I'm here. For I can't expect a
PENSION to keep dinner hot for me till nearly three o'clock--can I?
Morning rehearsals are a mistake. What?--you were there, too?
Really?--after a night in the train? Well, you didn't get much, did
you, for your energy? A dull aria, an overture that 'belongs in the
theatre,' as they say here, an indifferently played symphony that one
has heard at least a dozen times. And for us poor pianists, not a fresh
dish this season. Nothing but yesterday's remains heated up again."

She laughed as she spoke, and Maurice Guest laughed, too, not being
able at the moment to think of anything to say.

Getting the better of the waiter, who stood by, napkin on arm, smiling
and officious, he helped her into the unbecoming cloak; then took up
the parcel of music and opened the door. In his manner of doing this,
there may have been a touch of over-readiness, for no sooner was she
outside, than she quietly took the music from him, and, without even
offering him her hand, said a friendly but curt good-bye: almost before
he had time to return it, he saw her hurrying up the street, as though
she had never vouchsafed him word or thought. The abruptness of the
dismissal left him breathless; in his imagination, they had walked at
least a strip of the street together. He stepped off the pavement into
the road, that he might keep her longer in sight, and for some time he
saw her head, in the close-fitting hat, bobbing along above the heads
of other people.

On turning again, he found that the waiter was watching him from the
window of the restaurant, and it seemed to the young man that the pale,
servile face wore a malicious smile. With the feeling of disconcertion
that springs from being caught in an impulsive action we have believed
unobserved, Maurice spun round on his heel and took a few quick steps
in the opposite direction. When once he was out of range of the window,
however, he dropped his pace, and at the next corner stopped
altogether. He would at least have liked to know her name. And what in
all the world was he to do with himself now?

Clouds had gathered; the airy blue and whiteness of the morning had
become a level sheet of grey, which wiped the colour out of everything;
the wind, no longer tempered by the sun, was chilly, as it whirled down
the