Nor was it mended by the fact that the gentleman kept her waiting. Perhaps that headache of hers had had something to do with the accident that she had an appointment to keep. She had asked Mr. Nash to let her see him somewhere on Sunday morning, where they could be alone, and he had told her he would be by the fish-pond at such and such an hour. She herself was a little late at the trysting-place; her toilette had taken longer than she had intended; still she was first. She waited--she had no watch, but it seemed that she waited hours, yet he did not come. By the time he did appear her mood was hardly lover-like; nor, it seemed, was his. He came strolling leisurely through the trees, his hands in his jacket pockets, a cane under his arm, a big cigar in his mouth, his hat at a rakish angle--quite at his ease; there was something in his appearance which would hardly have induced the average client to select him as his legal adviser. Elaine always had a more or less vague feeling that this was so; the feeling was stronger than usual as she watched him coming; yet the man had for her such an intense physical fascination that she deliberately refused to let her eyes see what they would have perceived plainly enough if she had only let them. More or less, it was possibly because she realized that that Sunday morning he did not look quite so desirable an example of his sex as he might have done that her greeting was hardly saccharine. "You've taken your time in coming." He planted himself in front of her, without removing his hands from his pockets, his cane from under his arm, his cigar from his mouth, or his hat from his head. "Well, what's the hurry? I had to see a man." "You knew I was waiting; you might have let him wait." "I might; but I didn't. Hello! what's wrong?" He was looking her up and down in a way which made her tingle. "What do you mean--what's wrong?" "You look--no offence intended--but you look as if you'd been up all night--a hot night too." "I have a headache, and waiting for you hasn't made it any better." "A headache? My mother used to have headaches, and, my word! when she had them didn't she use to make it warm for us. I used to say----" He stopped, and laughed. "What did you use to say?" "I used to say--again no offence intended--that I'd never marry a woman who had headaches." "I'm not subject to headaches--don't suppose it; I scarcely ever have them; in fact, I don't ever remember having had one before; only--I've been worried." "Have you? that's bad. Don't do it; be like me--don't let yourself be worried by anything." He took out his cigar and surveyed the ash. "I read somewhere the other day that it's worry makes people grow old before their time; I don't believe much I read, but I do believe that. No matter what goes wrong, don't worry, it will come right; that's my theory of life." "It's very easy to talk, it's harder to do. You don't seem very pleased to see me now that you have come."