t--how insufferably it
bores me."

"Ah! there you see--that's what _I'm_ afraid of."

"What?"

"Of saying the wrong thing--the--the same thing."

"That's it. You'd say it differently, and it wouldn't be the same thing
at all. And what's more, I should never know whether you were going to
say it or not."

"There's one thing I'd like to say to you if I knew how--if I knew how
you'd take it. You see, though I think I know you----" he hesitated.

"You don't really? You don't know who I am? Or where I come from? Or
where I'm going to? I don't know myself."

"I know," said Lucy, "as much as I've any right to. But unluckily the
thing I want to know----"

"Is what you haven't any right to?"

"I'm afraid I haven't. The thing I want to know is simply whether I can
help you in any way."

She smiled. "Ah," said she, "you _have_ said it."

"Haven't I said it differently?"

"I'm not sure. You looked different when you said it; that's something."

"I know I've no right to say it at all. What I mean is that if I could
do anything for you without boring you, without forcing myself on your
acquaintance, I'd be most awfully glad. You know you needn't recognise
me afterward unless you like. Have I put it differently now?"

"Yes; I don't think I've ever heard it put quite that way before."

There was a long pause in which Lucy vainly sought for illumination.

"No," said Mrs. Tailleur, as if to herself; "I should never know what
you were going to say or do next."

"Wouldn't you?"

"No; I didn't know just now whether you were going to speak to me or
not. When I said I wanted to walk I didn't know whether you'd come with
me or not."

"I came."

"You came; but when I go----"

"You're not going?"

"Yes; to-morrow, perhaps, or the next day. When I go I shall give you my
address and ask you to come and see me; but I shan't know whether you'll
come."

"Of course I'll come."

"There's no 'of course' about you; that's the charm of it. I shan't know
until you're actually there."

"I shall be there all right."

"What? You'll come?"

"Yes; and I'll bring my sister."

"Your sister?" She drew back slightly. "Turn round, please--this
way--and let me look at you."

He turned, laughing. Her eyes searched his face.

"Yes; you meant that. Why do you want to bring your sister?"

"Because I want you to know her."

"Are you sure--quite--quite sure--you want her to know me?"

"Quite--quite sure. If you don't mind--if s