It was about seven o'clock. He stopped outside a linen
draper's and peered over the goods in the window at the
assistants in torment. He could have spent a whole day happily at
that. He told himself that he was trying to see how they dressed
out the brass lines over their counters, in a purely professional
spirit, but down at the very bottom of his heart he knew better.
The customers were a secondary consideration, and it was only
after the lapse of perhaps a minute that he perceived that among
them was--the Young Lady in Grey! He turned away from the window
at once, and saw the other man in brown standing at the edge of
the pavement and regarding him with a very curious expression of
face.
There came into Mr. Hoopdriver's head the curious problem whether
he was to be regarded as a nuisance haunting these people, or
whether they were to be regarded as a nuisance haunting him. He
abandoned the solution at last in despair, quite unable to decide
upon the course he should take at the next encounter, whether he
should scowl savagely at the couple or assume an attitude
eloquent of apology and propitiation.
THE IMAGININGS OF MR. HOOPDRIVER'S HEART
X
Mr. Hoopdriver was (in the days of this story) a poet, though he
had never written a line of verse. Or perhaps romancer will
describe him better. Like I know not how many of those who do the
fetching and carrying of life,--a great number of them
certainly,--his real life was absolutely uninteresting, and if he
had faced it as realistically as such people do in Mr.
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