Her head was down; her feet were moving quickly, tapping on the
pavement. He prepared himself to speak to her, his hand getting ready
to lift his hat. If she had given him half the encouragement that
he imagined he required, he would have found courage; but without
lifting her head, as though she were utterly unconscious of his
presence, she hurried by in the direction of Bedford Street and the
West.
Was that to be the end of it? Had he waited that full quarter of an
hour in the drizzling rain for nothing? The man of fixed intent is
hardly beaten so easily as that. There was no definite evil purpose
in his mind. He was caught in that mood when a man must talk to some
one, and a woman for preference. The waiting of fifteen minutes in
that sluggish atmosphere had only intensified it. The fact that in
the first moment of opportunity his courage had failed had had no
power to move him from his purpose, or to change the prompting of
his mood.
As soon as she had passed him on the pavement, he turned resolutely
and followed her.
CHAPTER II
All life is an adventure, even the most monotonous moments of it.
It is impossible to walk the streets of London without being
conscious of that spirit of the possibility of happenings which makes
life tolerable.
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