Her interview with him was not as long as I had expected, though, to be sure, the conditions were not very favourable either for the exchange of confidences or for utterances of a sentimental character.  The consciousness that one’s conversation could be overheard by the occupants of adjacent boxes destroyed all sense of privacy, to say nothing of the disturbing influence of the warder in the alley-way.

When she rejoined me, her manner was abstracted and very depressed, a circumstance that gave me considerable food for reflection as we made our way in silence towards the main entrance.  Had she found Reuben as cool and matter-of-fact as I had?  He was assuredly a very calm and self-possessed lover, and it was conceivable that his reception of the girl, strung up, as she was, to an acute pitch of emotion, might have been somewhat in the nature of an anticlimax.  And then, was it possible that the feeling was on her side only?  Could it be that the priceless pearl of her love was cast before—­I was tempted to use the colloquial singular and call him an “unappreciative swine!” The thing was almost unthinkable to me, and yet I was tempted to dwell upon it; for when a man is in love—­and I could no longer disguise my condition from myself—­he is inclined to be humble and to gather up thankfully the treasure that is rejected of another.

I was brought up short in these reflections by the clank of the lock in the great iron gate.  We entered together the gloomy vestibule, and a moment later were let out through the wicket into the courtyard; and as the lock clicked behind us, we gave a simultaneous sigh of relief to find ourselves outside the precincts of the prison, beyond the domain of bolts and bars.

I had settled Miss Gibson in the cab and given her address to the driver, when I noticed her looking at me, as I thought, somewhat wistfully.

“Can’t I put you down somewhere?” she said, in response to a half-questioning glance from me.

I seized the opportunity with thankfulness and replied—­

“You might set me down at King’s Cross if it is not delaying you;” and giving the word to the cabman, I took my place by her side as the cab started and a black-painted prison van turned into the courtyard with its freight of squalid misery.

“I don’t think Reuben was very pleased to see me,” Miss Gibson remarked presently, “but I shall come again all the same.  It is a duty I owe both to him and to myself.”

I felt that I ought to endeavour to dissuade her, but the reflection that her visits must almost of necessity involve my companionship, enfeebled my will.  I was fast approaching a state of infatuation.

“I was so thankful,” she continued, “that you prepared me.  It was a horrible experience to see the poor fellow caged like a wild beast, with that dreadful label hanging from his coat; but it would have been overwhelming if I had not known what to expect.”