"No, I wished my arm had been round you instead of his, that was all." "Wishing again! Can't you do something beyond wishing?" She flashed a swift look at him and then the dark silky lashes drooped. He must have been dull indeed not to have understood. His arm was about her. He drew her closer to him passionately. It was the first time, though he had over and over again longed to do so. "I love you--don't you know I do?" he whispered. "I've sometimes thought as much but you've been very slow in telling me," she murmured lightly. "Ah, I was afraid what your answer might be. Ridicule and a reproof for my impertinence. Even now I don't realise my happiness." "Then you _must_," she cried imperiously. "How do you know I shan't be whirled away from you unless you hold me very tight? Oh, Lance, I've a misgiving--" She stopped. She shivered slightly and he drew her cloak tightly about her and kissed the cherry lips within the hood. "You're cold, dearest. Let us hurry. I ought not to have lingered," said he. "No, no. I'm not a bit cold. I only had a sort of feeling that--kiss me again." He was quick to obey and her kisses were as fervent as his. "See me to my door and go quickly," she murmured. "To-morrow, dear love, we shall meet each other again," was his reply. "Why yes--yes." "Many times more." She nodded. Something seemed to choke her utterance. One more kiss and she vanished into the house. Vane remained for a minute or two gazing at the dwelling that enshrined his divinity and lost in rapture. Then he slowly wandered to his lodgings marvelling at the glimpse of heaven which to his imagination had been revealed to him. CHAPTER XXVII THE CURTAIN FALLS Before the week was out the only topic in which the town took any interest was "The Beggar's Opera," and the "all Conquering Polly," as an advertisement setting forth the attractions of a miniature screen designed as a memento of the opera, had it. In a score of ways enterprising tradesmen adapted the scenes and the songs to their wares and in all Polly was the principal feature. Polly became the fashion everywhere. Amateur flautists played her songs, amateur vocalists warbled them. Hardly a week passed without one daily journal or the other burst into verse in her praise.