Then came the subject of the proposed acquaintance between Ida and Mrs. Casti.  An impulse of friendship had led to his conceiving the idea; together, perhaps, with the recollection of what Ida had said about her loneliness, and the questions she had asked about Mrs. Casti.  Waymark had little doubt that those questions indicated a desire to become acquainted with his friends; the desire was natural, under the circumstances.  Still, he regretted what he had done.  To introduce Ida to his friends would be almost equivalent to avowing some conventional relations between her and himself.  And, in the next place, it would be an obstacle in the way of those relations becoming anything but conventional.  Well, and was not this exactly the kind of aid he needed in pursuing the course which he felt to be right?  Truly; yet—­

At this point Waymark broke into that half contemptuous, half indulgent laugh which so frequently interrupted his self-communings, and, it being nearly one o’clock, set out to call for Ida.  The day was fine, and, when they left the steamer at Putney, they walked on to the heath in good spirits and with cheerful talk.  To be with Ida under these circumstances, in the sunlight and the fresh breeze, was very different from sitting with her yonder in the little room, with the lamp burning on the table, and the quietness of night around.  The calm pleasure of passionless intercourse was realised and sufficing.  Ida, too, seemed content to enjoy the moment; there was not that wistfulness in her eyes which had been so new to him and so strong in its influence.  It was easy to find indifferent subjects of conversation, and to avoid the seriousness which would have been fatal.

When they had found a pleasant spot to rest awhile before turning back, Waymark made up his mind to fulfil his promise to Julian.

“It’s rather strange,” he said, “that you should have been asking me questions about Mrs. Casti.  Since then I’ve discovered that you probably know her, or once did.”

Ida looked surprised.

“Do you remember once having a schoolfellow called Harriet Smales?”

“Is that her name?”

“It was, before her marriage.”

Ida became grave, and thought for some moments before speaking again.

“Yes, I remember her,” she said, “and not pleasantly.”

“You wouldn’t care to renew her acquaintance then?” said Waymark, half glad, in spite of himself, that she spoke in this way.

Ida asked, with earnestness, how he had made this discovery.  Waymark hesitated, but at length told the truth.  He explained that Mrs. Casti suffered from the want of companionship, and that he had mentioned Ida’s name to Julian; whence the discovery.

“Has she been told about me?” asked Ida.

“Nothing was to be said till I had spoken to you.”

Waymark paused, but presently continued in a more serious tone.  In recurring to that conversation with Julian, his friend’s trouble spoke strongly to him once more, and overcame selfish thoughts.