y doesnt nt to o t an appointment?

    Mr rey kno need an appointment.  tomers. s your business h him?

    Its private, I say. ill you take me to o me?

    t be someto my look, eps back.

    Im not sure, after all, if nt to o ts—do you knoairs.

    t  me go to .

    I dont  give me a paper, and Ill e  my name. . ill you give me a paper?

    fie does not move.  believe he

    house.

    t, if I must, I say.

    You cannot  here!

    t ; and I  there.

    tomers; picks up a pencil and puts it

    down.

    If you will? I say.

    you s, o , if it turns out  in.1 I nod. Put your name on ting.

    I begin to e. t Ricold me once— o e, Maud Lilly. I am afraid t last— remembering somet tea.

    I fold it, and  to les into tens, tles again. tsteps. ures to me. I .

    And, as I do, one of tomers closes c mind ly, meaning ts all. Anyone can see, t youre a lady . . . o t tone. Of course you do.  you?

    I say noteps back.

    ere seeing, he says, if hes in.

    tures beo t, about to slip; a girl falling, falling from tree ... I close my eyes. o one of to buy t book, sir—?

    Presently, steps, and the door is opened again.

    It is Mr rey.

    er, and slig

    and trousers are creased. ands in tation, does not come into ts my gaze, but does not smile— looks about me, as if to be sure I am alone; to eps back to let me pass. Mr rey— I say. s until t  is almost a hiss—is:

    Good God! Is it you? o me?