It took a long time, and many circumlocutions, but in the end an
appointment was made. Monica would see her acquaintance next Sunday
evening on the river front of Battersea Park; if it rained, then the
Sunday after. She was ashamed and confused. Other girls were
constantly doing this kind of thing--other girls in business; but
it seemed to put her on the level of a servant. And why had she
consented? The man could never be anything to her; he was too old,
too hard-featured, too grave. Well, on that very account there would
be no harm in meeting him. In truth, she had not felt the courage to
refuse; in a manner he had overawed her.

And perhaps she would not keep the engagement. Nothing compelled
her. She had not told him her name, nor the house where she was
employed. There was a week to think it over.

All days and times were the same to him--he said. And he drove
about the country for his pleasure. A man of means. His name,
according to the card, was Edmund Widdowson.

He was upright in his walk, and strongly built. She noticed this as
he moved away from her. Fearful lest he should turn round, her eyes
glanced at his figure from moment to moment. But he did not once
look back.

* * * * * * * * * *

'And now to God the Father.' The bustle throughout the church
wakened her from reverie so complete that she knew not a syllable of
the sermon. After all she must deceive her sisters by inventing a