“I’m doing my best to be pleasant.” There was a hint of tears in the way she said it. “You won’t let me help you--won’t tell me what’s the matter. I suppose that’s because I look untidy and ugly.” “Princess!” Tremblingly he seized her hands. She drew back from him: “Oh, please! You’re hurting.” His eyes had touched hers for a second, penetrating their cloudiness. He let her slip from his grasp. “I’m sorry. I thought--I thought you were some one else.” He was on the point of starting when she rose and jumped out “I’m stiff. Let’s say ’Good-by’ to the dear old Thames. It won’t take a minute.” And then, over her shoulder, as she leant across the parapet: “You thought I was some one else. Who knows? Perhaps I am.” All that he could see of her was her slight figure and the back of her pretty head. He went and stood near her, within arm-stretch. Without looking at him she asked a question. “Why do you beat about the bush? Last night you had something on your mind that you wouldn’t tell. This morning it’s worse. What makes you so timid? I’m only a girl.” “Because----” “Go on.” “Because it’s something that would offend you if you weren’t----” She shook her head. “I’m never offended. I’m too understanding. Perhaps---- Were you fond of this some one?” “Fond, I?” The river grew blurred “It was years ago. I was a boy and she was only a little girl. It’s like a story--like some one I read about, and then went out to try and discover.” A market-cart rumbled across the bridge, mountain-high with vegetables. When the sound of its going had died out, she moved closer. “I knew a boy once who called me ’Princess.’ He used to tell me--it was a queer, dear thing to tell me--he used to tell me that the babies came into my eyes when I was happy. But that was only when I’d been awfully nice to him.” When he stared at her, she nodded. “Really. He did. I’m not joking.” How long had she recognized him? Had she been cruel on purpose? Had she kept him on tenter-hooks for her own diversion? He laughed softly. It wasn’t quite the rushing together of two souls that imagination had painted. And yet, there were compensations: the sleeping houses with their blinds discreetly lowered; the sparkling river; the spray of plunging clouds; on the bridge, suspended between sky and river, this pale queenly sprite of a girl. The golden girdle about her waist jingled. He took no notice the first time and the second; but the third it seemed a challenge. He reached out his arm. Tossing back her hair, she slipped from him. “Not allowed. You go too fast; you were too slow at first. Why on earth didn’t you tell me last night, instead of---- Think what a splendid time we might have had. And now we’ve only a few hours.” He seized her hands and held them, palm to palm. This time she made no complaint that he hurt. “You’re not going.” He was breathing quickly. “You’re never going unless----”