There was the puzzle, that she could talk to him, could be frank with him--up to a certain point, but that she could keep her own counsel perfectly, almost uncannily, and as it were hold him off while certainly at the same time keeping him on. For, mystery or no mystery, he was now more in love with her than ever. He made an attempt to see her, by calling at Lady Jennings’ house, but he saw only the old lady, and heard that the young one was out. He haunted the streets looking for a glimpse of her, but for some time in vain. But as in London no one can remain untraced for long, and as Miss Davison, in her own proper person, was not the sort of woman to remain long unseen, in the very last days of July he caught sight of her as she got out of Lady Jennings’ victoria at the door of one of the big stores. She was, he thought, more exquisitely dressed than ever, in the palest blue batiste--of course he did not know that it was batiste, he simply called it “bluey stuff”--with a big hat and belt of deepest sapphire color. She wore a row of pearls round her neck, a watch studded with pearls and diamonds on her breast, and in her hat were pins set with real stones. He thought she looked the daintiest fairy princess he had ever seen; and the long cloak which she carried over her arm, of silk of the sapphire shade lined with the pale blue, was a garment which even ignorant male eyes could admire. He followed her into the stores, but kept at a good distance, wondering whether she would condescend to see him, and whether he should get snubbed. She was buying largely, in one of the most crowded compartments of the establishment, where real lace handkerchiefs and dainty and expensive trifles made of lace were being disposed of at “sale prices” which scarcely seemed so “alarming” as they were described to be. At last she caught Gerard’s eye, and he saw her falter and turn pale as she handled, with a connoisseur’s fingers, a beautiful shawl of modern point lace. He wondered whether she was going to cut him; but she did not. She was evidently confused at the sight of him, but she recovered herself, shook hands, and then, asking him to get her a packet of postcards, and to meet her outside with them, dismissed him on what he saw to be an errand invented to get rid of him. He was disturbed, perplexed, but that was no new experience where Miss Davison was concerned. He went obediently to do her bidding, hoping for a few minutes’ talk to compensate him for his docility. But as he went back towards the department where he had left her, he met one of the employés hurrying out, saying excitedly under his breath to another-- “Tell the commissionaire to go for a policeman. We’ve got hold of our swell shop-lifter at last.” CHAPTER VII Gerard felt sick with alarm. A shop-lifter! Although he was ashamed of his own fears, they overpowered him.