He took out his watch, then frowned. "Good-bye, Nell. Hustle me out, or I shall never go!" "Poor old Denis!" "That’s not hustling. If you sympathise, I shall begin to cry, and refuse to budge." She went down into the hall to help him into his coat. "It’s poor old Tellbridge, too," he observed comically. "I don’t fancy I’m much of a bargain. Oh, Nell, aren’t letters immeasurably more interesting, more human, than hard and dry figures? That Pennington," he added, "can tot up—subtract—fly around with figures, till he makes my head spin. He’s helped me out lots of times." "I’m going to figure, too, this morning—with Sarah! So you can think of me drowning in a sea of curly threes and twos and fives, and noughts—heaps of noughts." Ted did not appear that day. But the next morning Nell was standing in the dining-room window, snipping off the dead jonquils from a bunch in a bowl, when, glancing up, she saw Ted coming in at the gate. She nodded and smiled, and he raised his hat. She dropped two or three dead jonquils and ran out into the hall to open the door. "Well—" she began; she stopped abruptly—no one was there. She looked to the right; she looked to the left; she gazed up at the sky as if she thought Ted might have become possessed of wings and had flown away. Then suddenly she gave a quick little nod, and off she started in pursuit, clad in blue painting pinafore, and clasping the large pair of old scissors. A good way in front of her there was a broad-shouldered figure striding along at a terrific pace. Up the road went Nell, and after her came an open-mouthed butcher’s boy. Nell was a splendid runner, but Ted’s pace was swift and his strides long. He turned the corner and disappeared. "Ted! _Ted!_" But he was too far off to hear. She rounded the corner in her turn, and collided with a respectable old gentleman going citywards. "So—sorry!" she gasped, not stopping. "Did I hurt you?" she called back. "A—pleasure!" ejaculated the respectable old gentleman, who was little and very rotund. He gazed dazedly after her and the butcher’s boy. Then—for he was a chivalrous old gentleman—he trotted after them. "If I—can help—" he observed breathlessly to a lamp-post as he passed it. "_Ted!_" He heard at last, and turned and stood staring. Then he approached stiffly, hat in hand. The butcher’s boy and the little old gentleman drew nearer. "Ted—" Nell clutched hold of his coat-sleeve. "If I—can help—" The little old gentleman had reached her side now. The butcher’s boy stood listening, mouth agape. "Oh!" Nell gave a breathless little gurgle. "Thanks, but—" "There’s no necessity for anyone’s help, thanks," said Ted, coldly. "It was very kind of you," she interposed charmingly, "especially after I butted into you like that. But I’ve caught him, you see. That was all I wanted." The old gentleman raised his hat, and retreated. "You’ll catch cold," said Ted. "You must have my coat."