I smoked a cigarette when I had read it all twice over, and as I crushed
the fire out of the stump I felt I could as soon think of lighting it
again as I should have expected Catherine Evers to set a fresh match to
me. That, I was resolved, she should never do; nor was I quite coxcomb
enough to suspect her of the desire for a moment. But a man who has once
made a fool of himself, especially about a woman somewhat older than
himself, does not soon get over the soreness; and mine returned with the
very fascination which made itself felt even in the shortest little
letter.

Catherine wrote from the old address in Elm Park Gardens, and she wanted
me to call as early as I could, or to make any appointment I liked. I
therefore telegraphed that I was coming at three o'clock that afternoon,
and thus made for myself one of the longest mornings that I can remember
spending in town. I was staying at the time at the Kensington Palace
Hotel, to be out of the central racket of things, and yet more or less
under the eye of the surgeon who still hoped to extract the last bullet
in time. I can remember spending half the morning gazing aimlessly over
the grand old trees, already prematurely bronzed, and the other half in
limping in their shadow to the Round Pond, where a few little townridden
boys were sailing their humble craft. It was near the middle of August,
and for the first time I was thankful that an earlier migration had not
been feasible in my case.

In spite of my telegram Mrs. Evers was not at home when I arrived, but
she had left a message which more than explained matters. She was
lunching out, but only in Brechin Place, and I was to wait in the study
if I did not mind. I did not, and yet I did, for the room in which
Catherine certainly read her books and wrote her letters was also the