The main part of which statement was not exactly in accordance with facts. But Goddard was not in the current of local gossip, and did not suspect his sweetheart’s veracity. “Then you’ll forgive me, and we’ll make it up?” “You don’t want to break it off?” “I? Good gracious, no. Why, Liz!” There was another pause. They were in the middle of the High Street. Knots of loafers hung around the blazing entrances of the public-houses, but otherwise the pavement was more or less deserted. “Why don’t you put your arm round my waist, then?” said Lizzie softly. Goddard did as he was bidden. She laughed out loud at his shy awkwardness, and pulled his fingers tighter round her figure. “One’d say I was the only girl you’d ever walked out with.” “Well, you are,” replied Goddard simply. “I never bothered much with girls till I knew you.” “I believe that’s a cracker,” said Lizzie, who was beginning to enjoy the walk. “It isn’t, indeed. I swear it’s true.” “Oh! How can you? Well, if it’s true it oughtn’t to have been. You ought to have had some one to practise on, and then you would have learned to do things nicely. Practice makes perfect, you know.” A light argument followed, which ended in Goddard’s discomfiture, and left him with a vague feeling that he had missed one of the duties of man in letting his talent for lovemaking lie dormant, and also an uneasy wonder at the extent of Lizzie’s familiarity with the subject. But Lizzie was quite happy. “You wouldn’t like any other girl, would you?” She rested her head slightly against him. The glare of an electric-lighted shop-front fell on her pretty, upturned face, and the young man forgot everything, save that she had soft puckered lips and young, even teeth. They were reconciled as far as harmony was ever possible between their natures. The rest of the walk home was undisturbed, and when they arrived at Lizzie’s door they were well pleased with each other. She opened the door with her latch-key and, holding it ajar, received his kiss prettily, and then with a desire to complete the reconciliation in all ways, said-- “I’m glad you decided to remain a workingman, Dan. I can’t bear them silly politics.” She disappeared quickly. Dan remained for a moment looking vaguely at the knocker, as if to address it in confidential remonstrance; and then turning away, he let himself into the adjoining house, and slowly mounted the stairs to his room, with an all-pervading sense of the strange futility of the female mind. CHAPTER II--A REVOLUTION