So she descended from her beech-grown height and made for town again, tucking her wet hair up under the woollen cap that was heavy with rain.

In the tram-car a young man with a small moustache stared persistently at her, and when she alighted he followed her with his eyes as long as he could. This was by no means displeasing to Joanna, but she told herself how glad she was that Bob had no moustache.

At a stationer’s she bought notepaper and a pencil, and without pausing, scribbled this note to Bob: –

“Come out and see me for a minute. I do want to speak to you. I’m waiting in the close next door. – Joanna.”

Having addressed it, she walked quivering towards High Kelvin Place; and the first likely errand boy that passed was waylaid by her and told how he might earn a sixpence if he were clever. Several times he had to repeat his instructions before Joanna would let him go.

And the plan worked smoothly! The messenger had scarcely claimed his money when Bob stepped bareheaded out of the Boyds’ house. He looked in his odd blind way to one side and another before he discovered Joanna, and watching him she felt faint with excitement.

“I say, you are wet, Joanna!” was his first remark when they had met. Her skirts dripped on the stone flags, and Bob touched her soaked sleeve timidly. Rings of hair, curled and darkened by the rain, lay close against her cheeks. He found her freshened face splendid.

“Where on earth have you been? How did you manage to send me this?” And he flicked the note which was still in his hand.

Joanna told him how she had gone into the country and had thrown his ring into a river. But before she could disclose her intention of loving him for ever, she saw that Bob was looking on the ground, and she knew herself in the wrong again. It was all no use. His only suggestion was that she should change quickly into dry clothes. That was all then! But what were his thoughts? How unfair, that she could not – that she never would – know! This unfairness it was that goaded her into asking him again if he loved Mabel; and she really longed for his admission. But no. He denied it; and she believed him. He did not love Mabel.

Then why? Why? (How gladly would Joanna have put him on the rack if so she could have wrung some damaging thing from him!)

But he would only say with maddening quietness that one couldn’t argue about a feeling.

“Good night, then,” said Joanna, unable suddenly for more; and she left him, going down the steps.

Yet when Bob uttered her name with pleading, she had to look back.

“Aren’t you going to kiss me good-bye?” he asked.

She stood amazed at him; and the notion that he was an idiot careered through her brain. Either he was an idiot, or what he had just said was for ever inexcusable.