"This is an unexpected pleasure, Lady Dyke. Can I be of any service?" She bit her lip, not unobserved, but the law of Society forced her features into a bright smile. "Oh, Mr. Bruce, is it you? I am going to see my sister at Richmond. Isn't the weather horrid? I shall be so glad if you will put me into the right train." Mr. Claude Bruce, barrister and man about town, whose clean-cut features and dark, deep-set eyes made him as readily recognizable, knew that she would have been much better pleased had he passed without greeting. Like the footman, he wondered why she did not drive in her carriage rather than travel by the Underground Railway on such a night. He guessed that she was perturbed--that her voluble explanation was a disguise. He reflected that he could ill afford any delay in dressing for a distant dinner--that good manners oft entail inconvenience--but of course he said: "Delighted. Have you any wraps?" "No, I am just going for a chat, and shall be home early." He bought her a first-class ticket, noting as an odd coincidence that it bore the number of the year, 1903, descended to the barrier, found that the next train for Richmond passed through in ten minutes, fumed inwardly for an instant, explained his presence to the ticket-collector, and paced the platform with his companion. Having condemned the fog, and the last play, and the latest book, they were momentarily silent. The newspaper placards on Smith & Son's bookstall announced that a "Great Society Scandal" was on the tapis. "The Duke in the Box" formed a telling line, and the eyes of both people chanced on it simultaneously. Thought the woman: "He is a man of the world, and an experienced lawyer. Shall I tell him?" Thought the man: "She wants to take me into her confidence, and I am too busy to be worried by some small family squabble." Said she: "Are you much occupied at the Courts just now, Mr. Bruce?" "No," he replied; "not exactly. My practice is more consultive than active. Many people seek my advice about matters of little interest, never thinking that they would best serve their ends by acting decisively and promptly themselves." Lady Dyke set her lips. She could be both prompt and decisive. She resolved to keep her troubles, whatever they were, locked in the secrecy of her own heart, and when she next spoke of some trivial topic the barrister knew that he had been spared a recital. He regretted it afterwards. At any other moment in his full and useful life he would have encouraged her rather than the reverse. Even now, a few seconds too late, he was sorry. He strove to bring her back to the verge of explanations, but failed, for her ladyship was a proud, self-reliant personage--one who would never dream of risking a rebuff. A train came, with "Richmond" staring at them from the smoke and steam of the engine. "Good-bye!" he said. "Good-bye!" "Shall I see you again soon?"