table--to him. To another man it would have said that it was all
very well for him to be sorry; he could put a stop to it soon enough
if he liked.

"Oh--you needn't be sorry."

"Why not? Do you think I don't care?"

Immense play of expression on Flossie's face. She bit her lip; and
that meant that he might care no end, or he mightn't care a rap, how
was she to know? She smiled a bitter smile as much as to say that she
_didn't_ know, neither did she greatly care. Then her lips quivered,
which meant that if by any chance he did care, it was a cruel shame to
leave a poor girl in the dark.

"Care? About the Bank?" she said at last. "You needn't. I shan't
stand it much longer. I shall fling it up some of these days; see if I
don't."

"Would that be wise?"

"I don't know whether it's wise or not. I know I can't go on like this
for ever."

"Yes, but would anything else be better, or even half as good? You
didn't get much fun out of that last place, you know."

"Well, for all the fun I get out of that old Bank, I might as well be
in a ladies' boarding school. If I thought it would end in
anything--but it won't."

"How do you know? It may end in your marrying a big fat manager."

"Don't be silly."

"Supposing you knew it would end some day, not necessarily in marrying
the manager, would you mind going on with it?"

She looked away from him, and tears formed under her eyelashes, the
vague light tears that never fall. "There's no use my talking of
flinging it up. I'm fixed there for good."

"Who knows?" said Rickman; and if Flossie's eyes had been candid they
would have said, "You ought to know, if anybody does." Whatever they
said, it made him shudder, with fear, with shame, but no, not with
hatred. "Poor Flossie," he said gently; and there was a pause during
which Flossie looked more demure than ever after her little outburst.
She had seen the look in his eyes that foreboded flight.

He rose abruptly. "Do you know, I'm awfully sorry, but I've got an
appointment at half past five to meet a fellow in Fleet Street."

The fellow was Maddox, but the appointment, he had made it that very
minute, which was the twenty-fifth minute past five.

They went their ways; he to Fleet Street, and she home. Maddox did not
turn up to the appointment and Rickman had to keep it with himself. As
the result of the interview he determined to try the effect of a
little timely absence. He did not attempt to conceal from himself that