"Indeed there's no necessity for me to ride. I can walk quite well and it is but a little distance to my home. You may see me across the fields if you will and then we will say good-night." "I'd better walk with you beyond the fields," he urged. "The streets are just as dangerous for you as this desolate place." "Oh no. There are sure to be plenty of people about! You shall go as far as Cheapside, but not a step further." Vane accepted the compromise, but when Cheapside was reached it was full of a noisy throng and most of the crowd, both men and women, were the worse for drink. He easily overcame her protest that she could proceed alone and they went on to St. Paul's. Here it was comparatively quiet, and she flatly refused to permit him to accompany her beyond the Cathedral. They passed the Chapter coffee house. Lavinia's thoughts reverted to her warning to Vane on Moor Fields. "You've not given me your promise to have nothing to do with that man--I don't know his name and I don't want to--who made you drink too much last night in there." "I'll promise you anything," he cried pressing the arm which was within his. "Thank you, but that's not all. Swear that you will never drink too much again. It makes me sad." "On my honour I never will. I'd rather die than hurt you by word or deed." "Are you sure?" she returned with more concern in her voice than she suspected. "Sure? If I don't keep my word I should fear to face your anger." "I shouldn't be angry, only sorry." "I'd rather have your anger than your pity. I might pacify the first but the second--while you are pitying me you might also despise me. I could never endure that." His voice trembled with genuine emotion. Lavinia put out her hand and he caught it eagerly and raised it to his lips. "You've made me happy," he cried, "you've given me fresh hope. I'll promise you all you've asked. You must promise me one thing in return. I can't lose sight of you. It would be eternal torment. When and where shall we meet?" "I don't know. Perhaps not at all," said Lavinia slowly and lowering her eyes. "Don't say that. I've told you why. Not at my miserable lodgings, I grant you, but at some other place. What say you to Rosamond's Pond?" Lavinia darted him a swift glance. The ghost of a smile played about her lips. "The Lovers' Walk of London! Oh, no." "But indeed yes. What have you to say against Rosamond's Pond? Its reputation justifies its romance." "Neither its reputation nor its romance has anything to do with us." "That is as it may be," he rejoined with an ardent glance. "But you haven't said no. Rosamond's Pond then to-morrow at sunset--seven o'clock?" Lavinia was too exhausted in mind and body either to refuse or even to argue. She felt as she had felt many a time in her childhood that she was simply a waif and stray. Nothing mattered very much. It was easier to consent than to object. "To-morrow at sunset," she faltered.