to the station-master.
"If the gentleman should come meanwhile, tell him to leave his name and
address."

Then I took Carlotta by the arm and, accompanied by my train of
satellites, I thrust her into the first hansom-cab I could see.

There was no sign or token of Harry. No pretty young man was hanging
dejectedly about the station. None had torn his hair before the
officials asking for news of a lost female in frowsy black. There was no
Harry. There was no further need therefore to afford the British public
a gratuitous entertainment.

"Drive," said I to the cabman. "Drive like the devil."

"Where to, sir?"

I gasped. Where should I drive? I lost my head.

"Go on driving round and round till I tell you to stop." The philosophic
cabman did not regard me as eccentric, for he whipped up his horse
cheerfully. When we had slid down the steep incline and got free of the
precincts of that hateful station, I breathed more freely and collected
my wits. Carlotta sucked her sticky thumbs and wiped them on her dress.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Across Waterloo Bridge," said I.

"What to do?"

"To dispose of you somehow," I replied, grimly. "But how, I haven't a
notion. There's a Home for Lost Dogs and a Home for Stray Cats, and a
Lost Property Office at Scotland Yard, but as you are neither a dog nor
a cat nor an umbrella, these refuges are unavailable."

The cab reached the Strand.

"East or west, sir?" inquired the driver.

"West," said I, at random.

We drove down the Strand at a leisurely pace. I passed through a phase
of agonised thought. By my side was a helpless, homeless, friendless,
penniless young woman, as beautiful as a goddess and as empty-minded
as a baby. What in the world could I do with her? I looked at her in
despair. She met my glance with a contented smile; just as if we were
old acquaintances and I were taking her out to dinner. The unfamiliar
roar and bustle of London impressed her no more than it would have
impressed a little dog who had found a kind master.

"Suppose I gave you some money and put you down here and left you?" I
inquired.

"I should die," she answered, fatalistically. "Or, perhaps, I should
find another kind gentleman."

"I wonder if you have such a thing as a soul," said I.

She plucked at her gown. "I have only this--and it is very ugly," she
remarked again. "I should like a pink dress."

We crossed Trafalgar Square, and I saw by Big Ben that it was a quarter