he result that
every morning Mr. Rickman sighed more and more heavily as he heard the
early patter of those feet upon the floor.

CHAPTER XLVI

Flossie had been working with one eye on the clock all afternoon. At
the closing hour she went out into Lothbury with the other girls; but
instead of going up Moorgate Street as usual, she turned out of
Prince's Street to her right, and thence made her way westward as
quickly as she could for the crowd. It was September, a day when it
was good to be out of doors at that hour. The sunlight filtered into
the dusty thoroughfare from the west, on her left the sprawling
mounted legends over the shops were so many gold blazons on an endless
field of grey; on her right, a little way ahead, the tall plane-tree
in Wood Street hung out its green leaves over Cheapside like a signal.
Thither Flossie was bound.

As she sidled out of the throng into the quiet little lane, Mr.
Rickman came forward, raising his hat. He had been waiting under the
plane-tree for twenty minutes, and was now beguiling his sylvan
solitude with a cigarette. Two years had worked a considerable change
in his appearance. His face had grown graver and clearer cut. He had
lost his hectic look and had more the air of a man of the world than
of a young poet about town. To Flossie's admiration and delight he
wore an irreproachable frock-coat and shining linen; she interpreted
these changes as corresponding with the improvement in his prospects,
and judged that the profession of literature was answering fairly
well.

They shook hands seriously, as if they attached importance to these
trifles. "Am I dreadfully late?" she asked.

"Dreadfully." He smiled with one corner of his mouth, holding his
cigarette firmly in the other, while he took from her the little cape
she carried over her arm.

"I expect I've kept you waiting a good bit?" A keen observer of
Flossie's face might have detected in it a faintly triumphant
appreciation of the fact. "I'm awfully sorry I got behind-hand and had
to stay till I'd finished up."

"Never mind, Flossie, it don't matter. At any rate it's worth it." The
words implied that Mr. Rickman's time was valuable, otherwise he would
not have given it to Flossie. "Where shall we go, and what shall we
do?"

"I don't much care."

"Shall we have tea somewhere while we're making up our minds?"

"Well--I wouldn't mind. I hadn't time to get any at the Bank."

"All right. Come along." And th