He slackened pace, so that she looked round at him, impatiently
questioning.

"Look here, Miss Winter," he coaxed, "don't go home. Stay out and dine
with me. Of course we're mere strangers, but we're both so
emancipated, aren't we? No, emancipated's an out-of-date word. We've
passed that, haven't we, long ago? We're--I dunno what we are; there's
no limit to us. Isn't it jolly? So do come into town and dine with
me."

"I think I'd like to, thanks," said Julia; "I'm not quite sure."

"Why aren't you quite sure?"

"I might be bored with you. How do I know?"

Rokeby looked at her with an astonished respect and a glim of his
saving humour. "So you might; er--I hadn't thought of it; but 'pon my
word, I'll do my best. Won't you come if I guarantee that?"

And he wanted her to come, oddly.

"Thanks," said Julia, "I will."

"Queer thing," Rokeby thought in his surprised soul, "when a girl all
on her own in this hard world hesitates to come out to a good dinner
with not a bad fellow in case she might be bored."

"I know what you're thinking," said Julia calmly; "you're thinking--or