ck, and afterwards it never left me."

She sat for a moment with a look in her deep, soft eyes which he could
not understand. Afterwards he thought of it and wondered. It passed
away very soon, and she bent towards him with her face full of sympathy.

"It has left you now," she said softly, "and for ever. Do you know I
have come to take you for a drive? The doctor says that it will do you
good."

With a curious sense of unreality he followed her downstairs, and took
the vacant seat in the victoria. It was all so much like a dream, like
one of those wonderful visions which had come to him at times in the
days of his homeless wanderings. Surely it was an illusion. The
luxurious carriage, the great horses with their silver-mounted harness,
the servants in their smart liveries, and above all, this beautiful
woman, who leaned back at his side, watching him often with a sort of
gentle curiosity. At first he sat still, quite dazed, his senses a
little numbed, the feeling of unreality so strong upon him that he was
almost tongue-tied. But presently the life of the streets awakened him.
It was all so fascinating and alluring. They were in a part of London
of which he had seen little--and that little from the gutters. To-day
in the brilliant sunshine, in clothes better than any he had ever worn
before, and side by side with a woman whom every one seemed honoured to
know, he looked upon it with different eyes. They drove along Bond
Street at a snail's pace and stopped for a few minutes at one of the
smaller galleries, where she took him in to see a wonderful Russian
picture, about which every one was talking. Fancying that he looked
tired she insisted upon tea, and they stopped at some curious little
rooms, and sat together at a tiny table drinking tea with sliced lemons,
and eating strawberries such as he had never seen before. Then on again
to the Park, where they pulled up under the trees, and she waved
constantly away the friends who would have surrounded her carriage. One
or two would not be denied, and to all of them she introduced
Jesson--the young writer--they had seen that wonderful work of his in
the _Daily Courier_, of course? He took no part in any conversation more
than he could help, leaning back amongst the cushions with the white
lace of her parasol close to his cheek, watching the faces of the men
and women who streamed by, and the great banks of rhododendrons dimly
seen lower down through the waving green trees