She was going from him. How straight she was! How slender! Like a slim spring flower--a narcissus, perhaps. He went after her and raised his hat. “Forgive me for speaking to you. Just a minute before a man was standing there, and---” “That's all right,” she said; “I understand.” Again she was on the point of leaving. He had to make certain. “Since I've been so rude already, would you mind if I asked you one more question?” She looked him over casually and seemed more satisfied that she was willing to admit to anyone but herself. “Not at all.” He straightened his necktie nervously. “Then, can you tell me where I'll find _The Skylark?_ It's a house-boat belonging to Lorenzo Arran.” She laughed softly and stood with her eyes cast down, tapping the pavement with her foot. He was sure now. She looked up. “Where have I seen you? Somehow you're familiar. It's annoying; you knew me in a flash.” “You're Cherry?” “Only to a few of my dearest friends.” He glanced away from her. “You were Cherry to me once for about an hour; you've been Cherry to me ever since then.” There was a long pause. “And yet I don't know you,” she said. “You must be the friend Mr. Arran was expecting down from London.” Peter nodded. “He and Harry went to meet you. You must have missed each other at the station. If you like, I'll show you the way to _The Skylark_; I'm going there. They'll be wondering whether you've come. We'd better hurry.” “Oh, please not yet.” “But why not?” she asked, puzzled. “Because I'm--I don't know. My pride's touched that you don't know me. Would you think it awfully cheeky if I were to ask you to come and have tea with me first?” She opened her parasol, gaining time while she made her mind up; and then, “I'm game. I haven't had much adventure lately. I'm just out of a convent school in France.” He opened his eyes wide. “Ah, so that was it!” They entered the Red Lion and walked through into the garden. They ordered tea at a small table from which they could see the river. “Why did you say that?” she asked. “What did I say?” “You said, 'Ah, so that was it!' You opened your mouth so wide when you said it that I thought you'd gape your head off. When I was a little girl in America we had a colored cook with a decapitating smile--it nearly met at the back of her neck. Well, your 'Ah' was a decapitating 'Ah.' Now tell me?” “Because I've waited four years to find out where you've been hiding.” “Four years!” She tried to think back. He leant his elbows on the table, his face between his hands. “Seems a long while, doesn't it? In four years one can grow up. Last time we were together you made me a promise--you said we'd meet again often in the same place. I went there and went there--you didn't keep your word.”