savouring a delicious
morsel.

'Now here's an interesting thing. If all the cabs in London were put
end to end,'--he paused between the words, gravely,--'what do you think,
Miss. Morgan, would be the total length?'

'Oh, I have no idea, Mr. Barmby.'

'Forty miles--positively! Forty miles of cabs!'

'How do you know?' asked Nancy.

'I saw it stated in a paper.'

The girls glanced at each other, and smiled. Barmby beamed upon them
with the benevolence of a man who knew his advantages, personal and
social.

And at this moment Horace Lord came in. He had not the fresh appearance
which usually distinguished him; his face was stained with perspiration,
his collar had become limp, the flower at his buttonhole hung faded.

'Well, here I am. Are you going?'

'I suppose you know you have kept us waiting,' said his sister.

'Awf'ly sorry. Couldn't get here before.'

He spoke as if he had not altogether the command of his tongue, and with
a fixed meaningless smile.

'We had better not delay,' said Barmby, taking up his hat. 'Seven
o'clock. We ought to be at Charing Cross before eight; that will allow
us about three hours.'

They set forth at once. By private agreement between the girls, Jessica
Morgan attached herself to Mr. Barmby, allowing Nancy to follow with her
brother, as they walked rapidly towards Camberwell Green. Horace kept
humming popular airs; his hat had fallen a little to the side, and he
swung his cane carelessly. His sister asked him what he had been doing
all day.

'Oh, going about. I met some fellows after the procession. We had a
splendid view, up there on the top of Waterloo House.'

'Did Fanny go home?'

'We met her sisters, and had some lunch at a restaurant. Look here;
you don't want me to-night. You won't mind if I get lost in the crowd?
Barmby will be quite enough to take care of you.'

'You are going to meet her again, I suppose?'

Horace nodded.

'We had better agree on a rendezvous at a certain time. I say, Barmby,
just a moment; if any of us should get separated, we had better know
where to meet, for coming home.'

'Oh, there's no fear of that.'

'All the same, it _might_ happen. There'll be a tremendous crush,
you know. Suppose we say the place where the trams stop, south of
Westminster Bridge, and the time a quarter to eleven?'

This was agreed upon.

At Camberwell Green they mingled with a confused rush of hilarious
crowds, amid a clattering of cabs and omnibuses, a