“Not very long,” said Peace, eyeing the questioner. “Have you got a sweetheart here?” “Where?” “In London.” “I haven’t been here more than two or three days.” “Then perhaps you want one. Shall I be your sweetheart?” “You are a deal too pretty, my dear. This is a lovely girl, isn’t she,” said our hero, chucking her under the chin, and turning towards his friend. “Oh, dear yes; a most charming creature!” Then all three laughed as if something clever had been said. “Here’s to our better acquaintance, darling,” said the young lady, raising the glass to her lips. “I hope you’ll come and see me before you leave London.” “Come and see you! I don’t know where you live.” “I live at Brompton.” “With your parents?” “No――with an elder sister. I shall be delighted to make your acquaintance. My place is not half-an-hour’s ride from here. Let’s have a cab and I’ll show you where it is.” “No, not to-night, my dear, I am otherwise engaged; but on some other occasion I shall be most delighted.” “Yes, on some other occasion,” chimed in Kempshead, putting his arm in that of his friend, and sauntering towards the door of the establishment. “It’s too bad to take him off like that,” said the girl, pouting. “One would think you were his keeper. Ha, ha!” She laughed what was meant to be a merry laugh, but it was forced, hollow, and unreal. Peace and Kempshead passed into Windmill-street, and in a few seconds were at the corner of the Haymarket. The throngs of persons who were assembled here and in the adjacent streets seemed to Peace to be almost incredible. It appeared as if all the women in London had, by common consent, assembled in this quarter of the town. It is not possible to convey to the minds of those of our readers who never witnessed the night scenes in this locality, some twenty or five-and-twenty years ago, the appearance it presented. Women dressed in the height of fashion, many of them being possessed of a rare order of beauty; languid swells, sporting and betting men, together with others of a still less reputable character, congregated together in one heterogeneous throng. Anyone seeing these assemblies for the first time would naturally come to the conclusion that the metropolis was a city devoted to nothing but pleasure. Peace was astounded――as well he might be. He had heard of these gatherings, had seen a good deal of provincial life, but the reality far exceeded any description that had been given him. “My word!” said he to Kempshead, “London is a place. What on earth brings all these people here?” His companion shrugged his shoulders. “It is always like this, every night the same, that’s all I know. It’s a promenade――a sort of carnival; but let us go down the Haymarket.” The two companions threaded their way through the throng of people. At about half-way down the street a still denser crowd was collected. From this proceeded at intervals cheers and loud peals of laughter.