Now she sat on the rustic bench; now she bent above the envious flowers; now she stood at the gate that opened out to a hot sudden bit of the city.
And as he watched her there in the garden she would never enter, as he reflected unhappily that probably he would see her no more--the idea came to him.
At first he put it from him as absurd, impossible.

She was, to apply a fine word much abused, a lady; he supposedly a gentleman.

Their sort did not do such things.

If he yielded to this temptation she would be shocked, angry, and from him would slip that one chance in a thousand he had--the chance of meeting her somewhere, some day.
And yet--and yet--She, too, had found the Agony Column entertaining and--quite nice.

There was a twinkle in her eyes that bespoke a fondness for romance.