I was to meet her at Charing-Cross station, and we were going to take
an afternoon train down into Kent where Viola declared she knew of a
lovely village of the real romantic kind. I had thought we ought to
write or wire for rooms at a hotel beforehand, but Viola had been sure
she would find what she wanted when we arrived, and she wished to
choose a place herself.

So there was nothing more to do. My suit-case was packed, and when the
time came to a quarter past two I got into a hansom and drove to the
station.

Almost as soon as I got there, Viola drove up, punctual to the minute.

She knew her own value to men too well to try and enhance it by always
being late for an appointment as so many women do.

She looked fresh and lovely in palest grey, her rose-tinted face
radiant with excitement.

"I haven't kept you waiting, have I?" was her first exclamation after
our greeting.

"I had so much work to do for Aunt Mary all the morning, I thought I
should not have time to really get off myself."

"No, you haven't kept me waiting," I answered; "and, if you had, it
would not have mattered. You know I would wait all day for you."

She glanced up with a wonderful light-filled smile that set every cell