His conviction strong as ever, he came to the journey’s end, and in due course discovered the pleasant little house of which Constance had spoken.  At the door, his heart failed him; but retreat could not now be thought of.  Yes, Mrs. Palmer was at home.  The servant led him into a sitting-room on the ground floor, took his name, and left him.

It was nearly ten minutes before Constance appeared.  On her face he read a frank surprise.

‘I happened to—­to be down here; couldn’t resist the temptation’ ——­

‘Delighted to see you, Mr. Moxey.  But how did you know I was here?’

He gazed at her.

’You—­don’t you remember?  The day before yesterday—­in Sussex Square—­you mentioned’——­

‘Oh, did I?’ She laughed.  ‘I had quite forgotten.’

Christian sank upon his chair.  He tried to convince himself that she was playing a part; perhaps she thought that she had been premature in revealing her wish to talk with him.

Mrs. Palmer was good-natured.  This call evidently puzzled her, but she did not stint her hospitality.  When Christian asked after the children, they were summoned; two little girls daintily dressed, pretty, affectionate with their mother.  The sight of them tortured Christian, and he sighed deeply with relief when they left the room.  Constance appeared rather absent; her quick glance at him signified something, but he could not determine what.  In agony of constraint, he rose as if to go.

‘Oh, you will have a cup of tea with me,’ said Mrs. Palmer.  ’It will be brought in a few minutes.’

Then she really wished him to stop.  Was he not behaving like an obtuse creature?  Why, everything was planned to encourage him.

He talked recklessly of this and that, and got round to the years long gone by.  When the tea came, he was reviving memories of occasions on which he and she had met as young people.  Constance laughed merrily, declared she could hardly remember.

‘Oh, what a time ago!—­But I was quite a child.’

‘No—­indeed, no!  You were a young lady, and a brilliant one.’

The tea seemed to intoxicate him.  He noticed again that Constance glanced at him significantly.  How good of her to allow him this delicious afternoon!

‘Mr. Moxey,’ she said, after meditating a little, ’why haven’t you married?  I should have thought you would have married long ago.’

He was stricken dumb.  Her jerky laugh came as a shock upon his hearing.

‘Married——?’

‘What is there astonishing in the idea?’

‘But—­I—­how can I answer you?’

The pretty, characterless face betrayed some unusual feeling.  She looked at him furtively; seemed to suppress a tendency to laugh.

‘I mustn’t pry into secrets,’ she simpered.

‘But there is no secret!’ Christian panted, laying down his teacup for fear he should drop it.  ‘Whom should I—­could I have married?’