er the cabs with luggage, only just to get a smile
from you. Oh, Miss Mutimer--oh!'

'Mr. Keene, I can't say yes, and I don't like to be so unkind to you as
to say no. You'll let that do for the present, won't you?'

'Bless your bright eyes, of course I will! If I don't love you for
your own sake, I'm the wretchedest turnip-snatcher in London. Good-bye,
Princess!'

'Who taught you to call me that?'

'Taught me? It was only a word that came naturally to my lips.'

Curiously, this was quite true. It impressed Alice Maud, and she thought
of Mr. Keene for at least five minutes continuously after his departure.

She was extravagantly gay as they drove in a four-wheeled cab to the
station next morning. Mr. Keene made no advances. He sat respectfully
on the seat opposite her, with a travelling bag on his knees, and sighed
occasionally. When she had secured her seat in the railway carriage he
brought her sandwiches, buns, and sweetmeats enough for a voyage to New
York. Alice waved her hand to him as the train moved away.

She reached Agworth at one o'clock; Richard had been pacing the platform
impatiently for twenty minutes. Porters were eager to do his bidding,
and his instructions to them were suavely imperative.

'They know me,' he remarked to Alice, with his air of satisfaction. 'I
suppose you're half frozen? I've got a foot-warmer in the trap.'

The carriage promised to Adela was a luxury Richard had not ventured to
allow himself. Alice mounted to a seat by his side, and he drove off.

'Why on earth did you come second-class?' he asked, after examining her
attire with approval.

'Ought it to have been first? It really seemed such a lot of money,
Dick, when I came to look at the fares.'

'Yes, it ought to have been first. In London things don't matter, but
here I'm known, you see. Did mother go to the station with you?'

'No, Mr. Keene did.'

'Keene, eh?' He bent his brows a moment.

'I hope he behaves himself?'

'I'm sure he's very gentlemanly.'

'Yes, you ought to have come first-class. A princess riding second'll
never do. You look well, old girl? Glad to come, eh?'

'Well, guess! And is this your own horse and trap, Dick?'

'Of course it is.'

'Who was that man? He touched his hat to you.'

Mutimer glanced back carelessly.

'I'm sure I don't know. Most people touch their hats to me about here.'

It was an ideal winter day. A feathering of snow had fallen at dawn, and
now the clear, cold sun m