d down the road; she gave him the impression that she
stamped her feet and frowned, though to appearances she did neither.
She ordered:

"Don't loiter here. Osborn--Mr. Kerr'll be home directly, and if he
sees you he'll take you in, won't he?"

"Probably, I should say."

"Then come away."

"If I may walk a little way with you."

"I don't care where you walk with me," Julia replied vigorously, "if
it isn't into Marie's flat."

She set a brisk pace down the opposite side of the road, as if
assuming that Osborn might pass them unnoticing on the other, and
Rokeby kept step unprotestingly. "It must be after six o'clock," he
said presently.

"It is," she replied.

"Which is your way home?"

Julia described her route with a brevity characteristic of her.

He slackened pace, so that she looked round at him, impatiently
questioning.

"Look here, Miss Winter," he coaxed, "don't go home. Stay out and dine
with me. Of course we're mere strangers, but we're both so
emancipated, aren't we? No, emancipated's an out-of-date word. We've
passed that, haven't we, long ago? We're--I dunno what we are; there's
no limit to us. Isn't it jolly? So do come into town and dine with
me."

"I think I'd like to, thanks," said Julia; "I'm not quite sure."

"Why aren't you quite sure?"

"I might be bored with you. How do I know?"

Rokeby looked at her with an astonished respect and a glim of his
saving humour. "So you might; er--I hadn't thought of it; but 'pon my
word, I'll do my best. Won't you come if I guarantee that?"

And he wanted her to come, oddly.

"Thanks," said Julia, "I will."

"Queer thing," Rokeby thought in his surprised soul, "when a girl all
on her own in this hard world hesitates to come out to a good dinner
with not a bad fellow in case she might be bored."

"I know what you're thinking," said Julia calmly; "you're thinking--or
you are _almost_--that it was nearly a bit of cheek on my part. I
don't blame you. You're spoilt, all of you. The girls you take out
earn their dinners and stalls too conscientiously; no matter how dull
you are, they take pains to shine. Frankly, if _you_ take
_me_ out, _you've_ got to shine. I demand it. And you'd be
surprised at the number of invitations an exacting thing like me
gets."

"No, I shouldn't," said Rokeby softly, bending his head to look with a
new interest at her face. "That's sheer cleverness, that is; that's
brilliance. You've seized it. A woman should have conf