carried the parcel, she who followed into and out of the
restaurant. Only when he thought anyone was watching would he make any
attempt to behave to her with even ordinary courtesy. He bullied her,
contradicted her in public, ignored her openly. Bohemia fumed with
impotent rage, yet was bound to confess that so far as Miss Ramsbotham
herself was concerned he had done more to make her happy than had ever
all Bohemia put together. A tender light took up its dwelling in her
eyes, which for the first time it was noticed were singularly deep and
expressive. The blood, of which she possessed if anything too much, now
came and went, so that her cheeks, in place of their insistent red, took
on a varied pink and white. Life had entered her thick dark hair, giving
to it shade and shadow.

The woman began to grow younger. She put on flesh. Sex, hitherto
dormant, began to show itself; femininities peeped out. New tones,
suggesting possibilities, crept into her voice. Bohemia congratulated
itself that the affair, after all, might turn out well.

Then Master Peters spoiled everything by showing a better side to his
nature, and, careless of all worldly considerations, falling in love
himself, honestly, with a girl at the bun shop. He did the best thing
under the circumstances that he could have done: told Miss Ramsbotham the
plain truth, and left the decision in her hands.

Miss Ramsbotham acted as anyone who knew her would have foretold.
Possibly, in the silence of her delightful little four-roomed flat over
the tailor's shop in Marylebone Road, her sober, worthy maid dismissed
for a holiday, she may have shed some tears; but, if so, no trace of them
was allowed to mar the peace of mind of Mr. Peters. She merely thanked
him for being frank with her, and by a little present pain saving them
both a future of disaster. It was quite understandable; she knew he had
never really been in love with her. She had thought him the type of man
that never does fall in love, as the word is generally understood--Miss
Ramsbotham did not add, with anyone except himself--and had that been the
case, and he content merely to be loved, they might have been happy
together. As it was--well, it was fortunate he had found out the truth
before it was too late. Now, would he take her advice?

Mr. Peters was genuinely grateful, as well he might be, and would consent
to any suggestion that Miss Ramsbotham might make; felt he had behaved
shabbi