With his eyes on the graceful figure of Bertha, he slowly followed.  The ladies were crossing Kew Green; doubtless they would enter the Gardens to spend the afternoon there.  Would it not be pleasant to join them, to walk by Bertha’s side, to talk freely with her, forgetting the counter, which always restrained their conversation?  Bertha was nicely dressed, though one saw that her clothes cost nothing.  In the old days, if he had noticed her at all she would have seemed to him rather a pretty girl of the lower middle class, perhaps a little less insignificant than her like; now she shone for him against a background of “customers,” the one in whom he saw a human being of his own kind, and who, within the imposed limits, had given proof of admitting his humanity.  He saw her turn to look at her mother, and smile; a smile of infinite kindness and good-humour.  Involuntarily his own lips responded; he walked on smiling—­ smiling.

They passed through the gates; he, at a distance of a dozen yards, still followed.  There was no risk of detection; indeed he was doing no harm; even a grocer might observe, from afar off, a girl walking with her mother.  But, after strolling for a quarter of an hour, they paused beside a bench, and there seated themselves.  Mrs. Cross seemed to be complaining of something; Bertha seemed to soothe her.  When he was near enough to be aware of this Will saw that he was too near.  He turned abruptly on his heels, and—­stood face to face with Norbert Franks.

“Hallo!” exclaimed the painter, with an air of embarrassment.  “I thought that was your back!”

“Your engagement was here?” asked Will bluntly, referring to the other’s telegram of excuse.

“Yes.  I was obliged to—­”

He broke off, his eyes fixed on the figures of Bertha and her mother.

“You were obliged—?”

“You see the ladies there,” said Franks in a lower voice, “there, on the seat?  It’s Mrs. Cross and her daughter—­you remember the Crosses?  I called to see them yesterday, and only Mrs. Cross was at home, and—­the fact is, I as good as promised to meet them here, if it was fine.”

“Very well,” replied Warburton carelessly, “I won’t keep you.”

“Go, but—­”

Franks was in great confusion.  He looked this way and that, as if seeking for an escape.  As Will began to move away, he kept at his side.

“Look here, Warburton, let me introduce you to them.  They’re very nice people; I’m sure you’d like them; do let me—­”

“Thank you, no.  I don’t want any new acquaintances.”

“Why?  Come along old man,” urged the other.  “You’re getting too grumpy; you live too much alone.  Just to please me—­”

“No!” answered Will, resolutely, walking on.

“Very well—­just as you like.  But, I say, should I find you at home this evening?  Say, nine o’clock.  I particularly want to have a talk.”

“Good.  I’ll be there,” replied Will, and so, with knitted brows strode away.