ity in her
tone. "I am very glad to have seen you again, Mr. Strangewey," she said,
lifting her eyes to his. "Good night!"

He helped her out, rang the bell, and watched her vanish through the
swiftly opened door. Then he stepped back into the taxicab. Sophy
retreated into the corner to make room for him.

"You are going to take me home, are you not?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied, his eyes still fixed with a shade of regret
upon the closed door of Louise's little house. "No. 10 Southampton
Street," he told the driver.

They turned round and spun once more into the network of moving vehicles
and streaming pedestrians. John was silent, and his companion, for a
little while, humored him. Soon, however, she touched him on the arm.

"This is still your first night in London," she reminded him, "and there
is to-morrow. You are going to lunch with her to-morrow. Won't you talk
to me, please?"

He shut the door upon a crowd of disturbing thoughts and fantastic
imaginings, and smiled back at her. Her fingers remained upon his arm. A
queer gravity had come into her dainty little face.

"Are you really in love with Louise?" she inquired, with something of
his own directness.

He answered her with perfect seriousness.

"I believe so," he admitted, "but I should not like to say that I am
absolutely certain. I have come here to find out."

Sophy suddenly rocked with laughter.

"You are the dearest, queerest madman I have ever met!" she exclaimed,
holding tightly to his arm. "You sit there with a face as long as a
fiddle, wondering whether you are in love with a girl or not! Well, I am
not going to ask you anything more. Tell me, are you tired?"

"Not a bit," he declared. "I never had such a ripping evening in my
life."

She held his arm a little tighter. She was the old Sophy again, full of
life and gaiety.

"Let's go to the Aldwych," she suggested, "and see the dancing. We can
just have something to drink. We needn't have any more supper."

"Rather!" he assented readily. "But where is it, and what is it?"

"Just a supper club," she told him. "Tell the man No. 19 Kean Street.
What fun! I haven't been there for weeks."

"What about my clothes?" he asked.

"You'll be all right," she assured him. "You're quite a nice-looking
person, and the manager is a friend of mine."

The cab stopped a few minutes later outside what seemed to be a private
house except for the presence of a commissionnaire upon the pavem