“he would never…forgive me. But no woman…no true woman…could refuse to undertake…so palpable…a duty”…
Helen Cumberly, wearing a warm, golfing jersey over her dress, with a woolen cap to match, ran lightly down the stairs and out into the Square, carrying a letter. She walked along to the pillar-box, and having examined the address upon the envelope with great care, by the light of an adjacent lamp, posted the letter, turned—and there, radiant and bowing, stood Mr. Gianapolis!
“Kismet is really most kind to me!” he cried. “My friend, who lives, as I think I mentioned once before, in Peer’s Chambers, evidently radiates good luck. I last had the good fortune to meet you when on my way to see him, and I now meet you again within five minutes of leaving him! My dear Miss Cumberly, I trust you are quite well?”
“Quite,” said Helen, holding out her hand. “I am awfully glad to see you again, Mr. Gianapolis!”
He was distinctly encouraged by her tone. He bent forward confidentially.
“The night is young,” he said; and his smile was radiant. “May I hope that your expedition does not terminate at this post-box?”
Helen glanced at him doubtfully, and then down at her jersey. Gianapolis was unfeignedly delighted with her naïveté.
“Surely you don’t want to be seen with me in this extraordinary costume!” she challenged.
