"Please let me drive you home. I want to talk to you, and I must return to-morrow." Anna hesitated. "We are Mr. Brendon's guests," she said, "and I scarcely think it would be nice of me to leave him alone with Sydney." Courtlaw turned abruptly to Brendon. "Mr. Brendon," he said, "may I rob you of your guest just for the drive home? I have only a few hours in England, and Miss Pellissier is an old friend." "By all means," Brendon answered. "We will follow you in another cab." They passed out on to the pavement, and the commissionaire called a hansom. The man looked closely at Anna as she crossed the footway, and as he held her skirt from the wheel he pressed something into her hand. Her fingers closed upon it instinctively. It was a letter. She slipped it calmly into her pocket. The commissionaire smiled. It was a sovereign easily earned. The hansom drove off. Suddenly Anna felt her hand seized and imprisoned in Courtlaw's burning fingers. She glanced into his face. It was enough. "I have stood it for a month, Anna," he exclaimed. "You will not even answer my letters. I could not keep away any longer." "Do you think that it was wise of you, or kind to come?" she asked quietly. "Wise! Kind! What mockery words are! I came because I had to. I cannot live without you, Anna. Come back--you must come back. We can be married to-morrow in Paris. There! You are trying to take your hand away." "You disappoint me," she said wearily. "You are talking like a boy. What is the use of it? I do not wish to marry you. I do not wish to return to Paris. You are doing your best to break our friendship." "It is you," he cried, "you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. It is not the woman who speaks there. It is the vapouring school girl. I tell you that I love you, Anna, and I believe that you love me. You are necessary to me. I shall give you my life, every moment and thought of my life. You must come back. See what you have made of me. I cannot work, I cannot teach. You have grown into my life, and I cannot tear you out." Anna was silent. She was trembling a little. The man's passion was infectious. She had to school herself to speak the words which she knew would cut him like a knife. "You are mistaken, David. I have counted you, and always hoped to count you, the best of my friends. But I do not love you. I do not love any one." "I don't believe it," he answered hoarsely. "We have come too close together for me to believe it. You care for me a little, I know. I will teach you how to make that little sufficient." "You came to tell me this?" "I came for you," he declared fiercely. The hansom sped through the crowded streets. Anna suddenly leaned forward and looked around her. "We are not going the right way," she exclaimed.