would expound. Nathaniel George, his fine eyes fixed on hers,
seemed never to tire of drinking in her wisdom.

There were times when Janet Helvetia, to reassure herself as to the
maidenly correctness of her behaviour, had to recall quite forcibly
the fact that she was the daughter of Solomon Appleyard, owner of
the big printing establishment; and he a simple grocer. One day,
raised a little in the social scale, thanks to her, Nathaniel
George would marry someone in his own rank of life. Reflecting
upon the future of Nathaniel George, Janet Helvetia could not
escape a shade of sadness. It was difficult to imagine precisely
the wife she would have chosen for Nathaniel George. She hoped he
would do nothing foolish. Rising young men so often marry wives
that hamper rather than help them.

One Sunday morning in late autumn, they walked and talked in the
shady garden of Lincoln's Inn. Greek they thought it was they had
been talking; as a matter of fact, a much older language. A young
gardener was watering flowers, and as they passed him he grinned.
It was not an offensive grin, rather a sympathetic grin; but Miss
Appleyard didn't like being grinned at. What was there to grin at?
Her personal appearance? some gaucherie in her dress? Impossible.
No lady in all St. Dunstan was ever more precise. She glanced at
her companion: a clean-looking, well-groomed, well-dressed youth.
Suddenly it occurred to Miss Appleyard that she and Grindley junior
were holding each other's hand. Miss Appleyard was justly
indignant.

"How dare you!" said Miss Appleyard. "I am exceedingly angry with
you. How dare you!"