‘Why wouldn’t she let me come on Sunday?’ he had asked himself many times, and had assigned all kinds of imaginary reasons for the prohibition. The latest was, ‘Perhaps other people, or another person, may be allowed to come on Sunday. I shall make her tell me--if I can. I wonder if I can call one of those old flashing smiles to her face--one of those looks, which ran over it, and made it more beautiful still, if that could be?’ Lost in profound conjecture upon this subject, he forgot to look where they were going, until the cab had traversed several smallish streets, and at last pulled up suddenly before one of a row of moderately sized houses--houses of the kind which would be called ‘respectable.’ It was not a glaring new street: it was neatly kept, and as he jumped out of the hansom and looked up it and down it, he did not see a single barrel-organ--not even a perambulator. Neither of these things did he behold; but he saw Helena Spenceley herself, just coming up to the gate, walking rather wearily, and looking tired as she pushed it open. ‘She has been walking, and I have been driving,’ he thought, with a strange sensation of guiltiness, as he dismissed the man and joined her. ‘You see, I have kept my word,’ he observed. ‘I have come soon, and I have not come on Sunday.’ ‘I am glad to see you,’ said Helena, sedately. They were airing themselves all this time on the top of the door steps, Mrs. Spenceley’s domestic, or domestics, not seeming to be in any violent hurry to open the front door; but as Sebastian was about to make some further observation, it was suddenly flung (as much as such a modestly proportioned door could be flung) wide open, by a young man whose appearance seemed to indicate that he belonged to some one of the numerous tribe of clerks. When he saw them he recoiled a step or two, and Sebastian, to his great amusement, saw that he was honoured by the surprised young gentleman with a scowl of peculiar malevolence. Clearing his brow, after a moment, of this unbecoming expression, he addressed himself to Helena. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Spenceley. I hope I see you well.’ ‘Very well, thank you. Will you allow me to pass?’ ‘You see I am somewhat earlier to-day; in fact two hours earlier than usual. I was, if I must tell the truth, on my way to meet _you_,’ with great emphasis upon the personal pronoun, and a languishing but fascinating smile. ‘To meet _me_?’ repeated Helena, with equal emphasis. ‘Pray, on what errand, Mr. Jenkins?’ ‘I thought, as the evening was so beautiful, you might possibly not be indisposed for a--a--little walk after tea of course; and if so, I----’ ‘I am obliged, but I am engaged this evening, and I _never_ take walks after tea,’ said Helena, with crushing coldness. ‘If you will kindly allow us to pass----’