y people one knows there. That is one of its
attractions."

He agreed that it was.

"I wonder who I'll meet this time?"

She spoke with an air of the most innocent speculation, but the nature
of her parent's smile changed subtly.

"Goodness knows who one will meet in London," he replied. "Not Andrew,
we'll hope, eh? I wonder where he is now."

At this change of subject her breast gave a quick little heave that
might have marked a stifled sigh, but she dutifully joined in what she
could not but think an unnecessarily prolonged series of speculations
regarding the movements of a quite uninteresting young man.

But her eyes were very bright indeed and her face distinct with
suppressed excitement as they drove from Euston Station into the life of
the streets. All the while she kept looking out of the cab window, as
though amid the passing myriads she might happen already to recognize
one of those acquaintances she hoped to meet. At last she was in
London! And London in early spring; London with the smuts washed off by
torrential showers and then flooded with glorious sunshine; London with
the young leaves like a thin veil of green on the limes and elms, and
the tassels hanging from the poplars, and the sycamores and horse
chestnuts already casting grateful shade; London with the mowing
machines whirling in the parks and the watering-carts swishing down the
streets--is a fairy city for a young girl with a large hotel to live in,
a generous father, and a lover somewhere hidden in those mysterious
miles of crowds and houses. Jean half wished she could feel a little
less impatient, so that she might relish every passing moment to its
dregs.

Her father, Frank, and she dined sumptuously and went to the most
entertaining play afterwards--a stimulating medley of waltz refrains and
gorgeous clothes and a funny man and fifty pretty girls. She did not
pose as a dramatic critic, and thought it splendid. Then they had supper
at the Savoy, and--so to bed.

But though she had gone to her room, Jean lingered for long before her
open window, looking wistfully over the humming, lamp-lit town. _His_
name had not been mentioned.

CHAPTER XI

Lucas painted, but not so fiercely as before; and again from the
deck-chair Hillary watched him. He rented the studio next door, and
having a comfortable private income of L80 a year, generally spent his
afternoons encouraging his friend. Occasionally, however, he considered
it advis