ights, torturing her through these miserable
days. Soon she would have to turn and face it. She shivered with fear
at the thought.

In the street a man accosted her. She looked up with an almost guilty
start. A little cry broke from her lips. It was one of disappointment,
and Graveling's unpleasant lips were twisted into a sneer as he raised
his cap.

"Thought it was some one else, eh?" he remarked. "Well, it isn't, you
see; it's me. There's no one else with a mind to come down here this
baking afternoon to fetch you."

"I thought it might be Aaron," she faltered.

"Never mind whom you thought it might have been," he answered gruffly.
"Aaron's busy, I expect, typing letters to all the lords and ladies your
Mr. Maraton hobnobs with. I'm here, and I want to talk with you."

"I am too tired," she pleaded. "I am going straight home to lie down."

"I'd thought of that," he answered stubbornly. "I've got a taxicab
waiting at the corner. Not often I treat myself to anything of that
sort. I'm going to take you up to one of those parks in the West End
we've paid so much for and see so little of, and when I get you there
I'm going to talk to you. You can rest on the way up. There's a breeze
blowing when you get out of these infernally hot streets."

She was only too glad to sink back amongst the hard, shiny leather
cushions of the taxicab, and half close her eyes. The first taste of
the breeze, as they neared Westminster Bridge, was almost ecstatic.
Graveling had lit a pipe, and smoked by her side in silence. "We are
coming out of our bit of the earth now, to theirs," he remarked
presently, as they reached Piccadilly, brilliant with muslin-clad women
and flower-hung windows. "It isn't often I dare trust myself up here.
Makes me feel as though I'd like to go amongst those sauntering swells
and mincing ladies in their muslins and laces, and parasols, and run
amuck amongst them--send them down like a pack of ninepins. Aye, I'd
send them into hell if I could!"

She was still silent. She felt that she needed all her strength. They
drove on to the Achilles statue, where he dismissed the taxicab. The
man stared at the coin which he was offered, and looked at the register.

"'Ere!" he exclaimed. "You're a nice 'Un, you are!"

Graveling turned upon him almost fiercely.

"If you want a tip," he said, "go and drive some of these fine ladies
and gentlemen about, who've got the money to give. I'm a working man,
and luxuries aren'