forbidding enough, almost a tragical figure in her black garb, as severe
and sombre as a country dressmaker could fashion it. He must get to
know these things. He must find Cicely. He walked thoughtfully back to
the offices of the Courier, where he found some work, which, for the
time, completely engrossed him.

The next morning the following advertisement appeared in most of the
London newspapers.

"To C. S. I must see you. British Museum to-day at six."

For three days Douglas watched in vain. On the fourth his heart gave a
great leap, for a sombre little figure stepped out from an omnibus at
the corner of Russell Square and stood hesitatingly upon the pavement,
looking in through the iron bars at the Museum. He came across the
street to her boldly--she turned and saw him. After all, their greeting
approached the conventional. He remembered to raise his hat--she held
out her hand--would have withdrawn it, but found it already clasped in
his.

"Cicely. How good of you. You saw my advertisement?"

"Yes."

"And you saw me in the Strand, but you would not speak to me. Was that
because of Joan?"

"Yes."

"I want to talk to you," he said. "I have so much to say."