e talked like one who had suddenly received a great
illumination, and her zeal in the cause of independent womanhood
rivalled Miss Nunn's. Without enthusiasm, but seemingly contented,
Monica worked at the typewriting machine, and had begun certain studies
which her friends judged to be useful. She experienced a growth of
self-respect. It was much to have risen above the status of shop-girl,
and the change of moral atmosphere had a very beneficial effect upon
her.

Mildred Vesper was a studious little person, after a fashion of her
own. She possessed four volumes of Maunder's 'Treasuries', and to one
or other of these she applied herself for at least an hour every
evening.

'By nature,' she said, when Monica sought an explanation of this study,
'my mind is frivolous. What I need is a store of solid information, to
reflect upon. No one could possibly have a worse memory, but by
persevering I manage to learn one or two facts a day.'

Monica glanced at the books now and then, but had no desire to
cultivate Maunder's acquaintance. Instead of reading, she meditated the
problems of her own life.

Edmund Widdowson, of course, wrote to her at the new address. In her
reply she again postponed their meeting. Whenever she went out in the
evening, it was with expectation of seeing him somewhere in the
neighbourhood; she felt assured that he had long ago come to look at
the house, and more likely than not his eyes had several times been
upon her. That did not matter; her life was innocent, and Widdowson
might watch her coming and going as much as he would.

At length, about nine o'clock one evening, she came face to face with
him. It was in Hampstead Road; she had been buying at a draper's, and
carried the little parcel. At the moment of recognition, Widdowson's
face so flushed and brightened that Monica could not help a sympathetic
feeling of pleasure.

'Why are you so cruel to me?' he said in a low voice, as she gave her
hand. 'What a time since I saw you!'

'Is that really true?' she replied, with an air more resembling
coquetry than any he had yet seen in her.

'Since I spoke to you, then.'

'When did you see me?'

'Three evenings ago. You were walking in Tottenham Court Road with a
young lady.'

'Miss Vesper, the friend I live with.'

'Will you give me a few minutes now?' he asked humbly. 'Is it too late?'

For reply Monica moved slowly on. They turned up one of the ways
parallel with Rutland Street, and so cam