"As for you, Tilly Welwyn," she observed severely, "just remember that you are only an ordinary, hard-working, matter-of-fact little London work-girl. You can put all fancy notions about fairy princes and happy-ever-after out of your head. You are getting a big girl now, you know. You must live your life and go your own way; and sometimes--only sometimes, mind!--when you are feeling downhearted and up against it, I’ll allow you to let your thoughts go back to the best man that ever walked; and although you may cry a bit, you will thank God you did not spoil his life by marrying him." The doors leading onto the landing creaked, and Amelia peeped cautiously in. Tilly started guiltily. None of us like to be caught talking to ourselves. The habit savours of exclusiveness--and other things. "Tilly dear," said little ’Melia listlessly, "the new lodger has come with his luggage. Could you give him a hand with it? Everybody is out, and it’s rather heavy for me." "All right," said Tilly readily. "I’ll be down in half a minute." Amelia disappeared, leaving the doors open; and Tilly hastily assumed a business-like yet hospitable expression, suitable for the welcoming of a second-floor. "One thing more, though, my girl," she remarked sternly, releasing her features for a moment in order to address her own reflection in the overmantle mirror. "Just remember that this will require a real _effort_. It’s all very well to feel heroic just now, and talk about giving him up, and living your own life, and so on; but it won’t be easy. You will have to put your back into it. Supposing you meet him in the street one day? What then? Can you walk past him? You know you are as weak as water where he is concerned. What are you going to do about it?" Tilly met her own eyes in the glass, and looked very determined. The eyes in the glass responded by filling with tears. Tilly turned away impatiently from this disloyal exhibition. "Very well, then," she said. "If you are as weak as that about it, you must just make up your mind to _avoid_ him--that’s all. There’s nothing else for it. You must never see him again.... And I love him so!" she added inconsequently.... "Poor Tilly!" Little ’Melia appeared in the doorway again. "He’s bringing up his portmanteau," she announced breathlessly, and vanished. Tilly turned towards the door. Laborious steps were audible upon the staircase, as of one ascending with a heavy load. Presently a man in a great-coat passed the open doorway. On his left shoulder he carried a large portmanteau, which hid his face. He passed up the second-floor staircase and out of sight. Tilly, hot and cold by turns, stood shaking in the middle of the floor. There was a bump overhead. Then steps descending, slowly. He was coming back. Tilly shut her eyes tight for a full half-minute; then opened them and tottered forward with a cry. In the doorway--laughing, joyous, open-armed--stood The Freak.