As it was a sunny and warm
day she walked to New Oxford Street from the nearest Metropolitan
station. Whilst waiting at the library counter, she heard a
familiar voice in her proximity; it was that of Jasper Milvain,
who stood talking with a middle-aged lady. As Amy turned to look
at him his eye met hers; clearly he had been aware of her. The
review she desired was handed to her; she moved aside, and turned
over the pages. Then Milvain walked up.
He was armed cap-a-pie in the fashions of suave society; no
Bohemianism of garb or person, for Jasper knew he could not
afford that kind of economy. On her part, Amy was much better
dressed than usual, a costume suited to her position of bereaved
heiress.
'What a time since we met!' said Jasper, taking her delicately
gloved hand and looking into her face with his most effective
smile.
'And why?' asked Amy.
'Indeed, I hardly know. I hope Mrs Yule is well?'
'Quite, thank you.'
It seemed as if he would draw back to let her pass, and so make
an end of the colloquy. But Amy, though she moved forward, added
a remark:
'I don't see your name in any of this month's magazines.
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