“I--I didn’t know what had become of you,” he stammered hoarsely. “I--I thought you meant to meet me outside.” She started. “So I did. I remember!” said she. And then, very sweetly, as if overcome with remorse, she said, “I’m so very, very sorry; but I forgot all about it. I have spent the whole afternoon, or at least nearly three hours of it, buying lace and frocks and things, and trying hats on! I’m so awfully ashamed of myself. Do please forgive me.” “Let me send away this cab, and take you to tea somewhere. You look done up,” said Gerard, still speaking as if he hardly knew what he was about. She hesitated and looked around her stealthily. Then she said shortly, in a faint voice-- “All right.” Gerard gave the cabman a shilling, and hailing a hansom, helped her in and told the man to drive to the nearest tea-shop. Then he jumped in after her, feeling his heart sink. For the delight and relief of the first moment, when he had been ready to look upon her appearance by herself, a free woman, as a sign that she was innocent and that he had misjudged her, had given place to a dread that the danger was not over yet, and that she knew more about the affair of the shop-lifting than for the moment he had supposed. They went along in silence, Rachel closing her eyes as if too tired to talk, and Gerard dumb with fear and distress, and a kind of desperate pity. It was quite plain that she had been through a harassing time, much more distressing and fatiguing than an afternoon spent in trying on new clothes could possibly have been. So he left her in peace until they got out at the tea-shop, and even then he waited until she was refreshed, and until her natural pallor had returned to her cheek instead of the unhealthy flush which had succeeded to the ghastly whiteness he had at first noticed on meeting her. Then it was she who, noting his eyes fixed upon her face with stealthy interest, asked him abruptly-- “Why did you wait for me?” He hesitated. “I didn’t know how long you would be. I--I was not sure where you were,” he began. Then changing his mind he said suddenly, “And something had happened at the stores to interest me--the shop-lifting.” She looked at him steadily. “What was that?” she asked. But he lost his patience, and said curtly-- “Oh you must know. Why pretend you don’t?” But Miss Davison had entirely recovered her self-possession by this time, and she leaned back in her chair, played with the glove she had taken off, and said-- “Was that what all the fuss was about? The crowd and the crush round a private door at the back?” “Yes,” said he shortly. “Tell me all about it,” said she. And suddenly leaning forward, she looked at him with an expression in which interest in his narrative was combined with perfect innocence as to the details to be related.