She offered the muffin, already steeped in delicious butter, with the slightly imperious charm of a Madame Récamier, not that Henry Harper knew any more about Madame Récamier than he did about Homer at this period of his career. Yet he may have known all about them even then. He may have known all about them and forgotten all about them, and when the time came to unseal the inner chambers of his consciousness, perhaps he would remember them again. Auntie had never handed him a muffin in such a way as that. Mrs. Sparks hadn't either. Ginger might sneer and call her Old Tidde-fol-lol, although not to her face--he was always very polite to her face--but there was no doubt she was absolutely a lady, and her muffins ... her muffins were _extra_. This afternoon, Miss Foldal lingered over the tea table in most agreeable discourse. The fog was too thick for her to venture into the market place, where she wanted to go. "If it's shopping you want, miss," said Mr. Harper, with an embarrassment that made her smile, "let me go and do it for you." "I couldn't think of it, Mr. Harper." "I will, miss, I'll be very glad to." She liked the deep eyes of this strikingly handsome young man. "I couldn't think of it, Mr. Harper. I couldn't really. Besides, my shopping will keep till tomorrow." "You know best, miss." There was resignation tempered by a certain chivalrous disappointment. Quite unconsciously, Mr. Harper was doing his utmost to rise to the standard of speech and manner of Miss Foldal, which was far beyond any he had yet experienced. "I saw in the _Evening Star_ that you won your match on Saturday."' "Yes, miss, four-two." But the mention of the _Evening Star_ was a stab. Every night the _Evening Star_ presented its tragic problem. "Mr. Jukes tells me you will be having a trial with the first team soon." Mr. Jukes had told Miss Foldal nothing of the kind. She was the last person to whom he would have made any such confidence. "Oh no, miss." The native modesty was pleasant in her ear. "I'm nothing near good enough yet." "It will come, though. It is bound to come." The young man was not stirred by this prophecy. His mind had gone back to the night school; it was tormenting itself with the problem ever before it now. He would have liked to bring the conversation round to the matter, if only it could be done without disclosing the deadly secret. But the memory of Mrs. Sparks was still fresh. There was no denying that for a chap of nineteen not to have the elements of the three r's was a disgrace; it was bound to prejudice him in the eyes of a lady of education. Still, Miss Foldal was not Mrs. Sparks. Being a higher sort of lady perhaps she would be able to make allowances. Yet Henry Harper didn't want her or anyone else to make allowances. However, he could not afford to be proud. Chance it, suddenly decreed the voice within. She won't eat you anyway. XV