Miss Starbrow laughed: she was still standing. “You two appear to be taking it very quietly,” she said. “It is one o'clock--why will you compel me to be rude?” Then they started up, put on their coats, exchanged a few words at the door with their hostess, and walked down the street together. Presently a hansom came rattling along the quiet street. “Keb, sir?” came the inevitable question, in a tone sharp as a whip-crack, as the driver pulled up near the kerb. “Yes, two cabs,” said Captain Horton. “I'll toss you for the first, Chance”; and pulling out a florin he sent it spinning up and deftly caught it as it fell. “Heads or tails?” “Oh, take it yourself, and I'll find another.” “No, no, fair play,” insisted the Captain. “Very well then, heads.” “Tails!” cried the other, opening his hand. “Goodnight, old man, you're sure to find one in another minute. Oxford Terrace,” he cried to the driver, jumping in. And the cabman, who had watched the proceedings with the deep interest and approval of a true sporting man, shook the reins, flicked the horse's ears with his whip, clicked with his tongue, and drove rapidly away. Left to himself, Mr. Chance sauntered on in no hurry to get home, and finally stood still at a street corner, evidently pondering some matter of considerable import to him. “By heaven, I'm more than half resolved to try it!” he exclaimed at last. And after a little further reflection, he added, “And I shall-- “He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who dares not put it to the touch To win or lose it all.” Then he turned and walked deliberately back to Dawson Place: coming to the house which he had lately quitted, he peered anxiously at windows and doors, and presently caught sight of a faint reflection from burning gas or candle within on the fanlight over the street door, which, he conjectured, came from the open dining-room. “Fortune favours me,” he said to himself. “'Faint heart never won fair lady.' A happy inspiration, I am beginning to think. Losing that toss will perhaps result in my winning a higher stake. There's a good deal of dash and devilry in that infernal blackguard Horton, and doubtless that is why he has made some progress here. Well then, she ought to appreciate my spirit in coming to her at this time of night, or morning, rather. There's a wild, primitive strain in her; she's not to be wooed and won in the usual silly mawkish way. More like one of the old Sabine women, who liked nothing better than being knocked down and dragged off by their future lords. I suppose that a female of that antique type of mind can be knocked down and taken captive, as it were, with good vigorous words, just as formerly they were knocked down with the fist or the butt end of a spear.”