The first interview between Julian and Waymark was followed by a second a few days after, when it was agreed that they should spend each Sunday evening together in Kennington; Julian had no room in which he could well receive visitors.  The next Sunday proved fine; Julian planned to take Harriet for a walk in the afternoon, then, after accompanying her home, to proceed to Walcot Square.  As was usual on these occasions, he was to meet his cousin at the Holborn end of Gray’s Inn Road, and, as also was the rule, Harriet came some twenty minutes late.  Julian was scrupulously punctual, and waiting irritated him not a little, but he never allowed himself to show his annoyance.  There was always the same kind smile on his handsome face, and the pressure of his hand was warm.

Harriet Smales was about a year younger than her cousin.  Her dress showed moderately good taste, with the usual fault of a desire to imitate an elegance which she could not in reality afford.  She wore a black jacket, fur-trimmed, over a light grey dress; her black straw hat had a few flowers in front.  Her figure was good and her movements graceful; she was nearly as tall as Julian.  Her face, however, could not be called attractive; it was hollow and of a sickly hue, even the lips scarcely red.  Grey eyes, beneath which were dark circles, looked about with a quick, suspicious glance; the eye-brows made almost a straight line.  The nose was of a coarse type, the lips heavy and indicative of ill-temper.  The disagreeable effect of these lineaments was heightened by a long scar over her right temple; she evidently did her best to conceal it by letting her hair come forward very much on each side, an arrangement in itself unsuited to her countenance.

“I think I’m going to leave my place,” was her first remark to-day, as they turned to walk westward.  She spoke in a dogged way with which Julian was familiar enough, holding her eyes down, and, as she walked, swinging her arms impatiently.

“I hope not,” said her cousin, looking at her anxiously.  “What has happened?”

“Oh, I don’t know; it’s always the same; people treat you as if you was so much dirt.  I haven’t been accustomed to it, and I don’t see why I should begin now.  I can soon enough get a new shop.”

“Has Mrs. Ogle been unkind to you?”

“Oh, I don’t know, and I don’t much care.  You’re expected to slave just the same, day after day, whether you’re feeling well or not.”

This indirect and querulous mode of making known her grievances was characteristic of the girl.  Julian bore with it very patiently.

“Haven’t you been feeling well?” he asked, with the same kindness.

“Well, no, I haven’t.  My head fairly splits now, and this sun isn’t likely to make it any better.”

“Let us cross to the shady side.”

“’Twon’t make any difference; I can’t run to get out of the way of horses.”

Julian was silent for a little.