In the street a man accosted her.  She looked up with an almost guilty start.  A little cry broke from her lips.  It was one of disappointment, and Graveling’s unpleasant lips were twisted into a sneer as he raised his cap.

“Thought it was some one else, eh?” he remarked.  “Well, it isn’t, you see; it’s me.  There’s no one else with a mind to come down here this baking afternoon to fetch you.”

“I thought it might be Aaron,” she faltered.

“Never mind whom you thought it might have been,” he answered gruffly.  “Aaron’s busy, I expect, typing letters to all the lords and ladies your Mr. Maraton hobnobs with.  I’m here, and I want to talk with you.”

“I am too tired,” she pleaded.  “I am going straight home to lie down.”

“I’d thought of that,” he answered stubbornly.  “I’ve got a taxicab waiting at the corner.  Not often I treat myself to anything of that sort.  I’m going to take you up to one of those parks in the West End we’ve paid so much for and see so little of, and when I get you there I’m going to talk to you.  You can rest on the way up.  There’s a breeze blowing when you get out of these infernally hot streets.”

She was only too glad to sink back amongst the hard, shiny leather cushions of the taxicab, and half close her eyes.  The first taste of the breeze, as they neared Westminster Bridge, was almost ecstatic.  Graveling had lit a pipe, and smoked by her side in silence.  “We are coming out of our bit of the earth now, to theirs,” he remarked presently, as they reached Piccadilly, brilliant with muslin-clad women and flower-hung windows.  “It isn’t often I dare trust myself up here.  Makes me feel as though I’d like to go amongst those sauntering swells and mincing ladies in their muslins and laces, and parasols, and run amuck amongst them—­send them down like a pack of ninepins.  Aye, I’d send them into hell if I could!”

She was still silent.  She felt that she needed all her strength.  They drove on to the Achilles statue, where he dismissed the taxicab.  The man stared at the coin which he was offered, and looked at the register.

“’Ere!” he exclaimed.  “You’re a nice ’Un, you are!”

Graveling turned upon him almost fiercely.

“If you want a tip,” he said, “go and drive some of these fine ladies and gentlemen about, who’ve got the money to give.  I’m a working man, and luxuries aren’t for me.  Be off with you, or I’ll call a policeman!”

He shouldered his way across the pavement, and Julia followed him.  Soon they found a seat in the shade of the trees.  She leaned back with a little sigh of content.

“Five minutes!” she begged.  “Just five minutes!”

He glanced at his watch, relit his pipe, and relapsed once more into sombre silence.  Julia’s thoughts went flitting away.  She closed her eyes and leaned back.  She had only one fear now.  Would he find out!  He was thick enough, in his way, but he was no fool, and he was already coarsely jealous.