e, and as before we managed to secure an
empty compartment.

"I tell you what I want you to do when we get back to town, Joyce," I
said. "I want you to help me buy a hat."

"What's the matter with the one you're wearing?" demanded Tommy. "It
just suits your savage style of beauty."

"Oh, this new one isn't for me," I explained. "It's for a lady--a lady
friend, as we say."

"I didn't know you had any," said Joyce, "except me and Sonia."

I smiled arrogantly. "You underrate my attractions," I replied.
"Haven't I told you about Miss Gertie 'Uggins?" Then I proceeded to
sketch in Gertrude as well as I could, finishing up with the story of
her spirited determination to spend the five shillings I had given her
on a really fashionable head-dress.

Tommy slapped his leg and chuckled. "I believe any woman would starve
herself to death for something new to wear," he remarked.

"Of course she would," said Joyce with spirit--"any decent woman."
Then she turned to me. "I think it's sweet, Neil; I shall give her a
new hat myself, just because she loves you."

Tommy laughed again. "You'll find that an expensive hobby to keep up,
Joyce," he said. "You'll have to start a bonnet-shop."

All the way back to town we talked and joked in much the same strain,
as cheerfully as though none of us had a care in the world. If there
had been a stranger in the carriage listening to us, he would, I
think, have found it impossible to believe that I was Neil Lyndon,
the much-wanted convict, and that Tommy and Joyce were engaged in the
criminal pursuit of helping me avoid the police. No doubt, as I said
before, the very danger and excitement of our position accounted to
some extent for our high spirits, but in my case they were due even
more to a natural reaction from the misery of the last three years.
Ever since I had met Tommy and Joyce again I seemed to have been
shedding flakes off the crust of bitterness and hatred which had built
itself up round my soul.

Even my feelings towards George were slowly becoming less murderous.
I was still as determined as ever to get at the truth of his amazing
treachery if I could; but the savage loathing that I had previously
cherished for him was gradually giving place to a more healthy
sensation of contempt. I felt now that, whatever his motives may have
been, there would be far more satisfaction in kicking him than in
killing him. Besides, the former process was one that under favourable
circumstan