t were the street lamps stretching away before
them.

They passed close to the trees overhanging a square, and the branches
brushed them.

"The sap is stirring in the trees to-night," she said. "Can't you smell
the sap and the earth?"

"I associate you with the country and green things," he answered
irrelevantly. "Can you tell me, Miss Gray, how it is that I who have
always seen you in London yet always think of you in fields and woods?"

She laughed with a fresh sound of mirth.

"We met long ago, Sir Robin," she said. "I have always been wondering
how long it would be before you found out."

"Where?"

"Think!"

A sudden light broke over him.

"You were the little girl who came with old Lady Anne Hamilton to the
Court. It is nine years ago. I never knew your name. Lady Anne died one
Long Vacation when I was abroad. I did not hear of it for a long time
afterwards. I asked my mother once if she knew what had become of you,
but she did not. Why, to be sure, you are that little girl."

"Lady Anne was very good to me. She gave me an education. Only for her
the thing I am would not be possible. And I mean to be more than that.
Do you know that I am writing a book?"

"A novel? Poems?"

"That is what my father's daughter ought to be doing. No--it is a book
on the Economic Conditions of Women's Work."

"It is sure to be good, _citoyenne_."

"I am a revolutionary," she said seriously. "I have learnt so much since
I have been at this work. I have things to tell. Oh, you will see."

"I remember Lady Anne as the staunchest of Conservatives."

"Yes, yet she was tolerant of other opinions in her friends. She was
very good to me, dear old Lady Anne."

"To think I should not have remembered!"

"I knew you all the time. To be sure, there was your name. I don't think
you ever knew my name. You called me Mary all the afternoon. Do you
remember the puppy you sent me--the Clumber spaniel? He died in
distemper. He had a happy little life. I wept bitter tears over him."

"Why didn't you tell me before?"

"I thought I'd leave you to find out."

"I am a stupid fellow." He leant towards her, and inhaled the scent of
her violets.

"I don't think I should have guessed it now," he said, "only for the
spring. To think you are Mary!" He lingered over the name.

"I am sorry about the Clumber. You shall have another when you ask for
it."

It was a long drive westward. They got down at Kensington Church, and
went up the h