It was the first time that Warburton had found a stranger in the room, and Bertha had no difficulty in reading the unwonted look with which he advanced to shake hands.

“No bad news, I hope?” she asked gravely, after presenting him to the other visitor.

“Bad news?—­”

“I thought you looked rather troubled—­”

Her carefully composed features resisted Will’s scrutiny.

“Do I?  I didn’t know it—­but, yes,” he added, abruptly, “you are right.  Something has vexed me—­a trifle.”

“Look at these drawings of Miss Medwin’s.  They will make you forget all vexatious trifles.”

Miss Medwin was, like Bertha, a book illustrator, and had brought work to show her friend.  Warburton glanced at the drawings with a decent show of interest.  Presently he inquired after Mrs. Cross, and learnt that she was out of town for a week or so; at once his countenance brightened, and so shamelessly that Bertha had to look aside, lest her disposition to laugh should be observed.  Conversation of a rather artificial kind went on for half an hour, then Miss Medwin jumped up and said she must go.  Bertha protested, but her friend alleged the necessity of making another call, and took leave.

Warburton stood with a hand upon his chair.  Bertha, turning back from the door, passed by him, and resumed her seat.

“A very clever girl,” she said, with a glance at the window.

“Very, no doubt,” said Will, glancing the same way.

“Won’t you sit down?”

“Gladly, if you don’t think I am staying too long.  I had something I wanted to talk about.  That was why I felt glum when I came in and found a stranger here.  It’s such a long time since I had any part in ordinary society, that I’m forgetting how to behave myself.”

“I must apologise for you to Miss Medwin, when I see her next,” said Bertha, with drollery in her eyes.

“She will understand if you tell her I’m only a grocer,” remarked Will, looking at a point above her head.

“That might complicate things.”

“Do you know,” resumed Warburton.  “I feel sure that the Franks will never again invite me to lunch or dine there.  Franks is very careful when he asks me to go and see them; he always adds that they’ll be alone—­quite alone.”

“But that’s a privilege.”

“So it may be taken; but would it surprise you if they really preferred to see as little of me as possible?”

Bertha hesitated, smiling, and said at length with a certain good-humoured irony: 

“I think I should understand.”

“So do I, quite,” exclaimed Will, laughing.  “I wanted to tell you that I’ve been looking about me, trying to find some way of getting out of the shop.  It isn’t so easy.  I might get a clerkship at a couple of pounds a week, but that doesn’t strike me as preferable to my present position.  I’ve been corresponding with Applegarth, the jam manufacturer, and he very strongly advises me to stick to trade.  I’m not sure that he isn’t right.”