And there was no letter on Thursday either, and he sallied to Soho with delight. The exterior of the Café Anonyme when he reached it looked to him a shade less ingenuous than it had been, but upstairs all was well. The view of the grim houses opposite was screened by lace, firelight flashed on the Dutch hearth cheerfully, and the little white table, set for tête-à-tête, invited confidences. He forced his attention upon the menu, and lounged back into the street. It was a fine day for London. The sky was funereal, and the pavements were muddy, but there was no rain falling. He loitered before the restaurant happily, and glanced at his watch. At five minutes to two, expectation began to swell. At two o'clock he couldn't hold back a smile--at any instant now her face might irradiate the blank. He wondered which way she would come, and if she would drive, or walk. He could see for some distance, both to right and left, and his only regret was that he couldn't see both ways at once. He kept turning his head, fearful that he might miss a second's joy. There was a leaping moment in which a figure suggested her as it hove in sight. The girl proved offensively plain, and he was furious with her as she passed. Somehow he did not rebound from the mistake--it was the first fall in the temperature; the girl had killed his elation. He watched now eagerly, but he repressed no smile. She was late. Oh, of course she would come, but the fish would be spoilt. Rather stupid of her! There was nothing more irritating than to have a careful luncheon ruined because a woman took twenty minutes to tie her veil. A melancholy church clock boomed the quarter. He began to feel that he was looking a fool, traversing these twelve paving-stones. He was annoyed with her--he should be at no pains to conceal it! Constantly hansoms rattled into view, with disappointing people in them. There appeared to him discouragement in the gaze of the portier now, and a pair of loafers outside the public-house at the corner were taking interest in him.... He supposed she _would_ come? Into the tension of his mood there entered the first sick qualm of doubt. And the church clock boomed again. Hope was breathing its last in him. Annoyance had melted into despair--he longed for her too intensely to be reproachful if she came. He would rejoice over her, he would unbutton her gloves, he would say how pretty her frock was, and that the chef was delighted to have been given more time!