"Yes," said Berry. "Betrayed by my accomplices, I found myself, as it were, a shred of flotsam adrift in the darkling streets. Several people thought I was the Marble Arch, and left me on the left. Others, more discerning, conjured me to pull in to the kerb. Removing from my north instep the hoof which, upon examination, I found to be attached to a large mammal, I started to wade south-west and by south, hoping against hope and steering by the Milky Way. Happily I had my ration-card, and I derived great comfort from its pregnant directions, which I read from time to time by the smell of the red-hot lamp which I was bearing...." Here my lady appeared, and I led her into the corridor and on to the floor. As she had promised, she was wearing a silver frock. One white shoulder was left bare, and a heavy fringe, that swayed evenly with her every movement, made the sum line of her dress still more graceful. Silvery stockings covered her gleaming ankles, and she was shod with silver shoes. For a little we spoke of Berry, and she told me how he had boarded her car and respectfully begged her compassion. Then I spoke of the bitter wind which had blown us about so inconsiderately, before the fog had come to lay upon us stripes of another kind. "I lost my hat one day," I added casually. At that she jumped in my arms as if I had stabbed her, but I took no notice, and we danced on. Deliberately I recounted my loss and my pursuit, only omitting my encounter with her chauffeur. "I happen to know," I concluded, "that the lady of the limousine is here to-night. Before the ball is over I shall have danced with her." "But you've never seen her," she protested. "I know her voice." She laughed musically. "Aren't you a bit of an optimist?" she queried. "I don't think so. And she's just sweet." "But if you don't know her name, how can you hope----" "Her name," I said, "is Dot." The hand upon my shoulder shook slightly. We danced on. At length-- "That's not very much to go on," said Elizabeth. I sighed. "Don't discourage me," I said. "When I find her, d'you think she'll give me the seven dances she said she would?" "O-o-oh, I never...." She choked and began to cough violently, so that I drew her out of the press and into a vacant corner. "I never heard of such a thing," she continued ingeniously. "You wicked girl," said I. "Why was Clapham Common?" For a moment she looked at me speechless. Then she began to laugh tremulously.... With a crash the jazz came to an end. Almost immediately another orchestra took up the running, and the strains of a valse rose up, plaintive and tempting. I looked at my lady. "Have I earned my dances, Dot?" She hesitated. Then-- "Carry on, Carry One," she said. CHAPTER IV HOW NOBBY CAME TO SLEEP UPON MY BED, AND BERRY FELL AMONG THIEVES. Thoughtfully I read the letter again.