Would he call upon her on Sunday afternoon, when she was sure to be alone?
'Nic,' she wrote on, 'what a cosmopolite you are! I expected to find my old yeoman still; but I was quite awed in the presence of such a citizen of the world.

Did I seem rusty and unpractised?
Ah--you seemed so once to me!' Tender playful words; the old Christine was in them.

She said Sunday afternoon, and it was now only Saturday morning.

He wished she had said to-day; that short revival of her image had vitalized to sudden heat feelings that had almost been stilled.

Whatever she might have to explain as to her position--and it was awkwardly narrowed, no doubt--he could not give her up.