“If it were not that I don’t like to propose your deserting Mrs. Romayne,” he said, “I should ask you if you wouldn’t come and keep me company over a lonely dinner at the club, Julian? I suppose you don’t want to get rid of him, by any chance?” he continued, turning to Mrs. Romayne. Mrs. Romayne and Julian laughed simultaneously; Julian with a little touch of embarrassment. “I’m sure my mother has no objection to getting rid of me,” said Julian rather hastily; “but, unfortunately, I’m engaged.” “Engaged!” said Loring. “Lucky fellow, to have engagements at this time of year!” His tone was a little satirical, and Julian, who was following him out of the room, flushed slightly. His colour was still considerably deeper than usual when he dashed upstairs after seeing Loring out, and put his head in at the drawing-room door. “I’m afraid I must be off directly, dear,” he said carelessly. “I was awfully sorry to get in so late, but Allardyce wanted me.” An hour later, Julian was dining at a restaurant, dining simply, and dining alone. Having finished his dinner, and smoked a cigarette, glancing once or twice at his watch as he did so, he took his hat and coat and strolled out. It was nearly a quarter past eight, and the only light was, of course, the light of the street-lamps and the gas in the shop windows. He passed along Piccadilly, not quickly, but with the deliberate intention of a man who has a definite destination, until he came to a certain side-street. Then he turned out of Piccadilly, and slackening his steps, sauntered slowly up on the right-hand pavement. He had walked up to the end of the street, casting sundry glances back over his shoulder as he did so, and was turning once more, as though to saunter down the street again, when the figure of a woman entered at the Piccadilly end. As soon as he saw her, Julian threw away his cigar, and quickening his steps, went to meet her. The face she raised to his was the face of the girl on whose behalf he had interfered in Piccadilly ten days before, and her first words were uttered in the soft, musical voice that had thanked him then. “Have you been waiting?” she said; “I’m sorry.” The tone of the few words with which he answered, together with the expression with which he looked at her, showed as clearly as volumes of explanation could have done where and how the new Julian was being developed. “Only a minute or two,” he said. “A lonely fellow like me doesn’t mind waiting a few minutes for the chance of a talk, as I’ve told you before.” She looked up at him with simple, pitying eyes, and a certain wistfulness of expression, too. “It seems so sad!” she said softly. “But you’ll make friends in London soon, I’m sure. Have you been working very hard to-day?”