"
Maisie shook her head mournfully. "I knew you wouldn't understand, and it will
only hurt you more when you find out. Look at my face, Dick, and tell me what
you see."
They stood up and faced each other for a moment. The fog was gathering, and it
stifled the roar of the traffic of London beyond the railings. Dick brought all
his painfully acquired knowledge of faces to bear on the eyes, mouth, and chin
underneath the black velvet toque.
"It's the same Maisie, and it's the same me," he said. "We've both nice little
wills of our own, and one or other of us has to be broken. Now about the
future. I must come and see your pictures some day,--I suppose when the red-
haired girl is on the premises."
"Sundays are my best times. You must come on Sundays. There are such heaps of
things I want to talk about and ask your advice about. Now I must get back to
work."
"Try to find out before next Sunday what I am," said Dick. "Don't take my word
for anything I've told you. Good-bye, darling, and bless you."
Maisie stole away like a little gray mouse. Dick watched her till she was out
of sight, but he did not hear her say to herself, very soberly, "I'm a wretch,-
-a horrid, selfish wretch. But it's Dick, and Dick will understand.
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