'Walk, I think,' replies Philippa, and so they wander on, talking about nothing in particular, and yet they both forget that there are such things as sleep and to-morrow. Having come to the end of a narrow path, and finding two empty chairs they remain there. The lights are dim and the people passing and repassing are scarcely recognisable, but presently a lady in a light blue gown attracts Lippa's attention. 'Who is she?' she says. Dalrymple turns and looks at her. They hear a murmured sentence and then 'Eh, what!' in rather an unmistakeable tone. 'Oh, her partner is Helmdon,' says Jimmy, 'he's never to be mistaken with his _what_. The lady, I think, is Mrs Standish, an American widow, and therefore rolling in riches. I never knew an American widow who wasn't.' 'It would be very nice,' says Lippa. 'What! to be an American widow?' She laughs. 'No! to be very rich; there would be no need to think twice as to whether you could afford anything--' 'What a great many useless things you would get,' says Dalrymple. 'Really! but why?' 'I did not mean you in particular,' he protests. 'I assure you I didn't; but there are a great many useless things in the shops, which I suppose people buy. What is the matter, Miss Seaton? For Philippa has risen hastily with a little scream. 'There's something under my chair, I felt it move,' she says, woman-like raising her skirt. Dalrymple bends down, kneel he could not in his best evening trousers, 'I don't see anything,' he says, peering about and nearly choking for his collar is high and somewhat tight. _Il faut souffrir pour etre beau.'_ 'Oh, but you must,' persists Lippa. 'I felt it move.' 'Wait a second,' says he, producing a match, and proceeding to light it on the sole of his pump; they are all alone in this part of the garden, and nobody is watching them, the match will not ignite at first and then they both bend down at once nearly upsetting each other, and behold calmly blinking at them a large black cat. This is too much for Jimmy who gives way to suppressed laughter, the match goes out, and Miss Seaton though inwardly convulsed thinks proper to assume an air of dignity. 'I think I had better go back to the ball-room,' says she. Jimmy vaguely feeling he has done something he ought not to, says; 'I-er beg your pardon, I'm awfully sorry--' 'What for?' asks Lippa, stroking her right arm with her left hand. Jimmy considers for a moment wondering what he had better say, and then suddenly seized with an inspiration 'I do believe I hurt you,' he says, 'the match didn't touch you, did it?' 'No; but _you_ did,' replies she, and then seeing the consternation depicted on his face, Miss Seaton smiles, and then they both laugh. 'You know, you really might have knocked me over,' she says pathetically. 'I can't tell you how sorry I am,' exclaims Dalrymple, gently taking possession of the injured arm; 'please forgive me?' 'I'll try,' she says,--'I wonder what has happened to the cat--'