It was not true, but in the few minutes that he had gazed at her, past and present had so blended that he could not see what another would have noticed. Emily was appreciably older, and ill-health had set marks upon her face. A stranger looking at her now would have found it hard to imagine her with the light of joy in her eyes; her features had set themselves in sorrow. Her cheeks were very thin; her eyes were dark and sunken. Wilfrid saw only the soul in her gaze at him, and that was as it had ever been. She was unable to speak; Wilfrid found words. 'Do you often walk here? Is your home near?' 'Not very near. I came by the river,' she answered. 'I am very glad that I have met you.' The words sounded insufficient, but Wilfrid was by this time at battle with himself, and succeeded in saying less than he felt. 'You will let me walk on a little way with you? We can't shake hands at once and say good-bye, can we, after such a long time?' He spoke in the tone one uses to jest over bygone sadness. Emily made no verbal answer, but walked along by his side. 'You still have your old habits,' he said, casting an eye at the book. 'Are your tastes still the same, I wonder?' 'It is Dante,' she replied. The name brought another to Wilfrid's consciousness; he averted his eyes for a moment, but spoke again without much delay. 'Still faithful to the great names. This is a lovely place to make one's study. Were you here when the chestnuts flowered?' 'Yes, once or twice.' 'I did not see them this year. And you have been walking here so often,' he added, wondering again, half to himself. 'I have been to Teddington several times lately, but only today came into the park.' 'I have not been here for a month,' Emily said, speaking at length with more case. The shock had affected her physically more than she had allowed to be seen; it was only now that her voice was perfectly at her command. Her face remained grave, but she spoke in a tone free from suggestion of melancholy. 'I teach in a school, and to-day there is a holiday.' 'Do you live at the school?' 'No. I have my own lodgings.' He was on the point of asking whether Mrs. Baxendale knew she was in London, but it seemed better to suppress the question. 'Have you been there long?' he asked instead. 'Half a year.' As he kept silence, Emily continued with a question, the first she had put. 'What have you chosen for your life's work?' Wilfrid could not overcome the tendency of blood to his cheeks. He was more than half ashamed to tell her the truth. 'You will laugh at me,' he said. 'I am in Parliament.' 'You are? I never see newspapers.' She added it as if to excuse herself for not being aware of his public activity.