Meg always wheeled little Fay to and from the gardens in the funny little folding "pram" they had brought from India. The plump baby was a tight fit, but the queer little carriage was light and easily managed. The big policeman outside the gate often held up the traffic to let Meg and her charges get across the road safely, and she would sail serenely through the avenue of fiercely panting monsters with Tony holding on to her coat, while little Fay waved delightedly to the drivers. That afternoon she was very tired, for it had started to rain, cold, gusty March rain. She had hurried home in dread lest Tony should take cold. It seemed the last straw, somehow, that the lift should have gone wrong. She left the pram with the porter and was just bracing herself to carry heavy little Fay when this very tall young man came dashing down the staircase, saw them and raised his hat. "Miss Morton? Miss Ross has just entrusted me with a message ... that I'm to carry her niece upstairs," and he took little Fay out of Meg's arms. Meg looked up at him. She had to look up a long way--and he looked down into a very small white face. The buffeting wind that had given little Fay the loveliest colour, and Tony a very pink nose, only left Meg pallid with fatigue; but she smiled at Captain Middleton, and it was a smile of such radiant happiness as wholly transfigured her face. It came from the exquisite knowledge that Jan had thought of her, had known she would be tired. To be loved, to be remembered, to be taken care of was to Meg the most wonderful thing in the world. It went to her head like wine. Therefore did she smile at Captain Middleton in this distracting fashion. It started tremblingly at the corners of her mouth, and then--quite suddenly--her wan little face became dimpled and beseeching and triumphant all at once. It had no connection whatsoever with Captain Middleton, but how was he to know that? It fairly bowled him, middle stump, first ball. No one had ever smiled at him like that before. It turned him hot and cold, and gave him a lump in his throat with the sheer heartrending pathos of it. And he felt an insane desire to lie down and ask this tiny, tired girl to walk upon him if it would give her the smallest satisfaction. The whole thing passed in a flash, but for him it was one of those illuminating beams that discovers a hitherto undreamed-of panorama. He caught up little Fay, who made no objection, and ran up all five flights about as fast as he had run down. Jan was just coming out of the flat. "Here's one!" he cried breathlessly, depositing little Fay. "And now I'll go down and give the little chap a ride as well." He met them half-way up. "Now it's your turn," he said to Tony. "Would you like to come on my back?" Tony, though taciturn, was not unobservant. "I think," he said solemnly, "Meg's more tired nor me. P'raps you'd better take her." Meg laughed, and what the rain and wind could not do, Tony managed. Her cheeks grew rosy.