girls, you beggar," said Sidney.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," said Raphael, poking the rim against a
policeman's helmet in his anxiety to obey.

"Don't mention it," said Addie smiling.

"All right, sir," growled the policeman good-humoredly.

Sidney laughed heartily.

"Quite a general amnesty," he said. "Ah! here's the carriage. Why didn't
you get inside it out of the rain or stand in the entrance--you're
wringing wet."

"I didn't think of it," said Raphael. "Besides, I've only been here a
few minutes. The 'busses are so full when it rains I had to walk all the
way from Whitechapel."

"You're incorrigible," grumbled Sidney. "As if you couldn't have taken a
hansom."

"Why waste money?" said Raphael. They got into the carriage.

"Well, did you enjoy yourselves?" he asked cheerfully.

"Oh yes, thoroughly," said Sidney. "Addie wasted two
pocket-handkerchiefs over Ophelia; almost enough to pay for that hansom.
Miss Ansell doated on the finger of destiny and I chopped logic and
swopped cigarettes with O'Donovan. I hope you enjoyed yourself equally."

Raphael responded with a melancholy smile. He was seated opposite
Esther, and ever and anon some flash of light from the street revealed
clearly his sodden, almost shabby, garments and the weariness of his
expression. He seemed quite out of harmony with the dainty
pleasure-party, but just on that account the more in harmony with
Esther's old image, the heroic side of him growing only more lovable for
the human alloy. She bent towards him at last and said: "I am sorry you
were deprived of your evening's amusement. I hope the reason didn't add
to the unpleasantness."

"It was nothing," he murmured awkwardly. "A little unexpected work. One
can always go to the theatre."

"Ah, I am afraid you overwork yourself too much. You mustn't. Think of
your own health."

His look softened. He was in a harassed, sensitive state. The sympathy
of her gentle accents, the concern upon the eager little face, seemed to
flood his own soul with a self-compassion new to him.

"My health doesn't matter," he faltered. There were sweet tears in his
eyes, a colossal sense of gratitude at his heart. He had always meant
to pity her and help her; it was sweeter to be pitied, though of course
she could not help him. He had no need of help, and on second thoughts
he wondered what room there was for pity.

"No, no, don't talk like that," said Esther. "Think of your parents--and
Addle."