“I am going into a family,” were her next words, spoken almost cheerfully.  “It is in the country, in Essex.  There are only two children, quite young.  I think I shall succeed better with them; I hope so.”

“Then I suppose,” Waymark said, moving a little and keeping his eyes fixed on her with an uneasy look, “I shall—­I must say good-bye to you, for the last time?”

A scarcely heard “yes” fell from her lips.  Her eyes were cast down.

“I am going to make a bold request,” Waymark exclaimed, with a sort of recklessness, though his voice expressed no less respect than hitherto.  “Will you tell me where you are going to?”

She told him, without looking up, and with a recurrence to the timid manner which had marked her in the schoolroom.  This gave Waymark encouragement; his confidence grew as hers diminished.

“Will you let me write to you—­occasionally?  Would you let me keep up our acquaintance in this way,—­so that, if you return to London, I might look forward to meeting you again some time?”

The girl answered timidly—­

“I shall be glad to keep up our acquaintance.  I shall be glad to hear from you.”

Then, at once feeling that she had gone too far, her confusion made her pale.  Waymark held out his hand, as if to take leave.

“Thank you very much,” he said warmly.  “I am very grateful.”

She gave him a quick “good-bye,” and then passed on.  Waymark moved at once in the opposite direction, turning the corner.  Then he wished to go back and notice which house she entered, but would not do so lest she should observe him.  He walked straight forwards.

How the aspect of the world had changed for him in these few minutes; what an incredible revolution had come to pass in his own desires and purposes t The intellectual atmosphere he breathed was of his own creation; the society of cultured people he had never had an opportunity of enjoying.  A refined and virtuous woman had hitherto existed for him merely in the sanctuary of his imagination; he had known not one such.  If he passed one in the street, the effect of the momentary proximity was only to embitter his thoughts, by reminding him of the hopeless gulf fixed between his world and that in which such creatures had their being.  In revenge, he tried to soil the purity of his ideals; would have persuaded himself that the difference between the two spheres was merely in externals, that he was imposed upon by wealth, education, and superficial refinement of manners.  Happily he had never really succeeded in thus deceiving himself, and the effort had only served to aggravate his miseries.  The habit of mind, however, had shown itself in the earlier stages of his acquaintance with Miss Enderby.  The first sight of her had moved him somewhat, but scarcely with any foreshadowing of serious emotion.  He felt that she was different from any woman with whom he had ever stood on an equal footing; but, at the