"I need not ask whether this is Mr. The next moment, an exclamation was heard in the voice of Thames. " He held out his dry hard hand into which she placed hers. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed. Here I am as an alternative either to nasty work—or going home. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking about by yourself. Mr. So, at least, thought one of two persons who were seated together in a small back-parlour of the house at Dollis Hill.
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