"I'll stay here," she replied. "Only remember"--she held up a warning finger, and glanced at the door--"remember that she knows nothing of this horrible city; remember that she will look on it with the eyes of a child." "I won't open her eyes," said Charlie, with a laugh that was half subdued. "Don't you worry about nothing; give her a latchkey, and don't wait up." "I'll wait up," replied Patience grimly. Moira came in with her eyes glowing, and her fingers fumbling over the button of a shabby glove. Charlie took possession of the hand and the glove, and buttoned it in a desperate hurry and yet with some skill. "We'll find a cab--(ever been in a cab, Moira?)--and we'll drive down town, and have a cosy little dinner. I think I've got money enough for that; if I haven't, I know a place where they'll trust me. I once lived a whole week on tick there. And after that--well--the night will be young--and London waiting for us! Come along!" Moira went back at the last moment, and bent over the old woman, and kissed her. "I shan't really be late," she whispered; and wondered why Patience held to her for a moment with a clutching hand before letting her go. The last sight she had of Patience was as she looked back from the doorway; the old woman had sunk down in the chair, with her elbows on her knees, and was staring at the fire. Outside the house the misty rain was still falling, and the wind was still coming in bursts down the little narrow street. But Moira was no longer tired nor hopeless; she would have laughed at a downpour. She eagerly slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow; they went gaily down the street together. At the end was a waiting cab--waiting because the driver had seen two young people hurrying along, laughing on such a night, and so was pretty sure of a fare. Charlie helped her in, and got in after her; gave the man an address; they were off. Bright-eyed Moira glanced round at the young man as she snuggled into her corner of the cab; laughed as the glass was let down in front of them. "It _is_ comfortable," she said. "Poor old girl!" he murmured under his breath, with a new note of gravity in his tone. "Why have you let her hide you away like that all this time? And fancy being so delighted over a cab ride! You seem to have plenty of money, according to what Patience wrote in a letter to the Baffalls." "That wasn't quite true," replied the girl; "it was only a matter of pride. Patience thought people might believe that she was poor; she exaggerated a little." "And the house?--the house that was larger than you wanted?" he asked, with a whimsical look in his eyes. She shook her head. "It isn't our house at all; we've only got a few furnished rooms at the top of it," she replied. "And I was thinking of coming to live with you!" he cried, with a laugh. "Oh, Charlie!" She seized his arm, and looked round eagerly into his face. "If you only would!"