as she might, no one but herself would ever really see.  Moreover she had no desire whatever to make Mr. Mudge jealous; there would be no amusement in it, for the amusement she had lately known had spoiled her for lower pleasures.  There were even no materials for it.  The odd thing was how she never doubted that, properly handled, his passion was poisonable; what had happened was that he had cannily selected a partner with no poison to distil.  She read then and there that she should never interest herself in anybody as to whom some other sentiment, some superior view, wouldn’t be sure to interfere for him with jealousy.  “And what did you get out of that?” he asked with a concern that was not in the least for his honour.

“Nothing but a good chance to promise him I wouldn’t forsake him.  He’s one of my customers.”

“Then it’s for him not to forsake you.”

“Well, he won’t.  It’s all right.  But I must just keep on as long as he may want me.”

“Want you to sit with him in the Park?”

“He may want me for that—­but I shan’t.  I rather liked it, but once, under the circumstances, is enough.  I can do better for him in another manner.”

“And what manner, pray?”

“Well, elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?—­I say!”

This was an ejaculation used also by Captain Everard, but oh with what a different sound!  “You needn’t ’say’—­there’s nothing to be said.  And yet you ought perhaps to know.”

“Certainly I ought.  But what—­up to now?”

“Why exactly what I told him.  That I’d do anything for him.”

“What do you mean by ’anything’?”

“Everything.”

Mr. Mudge’s immediate comment on this statement was to draw from his pocket a crumpled paper containing the remains of half a pound of “sundries.”  These sundries had figured conspicuously in his prospective sketch of their tour, but it was only at the end of three days that they had defined themselves unmistakeably as chocolate-creams.  “Have another?—­that one,” he said.  She had another, but not the one he indicated, and then he continued:  “What took place afterwards?”

“Afterwards?”

“What did you do when you had told him you’d do everything?”

“I simply came away.”

“Out of the Park?”

“Yes, leaving him there.  I didn’t let him follow me.”

“Then what did you let him do?”

“I didn’t let him do anything.”

Mr. Mudge considered an instant.  “Then what did you go there for?” His tone was even slightly critical.

“I didn’t quite know at the time.  It was simply to be with him, I suppose—­just once.  He’s in danger, and I wanted him to know I know it.  It makes meeting him—­at Cocker’s, since it’s that I want to stay on for—­more interesting.”

“It makes it mighty interesting for me!” Mr. Mudge freely declared.  “Yet he didn’t follow you?” he asked. “I would!”