She laid down her knitting and rose; a belated customer had appeared. "I am sorry," she said, without looking at man or book. "The lady you speak of would doubtless think it very kind of you. I have no wish to read the plays, and could not possibly take the book." With the slightest inclination of the head she passed him, and, the menu card in hand, leant over the newcomer. Left with the book, Captain Finch poised it in his hand, looking rather stupidly at it for a few minutes; then tossed it to the mantelpiece, and went from the room. The clock had struck six when he came in for tea, that evening, and all the little tables were empty. Miss Dawson, who was second in command, was, as usual at that hour, behind the screen; he had come in so quietly that Lucilla had no chance to rush and take her place. Her face paled as she saw him. The man was persistent, her strength at the moment small; there was only her pride to carry her through. The day had been a busy one, she was fagged, and read in his face that he saw her to be so. His face, although not a clever one, was so heavenly kind! "I won't trouble you to fetch any tea," he said. "If I might be allowed to--er--stay here and talk to you for a few minutes----" "Tea or coffee, sir?" "Oh, well, tea, then--confound the stuff!" He threw down his hat and stick, and stood while she placed the brown tray, the tiny teapot, the minute muffin-dish before him. "If you know how I hate to have you--er--wait on me----" he said; but she gave him no chance to enlarge on the theme. He sat for a few minutes over the tea-tray, not touching its contents, and with his eyes on Lucilla's back as she stood at the mantelpiece making her entries, counting the money in her bag. When she moved to the door he got up and intercepted her. "You are Miss Browne while you are in the--er--shop, I understand?" he said. "I don't care for her--for Miss--er--Browne. It is the girl I met at the dance I care for, and want to see again. I can't find her here. Can I--er--find her outside? If I wait at the door for an hour, say, will you--will she be there?" Lucilla drew back, with hurt eyes and a reddening face. As if she were any Miss Dawson, with the pavement for a rendezvous! "I can't possibly say where you may meet your friends," she told him. "I, for my part, do not make appointments to meet men who are strangers to me--in the streets." She passed him then, and went downstairs, her head held high, although her heart was sore. She watched, hidden in the shop, for his departure. It seemed to her impatience a long time before he left. Miss Dawson was warbling to herself, with rather shrill-throated gaiety, whisking her full skirt among the bamboo tables, when Lucilla returned to the tea-room. "I like your friend, miss," she said. "He hung about for a good time, waiting for you; but as you didn't choose to come back he's gone."