How in the world he found out the name it was not easy to see, but, as every one is aware, people spare themselves no trouble when they become fond of anybody. However that may be, the fact remains that a letter came, signed W. J. C., saying the writer would be at the statue on a certain day and at a certain hour, and, just for fun, I kept the appointment. Maity was very nice about giving me leave, and I waited there ten minutes. For a full ten minutes nothing happened, and I had to look at the omnibuses as they stopped in order to pretend I wanted to catch one of them. Presently I caught sight of him looking in a newspaper shop, and taking his time over it too. I became so mad that if there had been a pebble about I think I should have picked it up and thrown it at him. He turned, and I had to wave my muff in order to gain his attention. “Hullo,” he said, coming across. “Taking up express messenger-boy work? Where’s your parcel?” “I came here,” I said coldly, “because I was asked to do so, and for no other reason. I’ve no desire to be made to look like an idiot.” “Plenty of easier tasks than that,” he mentioned. “I should reckon you were one of the most sensible girls going.” “People say that about a lady when they can’t think of any other compliment to pay her.” “Are you waiting for anybody, I wonder?” “I wish you wouldn’t try to make jokes.” “My dear girl,” he cried, and he seemed greatly concerned, “please forgive me. And now that we’re here, what shall we do?” He looked around, glanced at his watch, and sighed. “Come along and see a bioscope show.” We caught a bus and went to one of the swell places in Oxford Street; I couldn’t help feeling pleased when I noticed that he paid eighteenpence each for seats. You can say what you like, and you can talk about the joys of being independent, but there’s something very gratifying in discovering for the first time that a gentleman is willing to take your ticket for you. Of course the place was all darkened whilst the pictures were going on, and I thought perhaps he would try to take my hand, and I was prepared to give him a pretty sharp remark if he did; but nothing happened, and I couldn’t make it out at all. It was nothing like what I’d read in books; nothing like what other girls had told me. “You seem a very comfortable set in your office,” he said when the lights went up. “All on good terms with each other, aren’t you?” “I suppose so,” I answered. “It’s my first experience, you see. What age do you think I am?” “I should say that you are young enough to be pleased if I guessed you to be older than you really are. Shall we say nineteen?” “Eighteen next birthday, and that’s on Tuesday of next week.” (There’s nothing like giving a hint.) “What have you been doing all these eighteen years?” “Improving myself,” I said. “You can give that up now you are perfect.”