I SOMETIMES met David in public places such as
the Kensington Gardens, where he lorded it sur-
rounded by his suite and wearing the blank face
and glass eyes of all carriage-people. On these
occasions I always stalked by, meditating on higher
things, though Mary seemed to think me very hard-
hearted, and Irene, who had become his nurse (I
forget how, but fear I had something to do with
it), ran after me with messages, as, would I not
call and see him in his home at twelve o'clock, at
which moment, it seemed, he was at his best.

No, I would not.

"He says tick-tack to the clock," Irene said,
trying to snare me.

"Pooh!" said I.

"Other little 'uns jest says 'tick-tick,'" she told
me, with a flush of pride.

"I prefer 'tick-tick,'" I said, whereat she de-
parted in dudgeon.

Had they had the sense to wheel him behind a
tree and leave him, I would have looked, but as

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