that women, being more romantic,
were more likely to say "yes" to a wooer than "no," where they were
wooed beneath a moonlit sky. The chances were all in his favor, he said
to himself.

A cab was already waiting. Presently the door opened and a young lady in
hood and cloak came out. The light fell on a delicate, piquante face,
with a complexion of ivory fairness which cosmetics had not had time to
destroy, with charming scarlet lips, long-lashed dark eyes, a dimpled
chin, and a great quantity of curling dark hair--the kind of hair which
will not lie straight, but twists itself into tight rings, and gets into
apparently inextricable tangles, and looks pretty all the time. And this
was Ethel Kenyon. Her companion, a woman of forty-five, staid and
demure, followed close behind her, giving no sign of surprise when
Oliver raised his hat and gently accosted the two ladies.

"Good-evening, Miss Kenyon. Good-evening, Mrs. Durant: I hope you notice
what a lovely evening it is!"

"Indeed I do!" said Ethel, fervently. "Oh, how I wish I were in the
country! I should like a long country walk."

"Would not a town walk do as well, for once?" asked Oliver, in his most
persuasive tones. "I was wondering whether you would consent to let me
see you home, as it is such a lovely night. But I see you have a
cab----"

"I would rather drive, I must say," remarked Mrs. Durant. It was what
she knew she was expected to say, and she was not sorry for it, "I am
tired of being on my feet so long. But if you would like to walk,
Ethel, I daresay Mr. Trent would escort you."

"I should be only too pleased," said Oliver.

Ethel laughed happily. "All right, Mrs. Durant. You drive, and I'll walk
home with Mr. Trent."

She scarcely waited for Oliver to offer his arm. She laid her hand in it
so naturally, so securely, that even Oliver felt an impulse of pleasure.
He looked down at the lovely, smiling creature at his side with
admiration, even with tenderness.

At first they did not speak much, for they had to pass through some
crowded and ill-smelling thoroughfares, where conversation was almost
impossible. By-and-bye they emerged from these into Holborn, and thence
they made their way into the wider streets and airier squares which
abound in the West Central district. When they came in sight of the
white pillars and paved yard of the British Museum, they were deep in
talk on all sorts of matters--"Shakespeare and the musical glasses," as
Olive