“So do I. That is another point of contact. We discovered a good many, if you remember, at Christmas. What have you been doing since then?” “Forgetting a good many old lessons, and trying to teach myself a few new ones. Or, if you like, making bricks without straw--trying to live a life without incidents.” “Which less epigrammatically means that you have had a dull, cheerless time. I am sorry. You have been here all the winter and spring?” “Yes. Where else should I have been?” “In a happier place,” said Raine. “You don't seem made to lead this monotonous existence.” “Oh! I suppose I am, since I am leading it. Human beings, like water, find their own level. The Pension Boccard seems to be mine.” “You smile, as if you liked it,”, he said, rather puzzled. “Would you have me cry to you?” “Perhaps not on the day of my coming, but afterwards, I wish you would.” She flashed a glance at him, the lightning reconnoitre of woman ever on the defensive. But the sight of his strong, frank face and kind eyes reassured her. She was silent for a moment, dreaming a vivid day-dream. She was taking him at his word, crying with her face on his shoulder and his arm around her. It was infinite comfort. But she quickly roused herself. “Don't you know your Burton? A kind man once pointed it out to me--'As much pity is to be taken of a woman weeping, as of a goose going barefoot.' It was the same that told me a woman cried to hide her feelings.” “That kind of epigram can be made like match-boxes at twopence farthing a gross,” said Raine, impatiently. “You have only to dress up an old adage with a mask of spite.” “You haven't changed,” she said with a smile. “You are just the same as when you left.” “More so,” he said, enigmatically. “Much more so. Then I thought it would do you good to cry. Now I wish you would. I suppose it seems odd I should say this to you. You must forgive me.” “But why should I cry when I have no trouble?” she asked, disregarding his apology. “Besides, I don't go about bewailing my lot in life. Do you think I am unhappy?” “Yes,” he replied, bluntly, “I do. I'll tell you what made me first think so. It was at the theatre at Christmas, when we saw 'Denise.' I was watching your face in repose.” “It is a painful play,” she said, quietly, but her lip quivered a little, and a faint flush came into her cheek. “Besides, I was very happy that evening.” He was sitting sideways on the bench, watching her with some earnestness. She was drawing scrawls on the gravel with the point of her parasol. Both started when they heard a harsh voice addressing them. “Ach! You are here. Is it not a beautiful afternoon?” It was Frau Schultz who spoke. Felicia was by her side. Raine rose to his feet, took off his hat, and uttered a pleasant commonplace of greeting. But Frau Schultz put her hand on Felicia's arm and moved away. “We will not detain you. I am going to the dentist, and Miss Graves is accompanying me.”