was an idea out of old-fashioned romances.  What he was, he was, and no extent of dogged duration at St. Helen’s or elsewhere, could affect his personality.  What, practically, was to be the end?  If Sidwell had no money of her own, and no expectations from her father, how could she ever become his wife?  Women liked this kind of thing, this indefinite engagement to marry when something should happen, which in all likelihood never would happen—­this fantastic mutual fidelity with only the airiest reward.  Especially women of a certain age.

A heavy cart seemed to be rumbling in the next street.  No, it was thunder.  If only a good rattling storm would sweep the bituminous atmosphere, and allow a breath of pure air before midnight.

She could not be far from thirty.  Of course there prevails much conventional nonsense about women’s age; there are plenty of women who reckon four decades, and yet retain all the essential charm of their sex.  And as a man gets older, as he begins to persuade himself that at forty one has scarce reached the prime of life——­

The storm was coming on in earnest.  Big drops began to fall.  He quickened his pace, reached home, and rang the bell for a light.

His landlady came in with the announcement that a gentleman had called to see him, about an hour ago; he would come again at seven o’clock.

‘What name?’

None had been given.  A youngish gentleman, speaking like a Londoner.

It might be Earwaker, but that was not likely.  Godwin sat down to his plain meal, and after it lit a pipe.  Thunder was still rolling, but now in the distance.  He waited impatiently for seven o’clock.

To the minute, sounded a knock at the house-door.  A little delay, and there appeared Christian Moxey.

Godwin was surprised and embarrassed.  His visitor had a very grave face, and was thinner, paler, than three years ago; he appeared to hesitate, but at length offered his hand.

’I got your address from Earwaker.  I was obliged to see you—­on business.’

‘Business?’

‘May I take my coat off?  We shall have to talk.’

They sat down, and Godwin, unable to strike the note of friendship lest he should be met with repulse, broke silence by regretting that Moxey should have had to make a second call.

’Oh, that’s nothing!  I went and had dinner.—­Peak, my sister is dead.’

Their eyes met; something of the old kindness rose to either face.

‘That must be a heavy blow to you,’ murmured Godwin, possessed with a strange anticipation which he would not allow to take clear form.