“Don’t let’s talk about art,” he begged with a wry face, “let us talk of beautiful things--such as tea and shrimps.” She shrieked with merriment at his feeble jest. “I wonder what is going to happen,” said the girl becoming grave. “Happen, how, where?” he asked in surprise. “About us,” she said. He took her two hands in his. “I am going to be tremendously rich.” “Did I tell you I was engaged?” she asked timidly after a long silence. It was nothing less than an act of heroism for her to ask this question. “I have a dim idea you said something about it a long time ago,” he said. “Did I really?” she asked relieved. “I had a feeling--” “If you didn’t tell me I saw your ring,” he said and she went red because she had removed that ring after their second meeting and had never worn it again. “I think I have told you that I had £300 a year,” he went on; “now that we are confessing our handicaps I might as well own up to mine.” “You told me you were absolutely penniless,” she said severely. “£300 a year is a fortune.” “£300 a year is only a fortune to the immensely rich, to the poor it is worse than poverty.” “You can do a lot with £300 a year,” she said thoughtfully, “and what shall I do with my money? I can’t throw it away.” “You will do nothing with it,” he said firmly; “when my £300 a year has become £10,000 a year we can do things.” She laughed happily, twisting his watch guard round her finger. “I cannot understand myself,” she said. “I have been such a selfish mercenary pig. I didn’t know there was any happiness in the world.” For the second time that day he slipped his arm around her, raised her face to his and kissed her. “Tea,” he said practically, started the engine and climbed into the driver’s seat, stretching out his hand to assist her to his side. The car started with a jerk but ran smoothly down the hill. “It is rather lucky that gate is open,” he said as the machine gathered speed. “It would be rather comic if we couldn’t stop the car.” A piercing shriek of an engine brought his head round. “That must be another line,” he said uneasily and put his hand on the brake; “anyway, the gate is open,” he said relieved. Again came the frenzied scream of the engine and he heard the thunder of its wheels. He was fifty yards from the crossing when he saw the gates begin to move. He pressed on the foot brake without producing any diminution of speed, gripped the hand brake, pulled it back until he felt the snap of the rotten handle as it broke. There was nothing for it but to take a risk. He pushed over the accelerator and the car leaped forward.… Car and gate and train seemed to reach the spot simultaneously.