tried to do both found themselves punished for bigamy, sooner or later. Gertie was a favourite of Madame's; the main reason was, the girl thought, that— 

 "Shan't tell you!" she said, interrupting herself. 

 "Let me hear the worst," begged young Douglass cheerfully.  "I have, just for the moment, the courage of a lion." 

 "Well, the reason is that she's under the impression I don't care much for—for anybody special." 

 "And is Madame correct in her sanguine anticipations?" 

 "She was. Until a month or so ago." 

 He took the other hand quickly. 

 "Let's move on," she recommended, rising sedately.  "I don't want to be too late on pay night. Aunt will be thinking I've been knocked down and robbed of my purse. She's country-bred—Berkshire—and she says she doesn't trust Londoners."  They went down the slope. 

 "Does she happen to know the town of Wallingford, I wonder?" 

 He declared, on receiving the answer, that nothing could be more fortunate; this was, indeed, pure luck.  For he too was acquainted with Wallingford, and especially well he knew a village not far off: if he could but meet Gertie's aunt, here was a subject of mutual interest. Throwing away the serious manner that came intermittently, he challenged her to race him down to the Albert Road gate; and she went at her best speed, not discouraged by shouts from youngsters of "Go it, little 'un!"  They arrived together at the gate, where Gertie had to rest for a few moments to regain breath. She pointed out that skirts hampered one; he admitted he ought to have given her fifty yards start. They took Regent's Park more demurely. 

 "When you get a colour," he said, "you look like a schoolgirl." 

 "As a matter of fact, I shan't see twenty again." 

 "Do you want to?" 

 "No," she replied candidly; "I'm as happy just now as ever I want to be. It'll always be something to look back upon." 

 "I wish," he said with earnestness, "that you wouldn't talk as though our friendship was only going to be temporary." 

 Prev. P 16/90 next