She paused as she spoke, for they had reached the station, and held out her hand to him.
He looked at her in silence for a moment, and as she met his earnest glance a great wave of colour suffused her face, for it seemed to her as if those grave, deep eyes could read the very secrets of her heart, and knew all that she was ashamed to avow, even the purpose of her going forth that afternoon, the consciousness of which now made her tingle with shame. Her eyes dropped beneath his.
"Then I am sorry for you," he said gently. "I need not ask if you find your own way yield you happiness."
She made no reply, but turned from him quickly. There was a choking sensation in her throat, and her eyelids smarted from the hot tears she with difficulty restrained. But she fancied it was only anger that moved her thus strangely.
"What right has he to speak to me so?" she asked herself in wrath. "What business is it of his whether I am happy or not? And to say he was sorry for me! Sorry for me!"
The words rankled in her mind, and could not be forgotten. Her anger towards Mr. Mainprice increased, as she felt that he had spoiled her afternoon. She made but few purchases after all. Somehow she could not interest herself in the pretty things exhibited to her. She felt as if she had suddenly grown old, and life were altogether stale and devoid of satisfaction. Was it possible that anyone had good reason to be sorry for her?
She reached the spot where she had promised to meet Algernon Chalcombe rather before the time appointed, and he was not there. This increased her mental irritation. She was ashamed of the understanding which kept her there, scanning the shop windows till she was sick of them, and looking furtively from right to left, in dread of meeting the gaze of an acquaintance, though there seemed little cause to fear that, since she had no friends residing in this quarter of London.
He came in sight only a few seconds after the time named, but to Juliet's impatience it seemed that he was very late. She saw him ere he perceived her. He was walking languidly along with his eyes on the ground. As usual, he was attired in faultless style, and his air was that of an habitué of clubland. He was undeniably a handsome man, but his countenance would not have inspired everyone with confidence. His eyes had the weary, strained look, and his complexion the wan, unhealthy hue which tells of nights passed in feverish excitement.
But Juliet's experience could not teach her the meaning of his looks. She failed to observe how anxious and harassed was his expression as he came towards her. She was only impatient that he did not look more eagerly for her, but moved along with the air of one whose inner life was far more absorbing than the outer.
Had she known them, Algernon Chalcombe's circumstances might well have excused his self-absorption. His endeavour to lead a life of pleasure and luxury without the disagreeable necessity of working for the means of maintaining it, was landing him in serious difficulties. He had, indeed, a way of gaining money which is the exact opposite to work; but of all sources of revenue, this is the most precarious, since it depends on the caprice of the goddess men name Luck. Of late, that goddess had turned the cold shoulder upon Algernon Chalcombe, whence resulted the embarrassments which made him, whenever alone, revolve wearily in his mind every possible and impossible scheme for obtaining money.