It was not until Rankin and the others had left the room that Jewdwine had courage to raise his head tentatively.

He had only seen that young man's back, and he still clung to the hope that it might not be Rickman's, after all.
He looked up as steadily as he dared.

Oh, no doubt that it was Rickman's back; no doubt, too, that it was his, Jewdwine's, duty to go up and speak to him.

The young man had changed his place; he was at his window again, contemplating--as Jewdwine reflected with a pang of sympathy--the shop.

So profound, so sacred almost, was his absorption that Jewdwine hesitated in his approach.
"_Is_ it Rickman ?" he asked, still tentative.
"Mr.Jewdwine!" Rickman's soul leapt to Jewdwine's from the depths; but the "Mister" marked the space it had had to travel.