er thought
this a becoming spirit. In his eyes she was lovely, and could do
nothing amiss. When she alighted he did so too, frowning upon the
conductor by way of final rebuke. Their ways appeared to be the same,
as if inadvertently they walked together along Kennington Road. And so
pleasant was their conversation that Polly went some way past Mrs.
Bubb's before saying that she must bid her new companion good-bye.
Trembling at his audacity, Christopher humbly put the question whether
he might not hope to see the young lady again; and Polly laughed and
tittered, and said she didn't know, but _p'r'aps_. Thereupon Mr. Parish
nervously made an offering of his name and address, and Polly,
tittering again, exclaimed that they lived quite near each other, and
playfully made known the position of her dwelling. So were the
proprieties complied with, and so began the enslavement of Christopher.

He had since told all there was to tell about his family and
circumstances, Polly in return throwing out a few vague hints as to her
own private affairs. Christopher would have liked to invite her to his
home, but lacked courage; his mother, his brother, and Mrs.
Theodore--what would they say? The rigour of their principles overawed
him. He often thought of abandoning his home, but neither for that step
had he the necessary spirit of independence. Miss Sparkes no longer
seemed to him of virtues compact; he sadly admitted in his wakeful
hours that she had a temper; he often doubted whether she ever gave him
a serious thought. But the fact remained that Polly did not send him
about his business, and at times even seemed glad to see him, until
that awful night when, by deplorable accident, he encountered her near
Lincoln's Inn. That surely was the end of everything. Christopher,
after tottering home he knew not how, wept upon his pillow. Of course
he was jealous as well as profoundly hurt. Not without some secret
reason had Polly met him so fiercely, brutally. He would try to think
of her no more; she was clearly not destined to be his.

For a full fortnight he shunned the whole region of London in which
Polly might be met. He was obliged, of course, to pass each night in
Kennington, but he kept himself within doors there. Then he could bear
his misery no longer. Three lachrymose letters had elicited no
response; he wrote once more, and thus:

DEAREST MISS SPARKES,

If you do not wish to be the cause of my death I hereby ask you to see