The woman was crying softly. Her tears--those blessed faith-restoring tears that come to people who encounter kindness when they thought that the world held no more for them--dropped one by one upon the pile of coins in her lap. She caught Dicky’s hand, and clung to it. The Freak cleared his throat in a distressing manner, but said nothing. Far away we could hear the roar of the crowd, watching the last race. "I must be going now," said Dicky at length. "I hope you will soon get rid of your cough and have good luck again. We all get under the weather sometimes, don’t we? Good-bye! Good-bye, Colonel!" The officer addressed fixed round and wondering eyes upon the eccentric stranger, but made no remark. "Good-bye, sir," said the woman. "God--" Dicky released his hand gently and turned deferentially to the old gentleman, who was still sitting patiently at his harp. "Thank you very much, sir," he said, speaking like a polite undergraduate to an aged don who has just entertained him to dinner, "for your splendid accompaniments. I can’t imagine how you contrived to follow me as you did. I’m a pretty erratic performer, I ’m afraid. Good-bye!" He held out his hand. The old man struggled to his feet, and gave a little old-fashioned bow, but disregarded Dicky’s proffered hand. "Good-bye, sir," he said, "and thank you kindly for what you have done for us." "Would you mind putting your hand in his, sir?" said the woman to Dicky. "He can’t see it. He’s blind," she added apologetically. Five minutes later we found ourselves back at the railings. The motor was already purring, and Romulus and Remus had been put into the victoria. Miss Damer hastened up to us. Her brown eyes looked very soft. "Dicky dear," she said tremulously, "we all saw you, and I think you are a brick. But keep away from Hilda for a bit." CHAPTER IX THE ONLY WAY OUT The ladies, pleading fatigue after their long day, retired early, bringing a somewhat oppressive evening to a timely conclusion. Dinner had been a constrained function, for Miss Beverley’s aloofness had cast a gloom upon the spirits of her _fiancé_, and the rest of us had joined with him in a sort of sympathetic melancholy. In the drawing-room afterwards Mr. Crick, whose ebullient soul chafed beneath what he termed "compulsory hump," sat down at the piano and treated us to a musical sketch,--something humorous but lingering. Whereupon Lady Adela awoke out of her sleep, and with a disregard for the performer’s feeling that was almost indecent, cut short the entertainment and shepherded her flock to the upper regions.