And then Mr. Bonover passed, forehead tight reefed so to speak, and lips impressively compressed. Mr. Lewisham raised his mortar-board, and to his astonishment Mr. Bonover responded with a markedly formal salute--mock clerical hat sweeping circuitously--and the regard of a searching, disapproving eye, and so passed. Lewisham was overcome with astonishment at this improvement on the nod of their ordinary commerce. And so this terrible incident terminated for the time. He felt a momentary gust of indignation. After all, why should Bonover or anyone interfere with his talking to a girl if he chose? And for all he knew they might have been properly introduced. By young Frobisher, say. Nevertheless, Lewisham's spring-tide mood relapsed into winter. He was, he felt, singularly stupid for the rest of their conversation, and the delightful feeling of enterprise that had hitherto inspired and astonished him when talking to her had shrivelled beyond contempt. He was glad--positively glad--when things came to an end. At the park gates she held out her hand. "I'm afraid I have interrupted your reading," she said. "Not a bit," said Mr. Lewisham, warming slightly. "I don't know when I've enjoyed a conversation...." "It was--a breach of etiquette, I am afraid, my speaking to you, but I did so want to thank you...." "Don't mention it," said Mr. Lewisham, secretly impressed by the etiquette. "Good-bye." He stood hesitating by the lodge, and then turned back up the avenue in order not to be seen to follow her too closely up the West Street. And then, still walking away from her, he remembered that he had not lent her a book as he had planned, nor made any arrangement ever to meet her again. She might leave Whortley anywhen for the amenities of Clapham. He stopped and stood irresolute. Should he run after her? Then he recalled Bonover's enigmatical expression of face. He decided that to pursue her would be altogether too conspicuous. Yet ... So he stood in inglorious hesitation, while the seconds passed. He reached his lodging at last to find Mrs. Munday halfway through dinner. "You get them books of yours," said Mrs. Munday, who took a motherly interest in him, "and you read and you read, and you take no account of time. And now you'll have to eat your dinner half cold, and no time for it to settle proper before you goes off to school. It's ruination to a stummik--such ways." "Oh, never mind my stomach, Mrs. Munday," said Lewisham, roused from a tangled and apparently gloomy meditation; "that's _my_ affair." Quite crossly he spoke for him. "I'd rather have a good sensible actin' stummik than a full head," said Mrs. Monday, "any day." "I'm different, you see," snapped Mr. Lewisham, and relapsed into silence and gloom. ("Hoity toity!" said Mrs. Monday under her breath.) CHAPTER V. HESITATIONS.