of the curious resemblance between Harriet and the girl he had
noticed on leaving Waymark's house last Sunday, and now he asked
her, in a half-jesting way, whether it had really been she.

"How could it be?" said Harriet carelessly. "I can't be in two
places at once."

"Did you stay at home that evening?"

"No,--not all the evening."

"What friends are they you go to, when you are out at night,
Harriet?"

"Oh, some relations of the Colchester people.--I suppose you've
been spending most of your time in Kennington since Sunday?"

"I haven't left home. In fact, I've been very busy. I've just
finished some work that has occupied me for nearly a year."

After all, he could not refrain from speaking of it, though he had
made up his mind not to do so.

"Work? What work?" asked Harriet, with the suspicious look which
came into her grey eyes whenever she heard something she could not
understand.

"Some writing. I've written a play."

"A play? Will it be acted?"