"Give the bacon to the cat and put back the egg in the nest," he said coaxingly. "Mrs. Kennion said: 'Don't let her eat her last dinner alone. Take her to the Swan.'" "Oh, I am only in my traveling-clothes and the Swan is full of strangers to-night." "The Green Dragon, then, near the cathedral. You look dressed for Buckingham Palace." She hesitated a moment, and then melted at the eagerness of his wish. "Well, then, if you'll wait five minutes." "Of course; I'll go along to the corner and whistle a hansom from the stand. Don't hurry!" The mental processes of Miss Thomasina Tucker had been very confused during the excitement of the last twenty-four hours. That she loved Fergus Appleton she was well aware since the arrival of the cablegram calling her back to America. Up to that time she had fenced with her love--parried it, pricked it, thrust it off, drawn it back, telling herself that she had plenty of time to meet the issue if it came. That Fergus Appleton loved her she was also fairly well convinced, but that fact did not always mean--everything--she told herself, with a pitiful little attempt at worldly wisdom. Perhaps he preferred his liberty to any woman; perhaps he did not want to settle down; perhaps he was engaged to some one whom he didn't care for now, but would have to marry; perhaps he hadn't money enough to share with a wife; perhaps he was a flirt--no, she would not admit that for an instant. Anyway, she was alone in the world, and the guardian of her own dignity. If she could have allowed matters to drift along in the heavenly uncertainty of these last days, there would have been no problem; but when she was forced to wake from her delicious dream and fly from everything that held her close and warm, fly during Fergus Appleton's absence, without his knowledge or consent--that indeed was heart-breaking. And still her pride showed her but the one course. She was alone in the world and without means save those earned by her own exertions. A living income was offered her in America and she must take it or leave it on the instant. She could not telegraph Fergus Appleton in London and acquaint him with her plans, as if they depended on him for solution; she could only write him a warm and friendly good-bye. If he loved her as much as a man ought who loved at all, he had time to follow her to Southampton before her ship sailed. If business kept him from such a hurried journey, he could ask her to marry him in a sixpenny wire, reply paid. If he neither came nor wired, but sent a box of mignonette to the steamer with his card and "Bon voyage" written on it, she would bury something unspeakably dear and precious that had only just been born--bury it, and plant mignonette over it. And she could always sing! Thank Heaven for the gift of song!