At the junction he saw her on the platform, shook hands with her very quietly and, she had to admit, for him, very politely, and then left her. She heard him drive off out of the station courtyard, and saw the headlights of his car flashing over the hill beyond the town.... An episode in her life was closed. It was half-past nine. The bookstall had just opened for a few moments before the arrival of the night train to town. She spent some time examining the cheap novels it displayed for sale, and finally with perfect _sang-froid_ she purchased a sevenpenny detective story, with a paper wrapper depicting a woman in evening dress sprawled face downwards across some stairs with a revolver by her side.... The train came in, and she found a comfortable seat next to the window. “Chelmsford and London only!” the porters called out, and she smiled quietly. Her fellow travellers were mainly half asleep. After the train had started she fished in her hand-bag for a sheet of paper and pencil.... Then, using her book as a desk, she wrote the following note: DEAR MR. HOBBS, How absurd of you to think your invitation had offended me! I am only too grateful to you, and sorry that I could not have come with you to-day. But I shall be pleased to accept your invitation for Monday if you will still have me. I shall like to go into Surrey very much: I have heard such a lot about it but have never been there. It will be rather difficult for us to fix up arrangements about meeting each other, won’t it, so perhaps I had better call at your house to-morrow afternoon. (I know your address, I think.) I shan’t be able to stay long, though, as I am going to tea with the St. Luke’s curate, Mr. Broodbank--do you know him?--a charming and interesting man. Thanks again for your invitation.--Yrs., etc., CATHERINE WESTON. Reading it over afterwards she smiled again to herself. Then she put it in an envelope, addressed the latter, and began to read the detective story. First she scanned the first paragraph of the first chapter, then the last paragraph of the last chapter, and then a paragraph selected haphazard from the middle, this being her established formula for commencing any book.... After that she began to read consecutively from the beginning. After all, she reflected here and there, where the printed matter failed to keep its grip on her attention, the long troublesome episode in her life was over. Henceforth she would be quiet and sedate and respectable, a lady of perfect manners and breeding. Passion was a tiresome thing. It was, to use a favourite adjective of Mrs. Lazenby’s, very “wearing.” ... To-morrow she would have tea with the Rev. Elkin Broodbank, M.A. (Cantab.), and discuss church missals and cassocks and Puseyism. On Monday she would go with Mr. Hobbs on the top of a bus to Reigate. He would be frantically polite and meekly adoring. He was, at any rate, a gentleman....