The City of Beautiful Nonsense

by E. Temple Thurston

"Wherever you live," said John evasively, "you're by yourself. You're as much alone in a crowd as in an empty church."

She had nodded her head, picked up a large Spanish onion, and peeled off the outer skin to make it look more fresh.

"But I should have thought," she had added pensively--"I should have thought as 'ow you'd have found this such a very low-cality."

And so, perhaps it was--very low. And if Mrs. Meakin had thought so, and Jill herself could talk thus deprecatingly of Shepherd's Bush, where he had hoped to better his address, then it were as well to leave Fetter Lane alone.

"So you have made up your mind," he had said quietly. "You've made up your mind not to see me again?"

"It's not I who have made it up," she answered.

"But you're going to obey?"

"I must."

"You won't be here to-morrow morning, at this hour?"

"No--I can't--I mustn't."