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"And then?" said Miss Heydinger. "One must bring these views prominently before people. I believe still in pamphlets. I have thought ..." Lewisham paused, it is to be hoped through modesty. "Yes?" said Miss Heydinger. "Well Luther, you know. There is room, I think, in Socialism, for a Luther." "Yes," said Miss Heydinger, imagining it. "Yes that would be a grand way."
But he had forgotten her mouth, he had failed to name the colour of her eyes. She wore glasses, it is true. And her dress was indefinite in his memory an amorphous dinginess. And yet he had seen a good deal of her. They were not in the same course, but he had made her acquaintance on the committee of the school Debating Society. Lewisham was just then discovering Socialism.
That was the interesting part of the evening to Lewisham. Parkson suddenly rose, got down "Sesame and Lilies," and insisted upon reading a lengthy mellifluous extract that went like a garden roller over the debate, and afterwards Bletherley became the centre of a wrangle that left him grossly insulted and in a minority of one.
He paused perceptibly, and she, following his eyes, saw a voluminous black figure approaching. "We may," said Mr. Lewisham, resuming his remark, "chance to meet again, perhaps." He had been about to challenge her to a deliberate meeting. A certain delightful tangle of paths that followed the bank of the river had been in his mind. But the apparition of Mr.
"Oh nothing," said Lewisham blandly, with his hand falling casually over his memoranda; "what's your particular little game?" "Nothing much," said Smithers, "just mooching round. You weren't at the meeting last Friday?" He turned a chair, knelt on it, and began whispering over the back about Debating Society politics. Lewisham was inattentive and brief. What had he to do with these puerilities?
THE house of Bastable was once in poor, but honest, circs. That was when it lived in a semi-detached house in the Lewisham Road, and looked for treasure. There were six scions of the house who looked for it in fact there were seven, if you count Father. I am sure he looked right enough, but he did not do it the right way. And we did.
"Ethel Lewisham," said Lewisham several times, and Ethel reciprocated with "Husbinder" and "Hubby dear," and took off her glove to look again in an ostentatious manner at a ring. And she kissed the ring.
His gilt glasses were tilted forward so as to make an inflamed knob at the top of his long nose, and he regarded Mr. and Mrs. Lewisham over them with Lewisham doubted his eyes for a moment but it was positively a smile, an essentially waggish smile. "You've come back," he said quite cheerfully over Lewisham to Ethel. There was a hint of falsetto in his voice.
They struck boldly across the meadows, which were gay with lady's smock, and he walked, by special request, between her and three matronly cows feeling as Perseus might have done when he fended off the sea-monster. And so by the mill, and up a steep path to Immering Common. Across the meadows Lewisham had broached the subject of her occupation.
"It's frightfully complex, isn't it?" she said a little staggered. But the rest of the way to the station was silence. They parted with a hand-clasp they took a pride in a little perfunctory so far as Lewisham was concerned on this occasion. She scrutinised his face as the train moved out of the station, and tried to account for his mood.
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