"Rather!" We shook hands on it.
"But—" I asked, "when shall I see you? I daren't come here again, I'm afraid."
"Tomorrow is Saturday," he replied thoughtfully. "The Bishop will keep to his study till noon—"
"And Mrs. Handsomebody goes to market!" I chimed in.
"Good. I'll be at the Cathedral corner at ten o'clock. Meet me there. Now you'd better cut home."
He took my arm and led me down the strange winding stairway, through the cool damp passage where the grapevine grew, to the sunken doorstep.
"Know your way home?" he demanded. "Right-o! I depend on you, John. And mind you watch her face, like a cat. Good-bye!" And he affectionately squeezed my arm.
II
I set off as fast as my legs could carry me; and the nearer home I drew, the greater became my fear of Mrs. Handsomebody. What would she say? Dinner would be over long ago I knew. My steps began to lag as I reached the Cathedral corner. The great grey pile usually so friendly now rose before me gloomily. Inside, the organ boomed like an accusing voice. My heart sank. Mrs. Handsomebody's house with the blinds drawn three-quarters of the way down the windows seemed to watch my approach with an air of cold cynicism.
Softly I turned the door-knob and entered the dim hall. All was quiet, a quiet pervaded by the familiar smell of old fabrics, bygone meals, and umbrellas. The white door of the parlour towered like a ghost. I put my arm across my eyes and began to cry.