alk for the chaplain," commended T. X., and they
took away Mr. Fisher, not an especially dissatisfied man.

That night T. X. interviewed his prisoner at Cannon Row police station
and made a few more enquiries.

"There is one thing I would like to ask you," said the girl when he met
her next morning in Green Park.

"If you were going to ask whether I made enquiries as to where your
habitation was," he warned her, "I beg of you to refrain."

She was looking very beautiful that morning, he thought. The keen air
had brought a colour to her face and lent a spring to her gait, and, as
she strode along by his side with the free and careless swing of youth,
she was an epitome of the life which even now was budding on every tree
in the park.

"Your father is back in town, by the way," he said, "and he is most
anxious to see you."

She made a little grimace.

"I hope you haven't been round talking to father about me."

"Of course I have," he said helplessly; "I have also had all the
reporters up from Fleet Street and given them a full description of your
escapades."

She looked round at him with laughter in her eyes.

"You have all the manners of an early Christian martyr," she said. "Poor
soul! Would you like to be thrown to the lions?"

"I should prefer being thrown to the demnition ducks and drakes," he
said moodily.

"You're such a miserable man," she chided him, "and yet you have
everything to make life worth living."

"Ha, ha!" said T. X.

"You have, of course you have! You have a splendid position. Everybody
looks up to you and talks about you. You have got a wife and family who
adore you--"

He stopped and looked at her as though she were some strange insect.

"I have a how much?" he asked credulously.

"Aren't you married?" she asked innocently.

He made a strange noise in his throat.

"Do you know I have always thought of you as married," she went on; "I
often picture you in your domestic circle reading to the children from
the Daily Megaphone those awfully interesting stories about Little
Willie Waterbug."

He held on to the railings for support.

"May we sit down?" he asked faintly.

She sat by his side, half turned to him, demure and wholly adorable.

"Of course you are right in one respect," he said at last, "but you're
altogether wrong about the children."

"Are you married!" she demanded with no evidence of amusement.

"Didn't you know?" he asked.

She swallowed something.

"Of