"What times we shall have together," said Maurice. "Shall we?" the girl replied. "It's all happened so exactly right." "It does sometimes," said Jenny. The horse pawed the road, impatient of the loitering. The driver knocked out the ashes of his pipe on the roof. "I _must_ go now," she said. "Must you?" "Yes." "One more kiss." To Maurice each kiss of Jenny's seemed a first kiss. "Isn't it glorious?" he exclaimed. "What?" "Oh, everything--life and London and you and I." He stood in the road and lifted her on to the pavement. "Good night, my Jenny." "Good night." "To-morrow?" "Rather." "Good night. Bless you." "Bless _you_," she murmured. Then, surprised by herself, she ran through the rain as swift as the shadow of a cloud, while the horse trotted southward with a dreaming passenger. Chapter XIV: _Rain on the Roof_ Upstairs in the room she shared with May, Jenny sat before the glass combing her hair, while outside the rain poured down with volume increasing every moment. The wash of water through the black, soundless night, lent the little room, with its winking candle, a comfortable security. The gentle breathing of May and the swish of the hairbrush joined the stream of rain without in a monotone of whisperings that sighed endless round Jenny's vivid thoughts. Suddenly she sprang from her reverie, and, pulling up the blind with a rattle, flung open the window to dip her hands into the wet darkness. May sat up, wild-eyed from sleep. The candle gasped and fluttered. "Whatever is it?" cried May. "Oh, Maisie, Maisie," said her sister; "it's raining real kisses to-night. It is, really." "Have you gone mad?" "Oh, let me get into bed quick and dream. Oh, May, I'd go mad to dream to-night." And soon the rain washed down unheard, where Jenny, lying still as coral, dreamed elusive ardors, ghostly ecstasies. Chapter XV: _Cras Amet_ The next morning sunlight shone in upon Jenny's rose-dyed awakening. Flushed with dreams, she blinked, murmuring in sleepy surprise: "Oo--er! if it isn't a fine day." "It's glorious," corroborated May emphatically. "Oh, it's lovely; let's all wave flags." "You were a mad thing last night," said May. "Don't take any notice, dee-ar. I was feeling funnified." "Opening the window like that and shouting out in your sleep and cuddling me all night long." "Did I?" inquired Jenny curiously. "Did you? I should think you did. Not half." "Well, if you're a little love and make me a cup of tea, I'll tell you all about it." "About what?" "About him. Oh, May, he's lovely. Oh, he's It." "Who is?" "A fellow I met this week." "What, another?" "Ah, but this one's the One and Only." "Go on, I know your One and Onlies." "Oh, but May, he's a young dream, is My Friend the Prince. I'm going to meet him this afternoon with young Irene." "And have a proper game with him, I suppose, and do the poor boy in and say good-by." "I hope I sha'n't never say good-by to him. Never, I do."