Mrs. Fane was very much diverted by Michael’s account of Miss McDonnell’s accident, and teazed him gaily about Kathleen. Michael would assume an expression of mystery, as if indeed he had been entrusted with the dark secrets of a young woman’s mind; but the more mysterious he looked the more his mother laughed. In his own heart he cultivated assiduously his devotion, and regretted most poignantly that each new blouse and each chosen evening-dress was not for him. He used to watch Kathleen at dinner, and depress himself with the imagination of her spirit roaming out over the broad Midlands to meet her lover. He never made the effort to conjure up the lover, but preferred to picture him and Kathleen gathering like vague shapes upon the immeasurable territories of the soul. Then one morning Kathleen took him aside after breakfast to question his steadfastness. “Were you in earnest about what you said?” she asked. “Of course I was,” Michael affirmed. “He’s come down. He’s staying in rooms. Why don’t you ask me to go out for a bicycle ride?” “Well, will you?” Michael dutifully invited. “I’m so excited,” said Kathleen, fluttering off to tell her sister of this engagement to go riding with Michael. In about half an hour they stood outside the small red-brick house which cabined the bold spirit of Michael’s depressed fancies. “You’ll come in and say ‘how do you do’?” suggested Kathleen. “I suppose I’d better,” Michael agreed. They entered together the little efflorescent parlour of the house. “This is my fiancé—Mr. Walter Trimble,” Kathleen proudly announced. “Pleased to meet you,” said Mr. Trimble. “Kath tells me you’re on to do us a good turn.” Michael looked at Mr. Trimble, resolutely anxious to find in him the creator of Kathleen’s noble destiny. He saw a thick-set young man in a splendidly fitting, but ill-cut blue serge suit; he saw a dark moustache of silky luxuriance growing amid regular features; in fact, he saw someone that might have stepped from one of the grandiose frames of that efflorescent little room. But he was Kathleen’s choice, and Michael refused to let himself feel at all disappointed. “I think it’s bad luck not to be able to marry, if one wants to,” said Michael deeply. “You’re right,” Mr. Trimble agreed. “That’s why I want Kath here to marry me first and tell her dad afterwards.” “I only wish I dared,” sighed Kathleen. “Well, if we’re going to have our walk, we’d better be getting along. Will I meet you by the side-gate into the Winter Garden at a quarter to one?” “Right-o,” said Michael. “I wonder if you’d lend Mr. Trimble your bicycle?” “Of course,” said Michael. “Because we could get out of the town a bit,” suggested Kathleen. “And that’s always pleasanter.”