without hesitation--no timidity now. That had vanished with the
need for a show of determination. Here he must dominate the situation
or fail utterly.

"There's no need to move to another table," he said as he pulled out
a chair for himself and sat down opposite to her. "If you really
strongly object to my having my lunch opposite to you, I'll move
away."

"I do object," she replied.

"But why?"

"I don't know you, I don't know who you are."

"That's not a great difficulty," he said, smiling.

"I think it is."

He laughed lightly. "Not a bit of it. It can easily be overcome. My
name's Traill. I'm a barrister--briefless--the type of barrister
that populates the Temple and all those places. One of these days
I may come into my own; I may be conducting the leading cases at the
criminal bar; I may be--but it's not even one of my castles in the
air."

She smiled at his inconsequence. "You seem to take it very lightly,"
she remarked.

"Why not? Do you imagine I sit in chambers all day long, pining for
the impossible which no alchemy of fate can apparently ever alter?
I'm also a journalist. That's why I've come to see you." He spoke
utterly at random.

"To see me?"

"Yes."

The waitress was standing impatiently by the table, tapping her tray
with her fingers.

"What are you going to have?" he asked.

Sally snatched a swift glance at him. Was he conscious that he was
overruling her objections? She saw no sign of it. He looked up at
her questioningly, waiting for her answer.

"I don't mind at all," she replied. She felt too timid to say what
she would really like, too ashamed perhaps to say what she usually
had for her lunch. The best course was to let him choose. "I'll have
whatever you do," she said agreeably.

He gave the order, a meal for which she could never have afforded
to pay. Then he turned back with a humorous smile to her.

"The objection, the difficulty's overcome, then," he said.

Sally allowed herself to smile, eyes in a swift moment raised to his.

"I never said so."

"No, no; but surely this is tacit admission. However, the point is
not the saying of it." He saw the look of doubtfulness beginning to
show itself in her eyes. "What's the good of talking about it? We're
here for the purpose of eating, not discussing social conventions.
You know who I am, I shall know who you are in another two or three
minutes if you'll be kind enough to tell me. Why, good heavens! life's
short enough