“Your impression is natural,” answered the Candy Man, “but the truth is I do not know Miss Bentley.  We met unexpectedly in the pavilion that morning.  I did not at the time realise it, I was unpardonably dense, but she took me for some one else.  On the occasion of the accident that foggy evening—­you perhaps remember it—­I overheard the name she gave to the conductor.  Well, it seems she had no idea she was talking to a Candy Man that morning in the park, and I should have known it.”

The Miser leaned his head on a thin hand, and certainly there was nothing sordid, nothing mean, in the eyes which looked so kindly at his companion.  It was not perhaps a strong face, nor yet quite a weak one; rather it indicated an over-sensitive, brooding nature.  “You will not always be a Candy Man,” he said.  “I have made Miss Bentley’s acquaintance recently.  She is friendliness itself.”

At this moment a grey slip of a woman, with a prayer-book in her hand, entered, and was presented as Mrs. Sampson, the housekeeper.  The Candy Man rose to go, but Mr. Knight seemed now in no haste to release him.

“I should be glad to see you again, if some evening you have nothing better to do,” he said.  “You may perhaps be interested in some of my treasures.”  He glanced about the room.  “You say you too are alone in the world?”

“Quite,” the Candy Man answered.  “Everyone I know has some relative, or at least an hereditary friend, but owing to the peculiar circumstances of my life, I have none.  I do not mean I am friendless, you understand.  I have some school and college friends, good ones.  It is in background I am particularly lacking,” he concluded.

“I have allowed my friends to slip away from me,” confessed the Miser.  “It was the force of circumstances in my case, too, though I brought it upon myself.  I have been justly misunderstood.”

“‘Justly misunderstood.’” The Candy Man repeated the words to himself as he walked home in the frosty night.  They were strange words, but he did not believe them irrational.

CHAPTER NINE

Shows how Miss Bentley and the Reporter take refuge in a cave, and how in the course of the conversation which follows, she hears something which disposes her to feel more kindly toward the Candy Man; shows also how Uncle Bob proves faithless to his trust, and his niece finds herself locked out in consequence.

“Let’s pretend we are pursued by wild Indians and take refuge in this cave.”

The scene was one of those afternoon crushes which everybody attends and few enjoy.  Miss Bentley, struggling with an ice, which the state of the atmosphere rendered eminently desirable, and the density of the crowd made indulgence in precarious, addressed her next neighbour, whom she had catalogued as a nice, friendly boy.  “It’s Mr. Brown, isn’t it?” she added in triumph at so easily associating the name with the face.