James Graham was in a lawyer's office, a young articled cleric of seventeen in undue haste to be that delightful thing, a man.
He carried a cane, and was very particular about his hat and necktie and his boots, which generally were tan.

And he had the faintest possible moustache, that he caressed with great frequency; and that privately Aldith thought adorable.

Aldith's pert, sprightly manner pleased him, and in a very short time they had got to the period of passing notes into each other's hands and sighing sentimentally.

Not that the notes contained much harm, they were generally of rather a formal character.
"My dear' Miss MacCarthy," one would run-- "Why were you not on the boat yesterday?
I looked for you till it was no use looking longer, and then the journey was blank.
How charmingly that big hat suits you, and those jonquils at your neck.

Might I beg one of the flowers?
just one, please, Aldith.
Your devoted friend, James Graham." And Aldith's, written on a sheet of her note-book with a pink programme pencil that she always kept in her purse, might be no worse than: "Dear Mr.Graham, "What EVER can you want these flowers at my neck for?
They have been there all day, and are dead and spoiled.