midday
Godfrey Sherwood had ceased to write ; it was six months since his last letter , in which he hinted a fear that the Irish enterprise would have to be abandoned for lack of capital . Even Franks , good fellow as he was , seemed to grow lukewarm in friendship . The painter had an appointment for a Sunday in May at Will 's lodgings , to smoke and talk , but on the evening before he sent a telegram excusing himself . Vexed , humiliated , Warburton wasted the Sunday morning , and only after his midday meal yielded to the temptation of a brilliant sky , which called him forth . Walking westward , with little heed to distance or direction , he presently found himself at Kew ; on the bridge he lingered awhile , idly gazing at boats , and ; as he thus leaned over the parapet , the sound of a voice behind him fell startlingly upon his ear . He turned , just in time to catch a glimpse of the features which that voice had brought before his mind 's eye , Bertha Cross was passing , with her mother . Probably they had not seen him .