‘I am sorry for that, Mr. Widdowson.’

’Sorry?  Are you really sorry?  Do you think of me with less friendliness than when we had our evening on the river?’

‘Oh, not with less friendliness.  But if I only make you unhappy—­’

’In one way unhappy, but as no one else ever had the power to.  If you would let me meet you at certain times my restlessness would be at an end.  The summer is going so quickly.  Won’t you come for that drive with me next Sunday?  I will be waiting for you at any place you like to appoint.  If you could imagine what joy it would give me!’

Presently Monica assented.  If it were fine, she would be by the southeast entrance to Regent’s Park at two o’clock.  He thanked her with words of the most submissive gratitude, and then they parted.

The day proved doubtful, but she kept her appointment.  Widdowson was on the spot with horse and trap.  These were not, as he presently informed Monica, his own property, but hired from a livery stable, according to his custom.

‘It won’t rain,’ he exclaimed, gazing at the sky.  ’It shan’t rain!  These few hours are too precious to me.’

‘It would be very awkward if it did,’ Monica replied, in merry humour, as they drove along.

The sky threatened till sundown, but Widdowson was able to keep declaring that rain would not come.  He took a south-westward course, crossed Waterloo Bridge, and thence by the highways made for Herne Hill.  Monica observed that he made a short detour to avoid Walworth Road.  She asked his reason.

‘I hate the road!’ Widdowson answered, with vehemence.

‘You hate it?’

’Because you slaved and suffered there.  If I had the power, I would destroy it—­every house.  Many a time,’ he added, in a lower voice, ’when you were lying asleep, I walked up and down there in horrible misery.’

‘Just because I had to stand at a counter?’

’Not only that.  It wasn’t fit for you to work in that way—­but the people about you!  I hated every face of man or woman that passed along the street.’

‘I didn’t like the society.’

’I should hope not.  Of course, I know you didn’t.  Why did you ever come to such a place?’

There was severity rather than sympathy in his look.

‘I was tired of the dull country life,’ Monica replied frankly.  ’And then I didn’t know what the shops and the people were like.’

‘Do you need a life of excitement?’ he asked, with a sidelong glance.

‘Excitement?  No, but one must have change.’

When they reached Herne Hill, Widdowson became silent, and presently he allowed the horse to walk.

’That is my house, Miss Madden—­the right-hand one.

Monica looked, and saw two little villas, built together with stone facings, porches at the doors and ornamented gables.

‘I only wanted to show it you,’ he added quickly.  ’There’s nothing pretty or noticeable about it, and it isn’t at all grandly furnished.  My old housekeeper and one servant manage to keep it in order.’