The powder she had evidently dabbed on hastily was plainly visible upon her face; the round, soft arms were hidden beneath ill-fitting sleeves of some crapey material, the thought of which put my teeth on edge. I wished her intention had been stronger. Instead, relenting, she offered me her flowery cheek, which I saluted gingerly, the taste of it reminding me of certain pale, thin dough-cakes manufactured by the wife of our school porter and sold to us in playtime at four a penny, and which, having regard to their satisfying quality, had been popular with me in those days. At the top of the kitchen stairs Miss Sellars paused and called down shrilly to Mrs. Peedles, who in course of time appeared, panting. “Oh, me and Mr. Kelver are going out for a short walk, Mrs. Peedles. I shan't want any supper. Good night.” “Oh, good night, my dear,” replied Mrs. Peedles. “Hope you'll enjoy yourselves. Is Mr. Kelver there?” “He's round the corner,” I heard Miss Sellars explain in a lower voice; and there followed a snigger. “He's a bit shy, ain't he?” suggested Mrs. Peedles in a whisper. “I've had enough of the other sort,” was Miss Sellars' answer in low tones. “Ah, well; it's the shy ones that come out the strongest after a bit--leastways, that's been my experience.” “He'll do all right. So long.” Miss Sellars, buttoning a burst glove, rejoined me. “I suppose you've never had a sweetheart before?” asked Miss Sellars, as we turned into the Blackfriars Road. I admitted that this was my first experience. “I can't a-bear a flirty man,” explained Miss Sellars. “That's why I took to you from the beginning. You was so quiet.” I began to wish that nature had bestowed upon me a noisier temperament. “Anybody could see you was a gentleman,” continued Miss Sellars. “Heaps and heaps of hoffers I've had--_h_undreds you might almost say. But what I've always told 'em is, 'I like you very much indeed as a friend, but I'm not going to marry any one but a gentleman.' Don't you think I was right?” I murmured it was only what I should have expected of her. “You may take my harm, if you like,” suggested Miss Sellars, as we crossed St. George's Circus; and linked, we pursued our way along the Kennington Park Road. Fortunately, there was not much need for me to talk. Miss Sellars was content to supply most of the conversation herself, and all of it was about herself. I learned that her instincts since childhood had been toward gentility. Nor was this to be wondered at, seeing that her family--on her mother's side, at all events,--were connected distinctly with “the _h_ighest in the land.” _Mesalliances_, however, are common in all communities, and one of them, a particularly flagrant specimen--her “Mar” had, alas! contracted, having married--what did I think? I should never guess--a waiter! Miss Sellars, stopping in the act of crossing Newington Butts to shudder at the recollection of her female parent's shame, was nearly run down by a tramcar.