express train for Beechwood--the wrong station--the wrong line.

The "stranger who might have been observed," on this occasion was not
observed, but observer. He saw and recognised the porter's error,
hesitated a moment, and then leaped into a carriage just behind hers. So
that when, after a swift journey made eventful by agonised recognition
of the fleeting faces of various stations where she might have changed
and caught her own train, Nina reached Beechwood, the stranger's hand
was ready to open the door for her.

"There's no train for ages," he said in tones deliberate, almost
hesitating. "Shall we walk home? It's only six miles."

"But you--aren't you going somewhere here?"

"No--I--I--I saw the porter put you in--and I thought--at least--anyway
you will walk, won't you?"

They walked. When they reached Beechwood Common, he said: "Won't you
take my arm?" And she took it. Her hands were ungloved; the other hand
was full of silver may and bluebells. The sun shot level shafts of gold
between the birch trees across the furze and heather.

"How beautiful it is!" she said.

"We've known each other three months," said he.

"But I've seen you every day, and we've talked for hours and hours in
those everlasting trains," she said, as if in excuse.

"I've seen you every day for longer than that; the first time was on the
3rd of October."

"Fancy remembering that!"

"I have a good memory."

A silence.

Nina broke it, to say again: "How pretty!" She knew she had said it
before, or something like it, but she could think of nothing else--and
she wanted to say something.

He put his hand over hers as it lay on his arm. She looked up at him
quickly.

"Well?" he said, stopping to look down into her eyes and tightening his
clasp on her hand. "Are you sorry you came to Beechwood?"

"No----"

"Then be glad. My dear, I wish you could ever be as glad as I am."

Then they walked on, still with his hand on hers.

* * * * *

Nina and Molly sat on a locker swinging their feet and eating their
lunch in the Slade corridor next day. Nina was humming softly under her
breath.

"What are you so happy for all of a sudden?" Molly asked. "Your
sketch-club things are the worst I've ever seen, and the Professor was
down on you like a hundred of bricks this morning."

"I'm not happy," said Nina, turning away what seemed to Molly a new
face.

"What is it, then?"

"Nothing. Oh yes--by the w