But the next day he unbent a little. About closing time he approached Catherine and placed a little green book on the counter before her. It was one of those sixpenny volumes called the “People’s Books.” Its title was _Everyday Law_, by J. J. Adams. “Perhaps this would interest you,” he said. “It is very short and simple to understand, and it tells you a good many things that every modern man and woman should know.” “Thank you,” she stammered, slightly overwhelmed. “I have underlined the pages relating to railway accidents,” he went on. And she thought: “He has actually spent sixpence on me!” But he continued: “You need not be in a hurry to return it to me.... In fact”--in a burst of generosity--“keep it until you are quite sure you have finished with it.” “Thank you,” she said again, and was surprised to feel herself blushing scarlet.... § 3 Catherine bought her daily paper in the evening and read it in the train while Amelia occupied herself with a novel. That evening she read the account of the railway accident that had taken place at Liverpool Street Station the day before. Several persons were taken to hospital “suffering from cuts and contusions,” but “were allowed to return home later in the day.” And amongst those who “complained of shock” she read the name: Mr. James Hobbs ... 272A, Myrtle Road, South Bockley. Incidentally that told her where he lived.... § 4 The summer sun shone down upon the scorched London streets, and the lives of those who worked in the music department of Ryder and Sons were monotonously uneventful. Every morning Catherine and Amelia caught the 8.12 from Bockley and arrived in Liverpool Street at 8.37. Every morning Mr. Hobbs said “Good morning,” with exquisite politeness, to all the female assistants. Every lunch-time Mr. Hobbs went to the same A.B.C. tea-shop, sat at the same marble-topped table, was served by the same waitress, to whom he addressed the mystic formula “usual please,” which resulted in the appearance some minutes later of a glass of hot milk and a roll and butter. During the meal he scanned the headlines of the morning paper, but after the last mouthful had been carefully masticated he gave himself up to a fierce scrutiny of the stock markets. Was his ambition to be a financier? ... If Amelia was sullen on a Sunday afternoon, there were occasions when she was sullen on week-days also. A sulky discontent was ingrained in her nature, and Catherine was often treated to exhibitions of it. Then suddenly Catherine discovered the reason. Amelia was jealous of her. Amelia regarded her own relationship with Mr. Hobbs as promising enough to merit high hopes: these high hopes had been blurred, it seemed, by the swift dazzlement of Catherine.