e."

Henry stopped dead, an idea having come upon him. With a growing light
in his eye he surveyed the motor-car and the chauffeur, who in turn
surveyed Mizzi with a gathering admiration. He even threw away the
cigarette.

"I say," said Henry, "this isn't a private car?"

"No," said the chauffeur, glad of a chance further to admire this
enchanting damsel. "General Motor-Car Company. Druv the ole gal down
from London s'morning. Made me crawl, too."

"Driving her back?"

The chauffeur suppressed an instinct to spit disgustedly and said, "Yes,
wuss luck." Mizzi observed them, wondering.

"What would you take," said Henry, breathing hard, "to drive us back
instead?"

The chauffeur shook his head.

"I'd lose my job."

"Five pounds?" hinted Henry.

"A job's a job."

"I'll find you another."

"Garn!"

"Straight! I'm Henry Brown, taxicab proprietor, Bloomsbury. Is that good
enough?"

"_And_ a fiver?" stipulated the chauffeur, avaricious but cautious.

"Here you are," said Henry, diving into his pocket. A note changed
hands, and the chauffeur assumed a bland demeanor. "Jump in!" he said
concisely; "it's a bet!"

"Oh, but----" objected Mizzi, hanging back.

"_Romance!_" whispered Henry. "You said you liked it! Quick! Quick!"

She jumped in, smiling happily.

"You are a dear!"

"And you're a darling!" he said, getting in beside her and shutting the
door. "Now, William, give 'em the horn and then London!"

_Honk! Honk!_

"Once more!"

_Honk! Honk!_

Mrs. Hedderwick appeared fretfully at the porch. "Do not make that
exasperating noise!" she commanded. And then--"_What!_ what
impertinence--what----!"

"Higher up, William!" said Henry peacefully.

"Good-by, madam!" and he raised his hat. "There, my little foreigner;
will that do?"

"Oh, Harry dear!"

And Harry dear had no time even to say "Good biz!"

CHAPTER XXIV

CERTAINTY--AHA!

Let us go back a couple of hours and see what has been engaging Miss
Arkwright and Lionel since their interview with Tony. They are still
reclining in the hammock-chair, which they have been obliged to move,
more than once, retreating before the all-conquering sun. They have
talked for a space, but nothing of their conversation is worthy of a
recorder's pen, and at last they have fallen silent, each occupied with
busy musings. Lionel, of course, has had plenty to think about since the
early telegram--new schemes to mature, fresh hopes to be weighed, old