The olive skin was scarlet. There were tears in the hazel eyes.

"Leave me this minute!" commanded Miss Appleyard.

Instead of which, Grindley junior seized both her hands.

"I love you! I adore you! I worship you!" poured forth young
Grindley, forgetful of all Miss Appleyard had ever told him
concerning the folly of tautology.

"You had no right," said Miss Appleyard.

"I couldn't help it," pleaded young Grindley. "And that isn't the
worst."

Miss Appleyard paled visibly. For a grocer's assistant to dare to
fall in love with her, especially after all the trouble she had
taken with him! What could be worse?

"I'm not a grocer," continued young Grindley, deeply conscious of
crime. "I mean, not a real grocer."

And Grindley junior then and there made a clean breast of the whole
sad, terrible tale of shameless deceit, practised by the greatest
villain the world had ever produced, upon the noblest and most
beautiful maiden that ever turned grim London town into a fairy
city of enchanted ways.

Not at first could Miss Appleyard entirely grasp it; not till hours