Lionel was no longer indignant and resolute; he was becoming more and more uncertain of himself, more and more apologetic. “But,” he protested, “now we can’t see each other at all. It’s not only a question of getting married at once; it means that we’re to be _entirely_ separated. Don’t you think that’s unnecessarily harsh?” “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go out to see her.” He flushed. “Not very well,” he said; “at the present time, I’m rather--hard up.” “I should be glad to lend----” Minnie began, but he frowned. “Thanks, no.” “Do you mean to tell me,” said Minnie, “that you haven’t even the train fare to Brownsville Landing?” Her tone was blunt but kindly; quite that of an elder sister. “And you’re talking of _marriage_, Mr. Naylor!” “I have a small income,” he protested, “only the next quarter’s not due just yet.” Minnie smiled her rare smile, and it warmed his heart. A smile so simple, so good-natured, so illuminating her dark and serious face. “I’m afraid you don’t manage very well,” she began, when a very shrill old voice interrupted her, calling from the top of the stairs. “Minnie! Minnie! What’s all this?” “I’ll have to go,” said Minnie, with a sigh, and held out her hand. “Mr. Naylor, I’d like to say a great deal more. You mustn’t look on me as your enemy by any means! Quite the contrary. If you and Frankie will trust to me a little--I could meet you to-morrow afternoon, on the downtown corner, about four. I’d like to talk to you more fully.” He had no chance to answer, for she had hurried from the room; as he let himself out of the front door, he saw her running up the stairs to the disagreeable old voice. Then he went out into the fog again, unreasonably comforted, unreasonably hopeful. III Of course he was waiting for Minnie the next day as she had appointed. She was late, as she always was, and Lionel had grown a little impatient. He had much he wanted to say, a number of arguments he had arranged during the night. He couldn’t remember Minnie very well, but he had gained a vague impression that she was a kindly, pleasant little body, a bit meddlesome and without distinction, but _nice_. He felt that he could manage her. She had smiled very good-humouredly. He was far from despairing. But he couldn’t help remembering so many other times when he had been waiting for his own dear girl, bright, brave old Frankie! Every memory of her was a pain; he could not endure to think of their parting, and her face, so hopeful, so full of tender anxiety for him. He longed so for her, for the support of her love and her courage. No one else would do, no other voice console him. At last he saw Minnie coming, a queer, dowdy little figure in black, hurrying toward him with short, bobbing steps. “I’m sorry!” she said, breathlessly, “but it’s not easy for me to get away.... Shall we walk? There are nice quiet streets about here.”