“Why didn’t you write to me in the week?” she asked presently.  “I’m sure it would be a relief to hear from somebody sometimes.  It’s like a year from one Sunday to another.”

“Did I promise to write?  I really didn’t remember having done so; I’m very sorry.  I might have told you about a new friend I’ve got.”

Harriet looked sharply into his face.  Julian had made no mention of Waymark on the preceding Sunday; it had been a rainy day, and they had only spent a few minutes together in the parlour which Mrs. Ogle, the keeper of the shop, allowed them to use on these occasions.

“What sort of a friend?” the girl inquired rather sourly.

“A very pleasant fellow, rather older than myself; I made his acquaintance by chance.”

Julian avoided reference to the real circumstances.  He knew well the difficulty of making Harriet understand them.

“We are going to see each other every Sunday,” he went on.

“Then I suppose you’ll give up coming for me?”

“Oh no, not at all.  I shall see him at night always, after I have left you.”

“Where does he live?”

“Rather far off; in Kennington.”

“What is he?”

“A teacher in a school.  I hope to get good from being with him; we’re going to read together, and so on.  I wish you could find some pleasant companion of the same kind, Harriet; you wouldn’t feel so lonely.”

“I dare say I’m better off without anybody.  I shouldn’t suit them.  It’s very few people I do suit, or else people don’t suit me, one or the other.  What’s his name, your new friend’s?”

“Waymark.”

“And he lives in Kennington?  Whereabouts?”

“In Walcot Square.  I don’t think you know that part, do you?”

“What number?”

Julian looked at her with some surprise.  He found her eyes fixed with penetrating observation upon his face.  He mentioned the number, and she evidently made a mental note of it.  She was silent for some minutes.

“I suppose you’ll go out at nights with him?” was her next remark.

“It is scarcely likely.  Where should we go to?”

“Oh, I don’t know, and I don’t suppose it matters much, to me.”

“You seem vexed at this, Harriet.  I’m very sorry.  Really, it’s the first friend I’ve ever had.  I’ve often felt the need of some such companionship.”

“I’m nobody?” she said, with a laugh, the first today.

Julian’s face registered very perfectly the many subtle phases of thought and emotion which succeeded each other in his mind.  This last remark distressed him for a moment; he could not bear to hurt another’s feelings.

“Of course I meant male friend,” he said quickly.  “You are my sister.”

“No, I’m not,” was the reply; and, as she spoke, Harriet glanced sideways at him in a particularly unpleasant manner.  She herself meant it to be pleasant.

“Oh yes, you are, Harriet,” he insisted good-humouredly.  “We’ve been brother and sister ever since we can remember, haven’t we?”