"Good-morning, Miss Rosser."
"Oh, good-morning, Mr. Clynesworth," she answered, without stopping.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"To my dressmaker's in Dover Street!"
"May I go with you——"
"That sounds," cried Bridget gaily, "like the beginning of a nursery rhyme."
"There never was a prettier maid," he answered, walking by her side.
"I suppose you know a great many," she suggested.
"They are all cast into oblivion——"
"Is it your experience," said Bridget, turning to look into his face, "that they appreciate this—this sort of thing?"