e that he could not possibly have heard. Next
she said, "Yes, I'll be at the meeting to-morrow," with her back turned
squarely toward Mr. Pond. And then she opened her door and went in quite
quickly, leaving the Director staring intently at a crack in the
sidewalk....

Within, Cally perceived that she had acted rather unreasonably, missing
the opportunity to tell Mr. V.V. that she desired to speak with him: but
that, of course, was only because she had not wanted to interrupt and
detain two busy men at their labors. The oversight, besides, was easily
to be remedied; though she did not again send the clear call for
Meeghan's. She decided to write a brief note instead, and did, asking
her friend if he could come and give her his help about a matter--say at
four o'clock that afternoon. The note was dispatched, not by old Moses
this time, but by the hand of an urchin in a blue uniform, who was deep
in "Lady Helen, the Fair Ghoul," as he bicycled, but apparently reached
his destination in due course.

And V. Vivian, once again, was not disobedient to the heavenly summons.

XXXII

Time's Jests, and now the Perfect Apology, to stand a
Lifetime in Brick and Stone; concluding with a Little Scene,
which she will remember while she lives.

She had called him untruthful once for speaking the truth about the
Works. Now she would make her apology due, to stand a lifetime in brick
and stone. This Cally did for the man of the slums to-day; and this she
meant him to understand without much speech, since speech, in the
circumstances, would be somewhat difficult.

But then, of course, she could know nothing of those colloquies Mr. V.V.
had had in his time with O'Neill, the hard-joking Commissioner, of inner
conflicts he had had of late all by himself. Nor did she even take it in
how far her advancing thought of him, and of all this subject, had
outrun anything she had ever put into word or deed before. So she was
far from imagining what a miracle she made for him this afternoon, like
a midsummer dream come true; far from guessing how he, with his strange
unconsciousnesses, would think of it all as just a beautiful but
detached happening, a glorious coincidence....

He wore for this meeting, not his holiday raiment of blue, with the
sprigged waistcoat that his Uncle Armistead might have left him, but
that selfsame suit she had seen upon him all last year; including that
other memorable day in her life wh