n, to make such a suggestion? In England young
girls--_nice_ young girls, do not go about with young gentlemen
unchaperoned. I'm shocked at you! I should have believed you would
have been more considerate!"

"We could start early. I could introduce you to my aunt. She would
find some ladies, with whom you could sit during the concert."

Cornelia made a grimace, the reverse of appreciative.

"No, thank you; I guess not! I'm not over-fond of sitting with ladies
at any time, but strange ones are the limit. You tell your aunt that
it's real kind of her, and I vury much regret that I don't want to go.
I've fixed-up just how I'm going to spend the afternoon. First, I'm
going to give you some coffee--the waiter's bringing it along--then,
when you go off to your crush, I shall get into a hansom and drive away
into the City, to Saint Paul's. The service is at four. I'll sit right
by myself, and listen till that's over, then I'll go round and see the
tombs. Quite a number of big people are buried there, I'm told."

"Saint Paul's!" Guest's tone was eloquent of amazement. "But why Saint
Paul's, of all places on earth? Why not hit on something livelier,
while you are about it? There's a splendid exhibition of paintings in
Bond Street, and the Academy, of course, and the Wallace Collection--
half a dozen shows which are worth seeing. Why go into the City on a
day like this?"

"Because I want to! I've had four days cram full of--" She hesitated,
seeking for a word that would not incriminate her hosts--"of _fuss_, and
I want something else for a change. From all I hear, Saint Paul's is a
kinder big, and soothing, and empty. You can sit and think without
being jostled up against someone else all the time. I don't suppose
there's a more sociable creature on earth than I am myself, but every
now and then I've just _got_ to get away and have things out by myself."

Guest sipped his coffee in thoughtful silence, glancing at Cornelia from
time to time, with eyes full of a new diffidence. An impulse gripped
him, an impulse so extraordinary that he hesitated to put it into words.
He wanted to go to Saint Paul's too; to drive beside Cornelia through
the streets, to see her face as she sat in the dim old cathedral; that
softened, tremulous face, of which he had caught a glimpse once before,
the memory of which lived with him still. When the service was over, he
wanted to be her guide, to climb with her the tortuous sta