it came on to rain, and having come so far I thought I would at least go on, and mark down your house, so to speak, so that I should find it more easily when I came to explain, if I ever could, why I hadn't turned up at the proper time. When I got here I found that I could not possibly walk home again to-night. The sole of my right boot had deserted in the mud. I saw the angle of your summer-house roof. I saw that the house was locked up, and I burgled your garden. I had a key that fitted. That's the worst of those cheap padlocks—there is always a key that fits them. And if you ask me why I didn't go back by tram or train, I can only confess that it was because I had no money. And now let me thank you once again for your angel kindness, and say good-bye."
"Oh no!" said both the girls. And Jane said: "We can't possibly let you go like this. You've told us a little—won't you tell us all about everything, and why you haven't any money, and what you're going to do?"
"I'll tell you anything you're good enough to want to know. I was a clerk in an insurance office. I enlisted in 1914. They promised to keep my job for me—they didn't. My people went to New Zealand just before the war. I hope and expect to get work. I get employment benefit, as they call it. It's a pound a week. Affluence, of course. But I spent most of last week's on advertisements—that's why things are worse than usual. Of course I ought to have told some lie—said I was engaged for Sunday—but I couldn't. It's such a long time since I've talked to anyone. I wanted so much to see you both again. And I've behaved like a fool and frightened you in that wretched summer-house, and I don't know how to look you in the face."
He stood up, looking from one kind, puzzled face to the other. "Don't you worry about me—I'm not worth it. I shall be all right."
"You shall," said Jane firmly. "Anyway, come and be our gardener for a bit and see how things go. Will you?"
