was she released. The unchanging odours of the place sickened her,
made her head ache, and robbed her of all appetite. Many of the
duties were menial, and to perform them fevered her with
indignation. Then the mere waiting upon such men as formed the
majority of the customers, vulgarly familiar, when not insolent, in
their speech to her, was hateful beyond anything she had conceived.
Had there been no one to face but her father, she would have
returned home and resumed her old occupation at the end of the first
fortnight, so extreme was her suffering in mind and body; but rather
than give Sidney Kirkwood such a triumph, she would work on, and
breathe no word of what she underwent. Even in her anger against
him, the knowledge of his forgiving disposition, of the sincerity of
his love, was an unavowed support. She knew he could not utterly
desert her; when some day he sought a reconciliation, the renewal of
conflict between his pride and her own would, she felt, supply her
with new courage.

Early one Saturday afternoon she was standing by the windows, partly
from heavy idleness of thought, partly on the chance that Kirkwood
might go by, when a young, well-dressed man, who happened to be
passing at a slow walk, turned his head and looked at her. He went
on, but in a few moments Clara, who had moved back into the shop,
saw him enter and come forwards. He took a seat at the counter and
ordered a luncheon. Clara waited upon him with her customary cold
reserve, and he made no remark until she returned him change out of
the coin he offered.

Then he said with an apologetic smile:

'We are old acquaintances, Miss Hewett, but I'm afraid you've