facing the park was flaming
with electric light. Young men in evening dress were standing on the
steps, smoking and taking the air after dinner, and pretty girls in showy
costumes were promenading leisurely in front of them. Sometimes, as a
girl passed, she looked sharply up and the corner of her mouth would be
raised a little, and when she had gone by there would be a general burst
of laughter.

John's blood boiled, and then his heart sank; he felt so helpless, his
pity and indignation were so useless and unnecessary. All at once he saw
what he had been looking for. As he went by the corner of St. James's
Street he almost ran against Glory and another nurse in the costume of
their hospital. They did not observe him; they were talking to a man; it
was the man he had met in the afternoon--Lord Robert Ure.

John heard the man say, "Your Glory is such a glorious----" and then he
lowered his voice, and appeared to say something that was very amusing,
for the other girl laughed a great deal.

John's soul was now fairly in revolt, and he wanted to stop, to order the
man off and to take charge of the two nurses as his duty seemed to
require of him. But he passed them, then looked back and saw the group
separate, and as the man went by he watched the girls going westward.
There was a glimpse of them under the gas-lamp as they crossed the
street, and again a glimpse as they passed into the darkness under the
trees of the park.

He could not trust himself to return to the hospital that night, and his
indignation was no less in the morning. But there was a letter from Glory
saying that his poor old friend was dead, and had begged that he would
bury her. He dressed himself in his best ("We can't take liberties with
the poor," he thought) and walked across to the hospital at once. There
he asked for Glory, and they went downstairs together to that still
chamber underground which has always its cold and silent occupant. It is
only a short tenancy that anybody can have there, so the old woman had to
be buried the same morning. The parish was to bury her, and the van was
at the door.

He was standing with Glory in the hall, and his heart had softened to
her.

"Glory," he said, "you shouldn't have gone out yesterday without telling
me, the dangers of London are so great."

"What dangers?" she asked.

"Well, to a young girl, a beautiful girl----"

Glory peered up under her long eyelashes.

"I mean the dangers from--I'm asha