“Mr. Roberts has his reasons, Mrs. Jacobs; you must not talk of him like that.”

“Ah, so my Samuel used to say when he stopped away from home for three nights at a time, till I followed him and found out his ‘Reason,’ and a mighty pretty ‘Reason’ she was too, all paint and feathers, the hussy, and eyes as big as a teacup.  They all have their reasons, but they never tell ’em.  But come and put on your things and go out a bit, there’s a dear; it is a beautiful warm evening.  You feel tired—­oh, never mind that; it is necessary for people as is in an interested way to take exercise.  I well remembers——­”

Here Hilda, however, cut the subject short, and deprived herself of Mrs. Jacobs’ reminiscences by going to put on her things.

It was a bright warm evening, and she found the air so pleasant that, after strolling round Lincoln’s Inn Fields, she thought she would extend her walk a little, and struck past Lincoln’s Inn Hall into New Square, and then made her way to the archway opposite to where the New Law Courts now stand.  Under this archway a legal bookseller has built his nest, and behind windows of broad plate-glass were ranged specimens of his seductive wares, baits on which to catch students avaricious of legal knowledge as they pass on their way to chambers or Hall.  Now, at this window a young man was standing at the moment that Hilda entered the archway, his eyes fixed upon a pamphlet on the laws of succession.  That young man was George Caresfoot, who was considering whether it would be worth his while to buy the pamphlet in order to see if he would be entitled to anything if his uncle should happen to die intestate, as he sometimes feared might be the case.  He had come up to town on business connected with his firm, and was now waiting till it was time to begin an evening of what he understood as pleasure; for George was a very gay young man.

He was, however, also a very sharp one, so sharp that he even noticed shadows, especially when, as in this case, the shadow was clearly defined and flung, life-sized, on the dark background of the books before him.  He watched it for a moment, and as its owner, with an absent air, slowly passed from the bright sunlight into the shade of the arch, it struck the astute George that there was something familiar about this particular and by no means unpleasing shadow.  Waiting till it had vanished and the footsteps gone past him, he turned round and at a glance recognized Hilda von Holtzhausen, Miss Lee’s beautiful companion, who was supposed to have departed into the more distant parts of Germany.  George’s eyes twinkled, and a whole host of ideas rushed into his really able mind.

“Caught at last, for a sovereign,” he muttered.

Meanwhile Hilda walked slowly on into Chancery Lane, then turned to the left till she came into Holborn, and thence made her way round by another route back to Lincoln’s Inn Fields.  Needless to say, George followed at a respectful distance.  His first impulse had been to go up and speak to her, but he resisted the inclination.