Here, on the quiet pavement shadowed by the College of Surgeons, she lingered in expectancy.  Ten was striking, but she looked in vain for the figure she would recognize—­that of a well-dressed, middle-aged man, with a white silk comforter about his neck, and drawn up so as to hide his mouth.  Twice she had met him here, and on each occasion he was waiting for her when she arrived.  Five minutes passed—­ten minutes.  She grew very impatient and, as a necessary consequence, very angry.  To avoid unpleasant attention from the few people who walked by, she had to pace backwards and forwards as if going about her business.  When the clocks chimed the first quarter Polly was in a turmoil of anger, blended with disappointment and apprehension.  She could not have made a mistake.  The message she had received was “W.  S. T.,” which meant “Wednesday same time.”  Some accident must have interfered.  At twenty minutes past ten she had lost all hope.  She must go home, and wait for a possible communication on the morrow.

Swinging her skirts, clenching her fists, and talking silently at a great rate, she walked in the direction of Chancery Lane.  At a corner someone going in the opposite direction caught sight of her and stopped.  Polly was so preoccupied that she would not have noticed the figure had it merely passed; by stopping it drew her attention, and she beheld Christopher Parish.

“Why, Miss Sparkes!”

He held out his hand, but to no purpose.  Polly had her eyes fixed upon him, and they flashed with hostility.

“What do you mean by it?”

“Mean by what?”

The young man was astonished; his hand dropped, and he trembled before her.

“How dare you spy after me?  Nasty little wretch!”

“Spy after you, Miss Sparkes?  Why, I hadn’t the least idea of anything of the kind; I swear I hadn’t!  I was just taking a walk—­”

“Oh, yes!  Of course!  You’re always taking a walk, aren’t you?  And you always come just this way ’cause it’s nice and convenient for Lambeth Road, ain’t it?  I’ve a good mind to call a p’liceman and give you in charge for stopping me in the street!”

“Well, did ever anybody hear such a thing as this?” exclaimed Mr. Parish, faint in voice and utterly at a loss for protestations at all effective.  “I tell you I was only taking a walk—­that’s to say, I’ve been with a friend.”

“A friend?  Oh, yes, of course.  What friend?”

“It’s somebody you don’t know; his name—­”

“Oh, of course, I don’t know him!  And I don’t know you either after to-night, so just remember that, Mr. Parish.  The idea!  If I can’t take two steps without being followed and spied upon!  And you call yourself a gentleman.  Get out of my way, please.  If you want to follow and spy, you’re quite at liberty to do so.  P’r’aps it’ll ease your nasty little mind.  Don’t talk to me!  What business have you got to stop me in the street, I’d like to know?  If you’re not careful I shall send a complaint to your employers, and then you’ll have plenty of time to go taking walks.”