Zena was that his meal
ticket at the Mariposa lasted nearly double its proper time, and
the face of Sadie, the dining-room girl, had grown to wear a look of
melancholy resignation; sadder than romance.

Still more than that, Pupkin had bought for Zena, reckoning it
altogether, about two buckets of ice cream and perhaps half a bushel of
chocolate. Not that Pupkin grudged the expense of it. On the contrary,
over and above the ice cream and the chocolate he had bought her a white
waistcoat and a walking stick with a gold top, a lot of new neckties and
a pair of patent leather boots--that is, they were all bought on account
of her, which is the same thing.

Add to all this that Pupkin and Zena had been to the Church of England
Church nearly every Sunday evening for two months, and one evening they
had even gone to the Presbyterian Church "for fun," which, if you know
Mariposa, you will realize to be a wild sort of escapade that ought to
speak volumes.

Yet in spite of this, Pupkin felt that the thing was hopeless: which
only illustrates the dreadful ups and downs, the wild alternations of
hope and despair that characterise an exceptional affair of this sort.

Yes, it was hopeless.

Every time that Pupkin watched Zena praying in church, he knew that she
was too good for him. Every time that he came to call for her and found
her reading Browning and Omar Khayyam he knew that she was too clever
for him. And every time that he saw her at all he realized that she was
too beautiful for him.

You see, Pupkin knew that he wasn't a hero. When Zena would clasp her
hands and talk rapturously about crusaders and soldiers and firemen and
heroes generally, Pupkin knew just where he came in. Not in it, that was
all. If a war could have broken out in Mariposa, or the judge's house
been invaded by the Germans, he might have had a chance, but as it
was--hopeless.

Then there was Zena's father. Heaven knows Pupkin tried hard to please
the judge. He agreed with every theory that Judge Pepperleigh advanced,
and that took a pretty pliable intellect in itself. They denounced
female suffrage one day and they favoured it the next. One day the judge
would claim that the labour movement was eating out the heart of the
country, and the next day he would hold that the hope of the world lay
in the organization of the toiling masses. Pupkin shifted his opinions
like the glass in a kaleidoscope. Indeed, the only things on which he
was allowed t