unconscious that he had left his crutches leaning upright
in the corner. It was only the surprise dawning into tremulous delight
on Sylvia's face that at last arrested him.

"See what you have done!" he said, laughing through his own surprise.
"I've a mind to leave them there now, and trust to your new cure."

But she was instantly concerned and anxious, and entering the booth
brought out the crutches and forced him to take them.

"No risks now!" she said decisively. "We have too much at stake this
evening. Leila is coming. Isn't it perfectly delightful?"

"Perfectly," he said, his eyes full of the old laughing confidence
again; "and the most delightful part of it all is that you don't know
how delightful it is going to be."

"Don't I? Very well. Only I inform you that I mean to be perfectly
happy! And that means that I'm going to do as I please! And that
means--oh, it may mean anything! What are you laughing at, Stephen? I
know I'm excited. I don't care! What girl wouldn't be? And I don't know
what's ahead of me at all; and I don't want to know--I don't care!"

Her reckless, little laugh rang sweetly in the old-fashioned, deserted
hall; her lovely, daring eyes met his undaunted.

"You won't make love to me, will you, Stephen?"

"Will you promise me the same?"

"I don't know, silly! How do I know what I might say to you, you big,
blundering boy, who can't take care of himself? I don't know at all; I
won't promise. I'm likely to do anything to-night--even before Leila
and Mr. Plank--when you are with me. Shame on you for the shameless
girl you've educated!" Her voice fell, tremulously, and for an instant
standing there she remembered her education and his part in it.

The slow colour in his face reflected the pink confusion in hers.

"O tongue! tongue!" she stammered, "I can't hold you in! I can't curb
you, and I can't make you say what you ought to be saying to that boy.
There's trouble coming for somebody; there's trouble here already! Call
me a cab, Stephen, or I'll be dragging you into that big, old-fashioned
parlour and planting you on a chair and placing myself opposite, to
moon over you until somebody puts us out! There! Now will you call me a
hansom? ... And I will be all ready at seven. ... And don't dare to keep me
waiting one second! ... Come before seven. You don't want to frighten
me, do you? Very well then, at a quarter to seven--so I shall not be
frightened. And, Stephen, Stephen, we're doing e