"You are depressed," he said. "I am inclined to believe that becoming a Puritan doesn't agree with you." She laughed a little tonelessly, and expressed the wish that she had been born a man. "A man in my position wouldn't be serving in a cafe," she explained. "If I had a profession I would work at it, and not grumble." And then he made a clumsy remark which immediately on its utterance he would have recalled, had that been possible. "You will have a home of your own some day. That's a woman's rightful profession." He felt her withdraw from him, and in the dragging silence that followed he realised his mistake. How could he tell what jangling chord his clumsy touch had set vibrating? Misfortune had played so busy a part in her life that love had had little chance. "Where are you staying?" he asked presently--"with whom?" "My mother came back to Cape Town to be with me," she said. "We board in a little house not far from the Gardens." "Do you think I might come to see you there?" he asked. "Of course. Mother would like to meet you. She knows all about you." She hesitated, and then said with some embarrassment: "Before you call I ought perhaps to tell you more about ourselves..." "That isn't necessary," he answered quickly. "I know as much as suffices. Nothing could alter my regard for yourself anyway. I hope you believe that?" "You are very generous," she answered, in so low and grateful a voice that he felt he wanted to comfort her in some more practical way than by mere words. Instead he said quietly: "I think you are a brave, dear little soul. Your friendship is an immense help to me. It's the best thing that has happened to me. I've been back in Cape Town three months now, and I've come out here alone and thought about our jolly walks and missed you more than I can say. It was good to find you unexpectedly like that to-day." Brenda glanced at him swiftly. "You came into the cafe last week," she said, "and stood close to me. I could have touched you." "Really?" he exclaimed in amaze. "Why in the name of mystery didn't you speak to me?" "I wasn't sure you would be pleased. I thought--perhaps you didn't wish to see me." "Oh Lord!" he cried, and laughed. "You--Puritan, you! As though I could be anything but pleased to see you anywhere. I don't know how I came not to see you... But I'm eyes right generally with all those girls around. If you hadn't returned my change--" "Your tip," she corrected. "My tip, then." He laughed again light-heartedly.--"I doubt I'd have noticed you at all. What made you do it?" "I don't know. It was quite a handsome tip for a cafe. But I could not take it--from you."