rhymes that read well--even with your mouth full of sausage. Mr.

Hoopdriver formed a vague idea of drawing " something "--for his
judgment on the little old lady was already formed. He pictured

the little old lady discovering it afterwards--"My gracious! One
of them Punch men," she would say. The room had a curtained

recess and a chest of drawers, for presently it was to be his
bedroom, and the day part of it was decorated with framed

Oddfellows' certificates and giltbacked books and portraits, and
kettle-holders, and all kinds of beautiful things made out of

wool; very comfortable it was indeed. The window was lead framed
and diamond paned, and through it one saw the corner of the

vicarage and a pleasant hill crest, in dusky silhouette against
the twilight sky. And after the sausages had ceased to be, he lit

a Red Herring cigarette and went swaggering out into the twilight
street. All shadowy blue between its dark brick houses, was the

street, with a bright yellow window here and there and splashes
of green and red where the chemist's illumination fell across the

road.
AN INTERLUDE

XV
And now let us for a space leave Mr. Hoopdriver in the dusky

Midhurst North Street, and return to the two folks beside the
railway bridge between Milford and Haslemere. She was a girl of

eighteen, dark, fine featured, with bright eyes, and a rich,
swift colour under her warm-tinted skin. Her eyes were all the

brighter for the tears that swam in them. The man was thirty
three or four, fair, with a longish nose overhanging his sandy

flaxen moustache, pale blue eyes, and a head that struck out
above and behind. He stood with his feet wide apart, his hand on

his hip, in an attitude that was equallysuggestive of defiance
and aggression. They had watched Hoopdriver out of sight. The

unexpected interruption" target="_blank" title="n.停止，中断">interruption had stopped the flood of her tears. He
tugged his abundant moustache and regarded her calmly. She stood

with face averted, obstinately resolved not to speak first. "Your
behaviour," he said at last, "makes you conspicuous."

She turned upon him, her eyes and cheeks glowing, her hands
clenched. "You unspeakable CAD," she said, and choked, stamped

her little foot, and stood panting.
"Unspeakable cad! My dear girl! Possible I AM an unspeakable cad.

Who wouldn't be--for you?"
"'Dear girl!' How DARE you speak to me like that? YOU--"

"I would do anything--"
"OH!"

There was a moment's pause. She looked squarely into his face,
her eyes alight with anger and contempt, and perhaps he flushed a

little. He stroked his moustache, and by an effort maintained his
cynical calm. "Let us be reasonable," he said.

"Reasonable! That means all that is mean and cowardly and sensual
in the world."

"You have always had it so--in your generalising way. But let us
look at the facts of the case--if that pleases you better."

With an impatientgesture she motioned him to go on.
"Well," he said,--"you've eloped."

"I've left my home," she corrected, with dignity. "I left my home
because it was unendurable. Because that woman--"

"Yes, yes. But the point is, you have eloped with me."
"You came with me. You pretended to be my friend. Promised to

help me to earn a living by writing. It was you who said, why
shouldn't a man and woman be friends? And now you dare--you

dare--"
"Really, Jessie, this pose of yours, this injured innocence--"

"I will go back. I forbid you--I forbid you to stand in the
way--"

"One moment. I have always thought that my little pupil was at
least clear-headed. You don't know everything yet, you know.

Listen to me for a moment."
"Haven't I been listening? And you have only insulted me. You who

dared only to talk of friendship, who scarcely dared hint at
anything beyond."

"But you took the hints, nevertheless. You knew. You KNEW. And
you did not mind. MIND! You liked it. It was the fun of the whole

thing for you. That I loved you, and could not speak to you. You
played with it--"

"You have said all that before. Do you think that justifies you?"
"That isn't all. I made up my mind--Well, to make the game more

even. And so I suggested to you and joined with you in this
expedition of yours, invented a sister at Midhurst--I tell you, I

HAVEN'T a sister! For one object--"
"Well?"

"To compromise you."
She started. That was a new way of putting it. For half a minute

neither spoke. Then she began half defiantly: "Much I am
compromised. Of course--I have made a fool of myself--"

"My dear girl, you are still on the sunny side of eighteen, and
you know very little of this world. Less than you think. But you

will learn. Before you write all those novels we have talked
about, you will have to learn. And that's one point--" He

hesitated. "You started and blushed when the man at breakfast
called you Ma'am. You thought it a funny mistake, but you did not

say anything because he was young and nervous--and besides, the
thought of being my wife offended your modesty. You didn't care

to notice it. But--you see; I gave your name as MRS. Beaumont."
He looked almost apologetic, in spite of his cynical pose. "MRS.

Beaumont," he repeated, pulling his flaxen moustache and watching
the effect.

She looked into his eyes speechless. "I am learning fast, " she
said slowly, at last.

He thought the time had come for an emotional attack. "Jessie,"
he said, with a sudden change of voice, "I know all this is mean,

isvillanous. But do you think that I have done all this scheming,
all this subterfuge, for any other object--"

She did not seem to listen to his words. "I shall ride home," she
said abruptly.

"To her?"
She winced.

"Just think," said he, "what she could say to you after this."
"Anyhow, I shall leave you now."

"Yes? And go--"
"Go somewhere to earn my living, to be a free woman, to live

without conventionality--"
"My dear girl, do let us be cynical. You haven't money and you

haven't credit. No one would take you in. It's one of two things:
go back to your stepmother, or--trust to me."

"How CAN I?"
"Then you must go back to her." He paused momentarily, to let

this consideration have its proper weight. "Jessie, I did not
mean to say the things I did. Upon my honour, I lost my head when

I spoke so. If you will, forgive me. I am a man. I could not help
myself. Forgive me, and I promise you--"

"How can I trust you?"
"Try me. I can assure you--"

She regarded him distrustfully.
"At any rate, ride on with me now. Surely we have been in the

shadow of this horriblebridge long enough."
"Oh! let me think," she said, half turning from him and pressing

her hand to her brow.
"THINK! Look here, Jessie. It is ten o'clock. Shall we call a

truce until one?"
She hesitated, demanded a definition of the truce, and at last

agreed.
They mounted, and rode on in silence, through the sunlight and

the heather. Both were extremelyuncomfortable and disappointed.