e end of my term. So things are urgent,
you see. I 'wave my lily hand' to you. Glory.

"P.S.--save time I suggest the hour and the place: eight o'clock, St.
James's Park, by the bridge going down from Marlborough House."

Drake received this note as he was sitting alone in his chambers smoking
a cigarette after drinking a cup of tea, in that hour of glamour that is
between the lights. It seemed to bring with it a secret breath of passion
out of the atmosphere in which it had been written. At the first impulse
it went up to his lips, but at the next moment he was smitten by the
memory of something, and he thought: "I will do what is right; I will
play the game fair."

He dined that night with a group of civil servants at his club in St.
James's Street, but at a quarter to eight, notwithstanding some playful
bantering, he put on his overcoat and turned toward the park. The autumn
night was soft and peaceful; the stars were out and the moon had risen; a
fragrant mist came up from the lake, and the smoke of his cigar was
hardly troubled by the breeze that pattered the withered tassels of the
laburnums. Big Ben was striking eight as he reached the end of the little
bridge, and almost immediately afterward he was aware of soft and
hurrying footsteps approaching him.

Glory had come down by the Mall. The whispering of the big white trees in
the moonlight was like company, and she sang to herself as she walked.
Her heart seemed to have gone into her heels since yesterday, for her
step was light and sometimes she ran a few paces. She arrived out of
breath as the great clock was striking, and seeing the figure of a
gentleman in evening dress by the end of the bridge, she stopped to
collect herself.

Her hand was hot and a little damp when Drake took it, and her face was
somewhat flushed. She had all at once become ashamed that she had come to
ask him for anything, and she took out her pocket-handkerchief and began
to roll it in her palms. He misunderstood her agitation, and trying to
cover it he offered her his arm and took her across the bridge, and they
turned westward down the path that runs along the margin of the lake.

"Mr. Storm has gone," she said, thinking to explain herself.

"I know," he answered.

"Is it generally known, then?"

"I had a letter from him yesterday."

"Was it about me?"

"Yes."

"You must not mind if he says things, you know."

"I don't, Glory. I set them down to the egotism of the rel