She hesitated. "Stay!" she said. "I'll tell you what will be better. Can
you call to-morrow afternoon? The bank will be closed now."

"Yes," he said, "I can call. What time?"

"Oh!" she answered, "any time. If you come in about four, I'll give you
a cup of tea into the bargain. Though you don't deserve it!" After an
instant, she added reassuringly: "Of course I know business is business
with you. But I'm glad I've told you the real truth about your precious
Mr Herbert Calvert, all the same."

And as he walked slowly home Denry pondered upon the singular, erratic,
incalculable strangeness of woman, and of the possibly magic effect of
his own personality on women.


II

It was the next afternoon, in July. Denry wore his new summer suit, but
with a necktie of higher rank than the previous day's. As for Ruth, that
plain but piquant girl was in one of her more elaborate and foamier
costumes. The wonder was that such a costume could survive even for an
hour the smuts that lend continual interest and excitement to the
atmosphere of Bursley. It was a white muslin, spotted with spots of
opaque white, and founded on something pink. Denry imagined that he had
seen parts of it before--at the ball; and he had; but it was now a
tea-gown, with long, languishing sleeves; the waves of it broke at her
shoulders, sending lacy surf high up the precipices of Ruth's neck.
Denry did not know it was a tea-gown. But he knew that it had a most