Louisa was afflicted with a sudden cough of such eccentric timbre that some might have declared it to be forced. People on the pavement looked up at her surprisedly, and Lady Frances just then closing her scarlet parasol, for the use of which, indeed, the evening gave but little reason, also glanced upwards. Erb took off his hat and jerked a bow, and Louisa noticed that the closed scarlet parasol was being waved invitingly. She unhooked the tarpaulin cover at once, and, despite Erb’s protestation that they had paid fares to the Elephant, hurried him down the steps. To Louisa’s great delight, the tram, with its absorbedly interested passengers, did not move until the two had reached the open landau, and Lady Frances’s neatly-gloved hand had offered itself in the most friendly way. Louisa declared later that she would have given all that she had in the Post Office Savings Bank to have heard the comments of the passengers. “This,” said Lady Frances pleasantly, “is the long arm of coincidence. Step in both of you, please, and let me take you home to your place.” “If you don’t mind excusing us—” began Erb. (“Oh you—you man,” said his sister to herself. “I can’t call you anything else.”) “Please, _please_,” begged Lady Frances. They stepped in. By a great piece of good luck,’ Erb remembered that amongst the recipes and axioms and words of advice on the back page of an evening paper he had a night or two previously read that gentlemen should always ride with their backs to the horses, and he took his seat opposite to Lady Frances: that young woman, with a touch on Louisa’s arm, directed the short girl to be seated at her side. “Bricklayers’ Arms Station, Old Kent Road,” said Lady Frances. Mr. Danks, in livery, and his hair prematurely whitened, had jumped down to close the door. Mr. Danks touched his hat, and, without emotion, resumed his seat at the side of the coachman. “You are keeping well, I hope?” To Louisa. “I _have_ been feeling a bit chippy,” said Erb’s sister, trying to loll back in the seat, but fearful of losing her foothold. “So sorry,” said Lady Frances. “And you?” “Thank you,” said Erb, “middlin’. Can’t say more than that. Been somewhat occupied of late with various matters.” “I know, I know,” she remarked briskly. “It is that that makes it providential I should have met you. My uncle is a director on one of the railways, and he was talking about you only last night at dinner.” “Very kind of the gentleman. What name, may I ask?” Lady Frances gave the information, gave also an address, and Erb nodded. “Me and him are somewhat in opposite camps at the present time.” “My uncle was anxious to meet you,” said young Lady Frances, in her agreeable way. “Just at this moment I scarcely think—” “Under a flag of truce,” she suggested. “I was going to write to you, but this will save me from troubling you with a note.” “No trouble.”