same time, the very possibility of establishing more or less intimate relations with her made him distrustful of his judgment.  In spite of himself, he tried to disparage her qualities.  She was pretty, he admitted, but then of such a feeble, characterless type; doubtless her understanding corresponded with the weakness of her outward appearance.  None the less, he had continued to observe her keenly, and had noted with pleasure every circumstance which contradicted his wilful depreciation of her.  His state of mind after the thrashing he gave to young Tootle had been characteristic.  What had been the cause of his violence?  Certainly not uncontrollable anger, for he had in reality been perfectly cool throughout the affair; simply, then, the pleasure of avenging Miss Enderby.  And for this he had sacrificed his place, and left himself without resources.  He had acted absurdly; certainly would not have repeated the absurdity had the scene been to act over again.  This was not the attitude of one in love, and he knew it.  Moreover, though he had thought of writing to her, it would in reality have cost him nothing if she had forthwith passed out of his sight and knowledge.  Now how all this had been altered, by a mere chance meeting.  The doubts had left him; she was indeed the being from a higher world that he would have liked to believe her from the first; the mysterious note of true sympathy had been struck in that short exchange of words and looks, and, though they had taken leave of each other for who could say how long, mutual knowledge was just beginning, real intercourse about to be established between them.  He might write to her, and of course she would reply.

He walked without much perception of time or distance, and found himself at home just before nightfall.  He felt disposed for a quiet evening, to be spent in the companionship of his thoughts.  But when he had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after the day’s rambling, restlessness again possessed him.  After all, it was not retirement that he needed; these strange new Imaginings would consort best with motion and the liveliness of the streets.  So he put out his lamp, and once more set forth.  The night air freshened his spirits; he sang to himself as he went along.  It was long since he had been to a theatre, and just now he ’vas so hopelessly poor that he could really afford a little extravagance.  So he was soon sitting before the well-known drop of a favourite play-house, as full of light-hearted expectancy as a boy who is enjoying a holiday.  The evening was delightful, and passed all too quickly.