There was attempt at first to construct an actual
re-encounter. Mary-in-the-glass, that romantic
young woman, very speciously pointed out that in London
when once you see a man you may reasonably suppose
that you will again meet him. For in London one
does not aimlessly wander; one has some set purpose
and traverses a thousand times the same streets, crossing
daily at the same points as though upon the pursuit
of a chalked line. Mary-in-the-glass, therefore,
constructing a re-encounter, happened to be strolling
along the scene of the accident, and lo! there was
he!
Unhappily this vision was transient. Mary-outside-the-glass,
that cold young woman, got in a word here that erased
the picture. The square where the cab crashed
was too far afield to take the children for their
walk; holiday was a boon rarely granted and never granted
at the particular hour of the catastrophe—the
only time of day at which, according to the chalked-line
theory, she might reasonably expect to find the stranger
in the same spot.
But Mary did not brood long upon this melancholy obstacle;
drove away Mary-outside-the-glass; became again Mary-in-the-glass.
And they are impossible creatures these Marys-in-the-glass.
They will approach an unbridged chasm across which
no Mary-out-side could by any means adventure, and,
floating the gulf, will deliriously roam in the fields
beyond.
So now. And in that dream-world of the musing
brain Mary with her stranger sublimely wandered.
With her form and his she peopled all the favourite
spots she knew; contrived others and strolled in them;
introduced other persons, and marked their comment
on her dear companion.
It was he whom she made to do mighty deeds in those
misty fields; of herself hers were merely a girl’s
gentle fancies, held modest by her sex’s natural
desire to be loved for itself alone—not
for big behaviour.
CHAPTER IV.
Excursions In A Nursery.
The loud bang of a door was the gong that called Mary
back from those pleasant fields. They whirled
from her, leaving her in sudden realisation of the
material.
She glanced at the clock.
“Goodness!” cried she, and fell to scattering
her outdoor finery at a speed dangerous under any
but the deftest fingers. Into a skirt of black
and a simple blouse she slipped, and down, skimming
the stairs, to where her charges bided their bedtime.
Opening the nursery door she paused upon the threshold
with a little “Oh!” of surprise.
There was a reek of cigar smoke; its origin between
the lips of a burly young man who stood drumming a
tune upon the window-pane.
Mr. Bob Chater turned at her entry. “I’ve
been waiting for you a long time,” he said.
She asked, “Whatever for?” and in her
tone there was a chill.
“Didn’t I tell you yesterday that I was
coming to see the kids tubbed?”
