Very soon the man appeared, now dressed in a flannel suit, but collarless; a bath towel was thrown over his shoulder. He advanced to Mavis in leisurely fashion. "Bother the man!" she thought. "May I introduce myself?" he asked, as he lifted his hat. "No, thank you," she replied coldly. "There's no occasion. We've already met," he continued. "I'm sure we haven't, and I haven't the least wish to know you." "Rot! I'm Charlie Perigal." "Charlie Perigal!" "Yes. And how is little Mavis after all these years? But there's little need to ask." Here he stared at her with an immense admiration in his eyes. CHAPTER EIGHTEEN CHARLIE PERIGAL Mavis looked at the friend of her youth. As she saw him now, he was, in appearance, but a grown-up replica of the boy she remembered. There were the same steely blue eyes, curly hair, and thin, almost bloodless lips. With years and inches, the man had acquired a certain defiant self-possession which was not without a touch of recklessness; this last rather appealed to Mavis; she soon forgot the resentment which his earlier familiarity had excited. "You haven't altered a bit!" she declared. "But you have." "I know. I'm quite an old woman." "That's what I was going to say." "Thanks." "I knew you'd be pleased. May I have my collar?" "It's that naughty Jill. I am so sorry." Mavis rescued the collar from the dog's unwilling mouth. "How did you know it was me?" "I guessed." "Nonsense!" "Why nonsense?" "You aren't clever enough." "Quite right. The pater told me you were to be found in Melkbridge." "Your father! How did he know?" "He knows everything that goes on here, although he never goes anywhere. And then, when I asked one or two people about you, they said you were always about with a black cocker." "Is this the first time you've seen me?" "Why shouldn't it be?" "I've been here fifteen months." "Working for old Devitt. I've only been back a week." "From where?" "Riga." "In Russia! How interesting!" "Don't you believe it. Beastly hole." "It's abroad." "Any place is beastly when one has to be there. And you've been here a whole fifteen months. Think what I've missed!" Mavis had, by now, got over her first excitement at meeting her old friend: her habitual prudence essayed to work--essayed, because its customary vigour was just now somewhat impaired. "I'm glad to have met you again. Good-bye," she said. "Eh!" "It's time I got back." The man stared at her in some astonishment. "Perhaps you're right," he remarked presently. "Right!" she echoed, faintly surprised. "I'm only a waster. Nobody wants anything to do with me." Something in the tone of the man's voice stirred her heart to pity. "I'm not a bit like that," she said. "Rot! All women are alike. When a chap's down, they jump on him. After all, you can't blame 'em." Mavis stood irresolute. "Good-bye," said Perigal. "One moment!" "I can't wait. I must be off too." "I want to ask you something."