jolly London looked at the beginning of July! So gay, so full of life.
And then he read a letter in a writing he didn't know; it was from
Mavis Argles, the friend of Vincy--the young art-student: Vincy had
given her his address some time ago--asking him for some special
privilege which he possessed, to see some of the Chinese pictures in
the British Museum. He was to oblige her with a letter to the museum.
She would call for it. Vincy was away, and evidently she had by
accident chosen the day of Aylmer's return without knowing anything of
his absence. She had never seen him in her life.

Aylmer was wandering about the half-dismantled house _désoeuvré_, with
nothing to do, restlessly counting the minutes till two in the
afternoon. He remembered the very little that Vincy had told him of
Mavis; how proud she was and how hard up. He saw her through the
window. She looked pale and rather shabby. He told the servant to show
her in.

'I've just this moment got your letter, Miss Argles. But, of course,
I'm only too delighted.'

'Thank you. Mr Vincy said you'd give me the letter.'

The girl sat down stiffly on the edge of a chair. Vincy had said she
was pretty. Aylmer could not see it. But he felt brimming over with
sympathy and kindness for her--for everyone, in fact.

She wore a thin light grey cotton dress, and a small grey hat; her hair
looked rich, red, and fluffy as ever; her face white and rather thin.
She looked about seventeen. When she smiled she was pretty; she had a
Rossetti mouth; that must have been what Vincy admired. Aylmer had no