r
your rector preach. You didn't interest me at all then, I'm bound to
say."

Chichester stood in silence for a minute. Then he said:

"I might walk a little way back with you, if you have no objection."

Stepton jerked his head in assent. And so the acquaintance of these two
men was begun. Their first conversation was a delight to the professor.
After a short silence the curate said:

"I could not help seeing each time we have met how your attention was
fastened upon me."

"Just so," rejoined Stepton, making no apology.

"And I really think," continued Chichester, with a sort of pressure--"I
really think I am entitled to ask for some explanation of the matter."

"Certainly you are."

"Well?" He paused, then said again, "Well, Professor Stepton?"

"I'm afraid I've nothing to tell you, I like to stick to facts."

"I only ask you for facts."

"The facts amount to very little. Coming from the museum I ran across
a man. You were the man. My attention was riveted at once. I said to
myself, 'I must see that man again.' Next day I took my chance. I had
luck. You were there at pretty much the same hour."

"I always come from St. Joseph's--"

"Exactly. And so it's happened on several days. And that's all I have to
tell you."

"But surely you can indicate why--"

"No, I can't. All I can say is that for some reason, quite inexplicable
by me, if I had come upon you in a crowd of a thousand, I should have had
to attend to you."

"That's very strange," said Chichester, in a low voice; "very strange
indeed."

"There's a reason for it, of course. There's a reason for everything, but
very often it isn't found." At this point the professor thrust his head
toward Chichester, and added, "you can't tell me the reason, I suppose?"

Chichester looked much startled and taken aback.

"I--oh, no!"

"Then we must get along in the dark and make the best of it."

Having said this, the professor abruptly dismissed the subject and began
to talk of other things. When he chose he could be almost charming.
He chose on this occasion. And when at last he hailed a bus, declaring
that he was due at home, Chichester expressed a hope that some day
he would find himself in Hornton Street, and visit number 4a.

The professor assented, and was carried westward.

Several days passed, but he did not find himself near Horton Street, and
he had ceased to visit the South Kensington Museum. Then the curate
wrote and invited him to tea. De