sooty men."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, Miss Ringrose."

"No, but really--what sort of a place is Dudley? Is it true that
they call it the Black Country?"

"Let us walk about," interposed Eve. "Mr. Hilliard will tell you all
he can about the Black Country."

She moved on, and they rambled aimlessly; among cigar-smoking clerks
and shopmen, each with the female of his kind in wondrous hat and
drapery; among domestic groups from the middle-class suburbs, and
from regions of the artisan; among the frankly rowdy and the
solemnly superior; here and there a man in evening dress, generally
conscious of his white tie and starched shirt, and a sprinkling of
unattached young women with roving eyes. Hilliard, excited by the
success of his advances, and by companionship after long solitude,
became very unlike himself, talking and jesting freely. Most of the
conversation passed between him and Miss Ringrose; Eve had fallen
into an absent mood, answered carelessly when addressed, laughed
without genuine amusement, and sometimes wore the look of trouble
which Hilliard had observed whilst in the train.

Before long she declared that it was time to go home.

"What's the hurry?" said her friend. "It's nothing like ten o'clock
yet--is it, Mr. Hilliard?"

"I don't wish to stay any longer. Of course you needn't go unless