til he
heard a soft voice behind him saying: "Well, MISS BEAUMONT, here's the
view." Something in the accent pointed to a jest in the name.

"It's a dear old town, brother George," answered another voice that
sounded familiar enough, and turning his head, Mr. Hoopdriver saw the
other man in brown and the Young Lady in Grey, with their backs towards
him. She turned her smiling profile towards Hoopdriver. "Only, you know,
brothers don't call their sisters--"

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Hoopdriver. "Damn!" said the other
man in brown, quite audibly, starting as he followed her glance.

Mr. Hoopdriver, with a fine air of indifference, resumed the Weald.
"Beautiful old town, isn't it?" said the other man in brown, after a
quite perceptible pause.

"Isn't it?" said the Young Lady in Grey.

Another pause began.

"Can't get alone anywhere," said the other man in brown, looking round.

Then Mr. Hoopdriver perceived clearly that he was in the way, and
decided to retreat. It was just his luck of course that he should
stumble at the head of the steps and vanish with indignity. This was the
third time that he'd seen HIM, and the fourth time her. And of course
he was too big a fat-head to raise his cap to HER! He thought of that at
the foot of the Keep. Apparently they aimed at the South Coast just
as he did, He'd get up betimes the next day and hurry off to avoid
her--them, that is. It never occurred to Mr. Hoopdriver that Miss
Beaumont and her brother might do exactly the same thing, and that
evening, at least, the peculiarity of a brother calling his sister "Miss
Beaumont" did not recur to him. He was much too preoccupied with an
analysis of his own share of these encounters. He found it hard to be
altogether satisfied about the figure he had cut, revise his memories as
he would.

Once more quite unintentionally he stumbled upon these two people. It
was about seven o'clock. He stopped outside a linen draper's and peered
over the goods in the window at the assistants in torment. He could have
spent a whole day happily at that. He told himself that he was trying
to see how they dressed out the brass lines over their counters, in a
purely professional spirit, but down at the very bottom of his heart he
knew better. The customers were a secondary consideration, and it was
only after the lapse of perhaps a minute that he perceived that among
them was--the Young Lady in Grey! He turned away from the window
at once,