meet you in a saloon or on
a street corner."

"I'm not so sure of that," laughed he. "Let me see. I'm very busy.
But I could come for half an hour this afternoon."

She had planned an evening session, being well aware of the favorable
qualities of air and light after the matter-of-fact sun has withdrawn
his last rays. But she promptly decided to accept what offered. "At
three?"

"At four," replied he.

"You haven't forgotten those books?"

"Books? Oh, yes--yes, I remember. I'll bring them."

"Thank you so much," said she sweetly. "Good-by."

And at four she was waiting for him on the front veranda in a house
dress that was--well, it was not quite the proper costume for such an
occasion, but no one else was to see, and he didn't know about that
sort of thing--and the gown gave her charms their best possible
exposure except evening dress, which was out of the question. She had
not long to wait. One of the clocks within hearing had struck and
another was just beginning to strike when she saw him coming toward the
house. She furtively watched him, admiring his walk without quite
knowing why. You may perhaps know the walk that was Victor's--a steady
forward advance of the whole body held firmly, almost rigidly--the walk
of a man leading another to the scaffold, or of a man being led there
in conscious innocence, or of a man ready to go wherever his purposes
may order--ready to go without any heroics or fuss of any kind, but
simply in the course of the day's business. When a man walks like
that, he is worth observing--and it is well to think twice before
obstructing his way.

That steady, inevitable advance gave Jane Hastings an absurd feeling of
nervousness. She had an impulse to fly, as from some oncoming danger.
Yet what was coming, in fact? A clever young man of the working class,
dressed in garments of the kind his class dressed in on Sunday, and
plebeianly carrying a bundle under his arm.

"Our clock says you are three seconds late," cried she, laughing and
extending her hand in a friendly, equal way that would have immensely
flattered almost any man of her own class. "But another protests that
you are one second early."

"I'm one of those fools who waste their time and their nerves by being
punctual," said he.

He laid the books on the wicker sofa. But instead of sitting Jane
said: "We might be interrupted here. Come to the west veranda."

There she had him in a leafy solitude--he facin