He still breathed heavily, but the gloom upon his face began to abate as he looked at her. He moved one of his hands forward on the table to the neighbourhood of hers, and stroked the cloth gently as if it were her hand he touched. A weary smile, born in his eyes, strengthened and spread to soften his whole countenance. “Yes, I remember everything,” he mused, with a kind of forlorn gladness in his tone. It seemed an invitation to silence, and they sat without words for a little. With a constrained air of having convinced herself by argument that it was the right thing to do, Vestalia all at once lifted her hand, and laid it lightly on his. He fancied that it trembled a little. His own certainly shook, though he pressed it firmly upon the table. “Now the bad spirits have all gone,” he said; “it is fairyland again.” “Ah, we must keep it so,” she answered, and pressed his hand softly before she withdrew her own. The black mood had fled from him as swiftly as it came. Vestalia’s eyes beamed at the sight of his restored good-humour with himself, and she nodded gay approbation. “I fancy we’ve about exhausted the delights of this place,” he remarked, after a brief silence filled for both of them with a pleasantly sufficient sense of friendship at its ease. “I’ll pay the bill, and we’ll toddle.” She glanced about her. “I shall always remember this dear little stuffy old room. I almost hate to leave it at all. I want to fix in my mind just how it looks.” “Oh, we’ll come often again,” he remarked, lightly. Then it occurred to him that this assurance contained perhaps an element of rashness. “Have you got anything special to do to-day?” he asked, with awkward abruptness. The question puzzled and troubled her. “I _was_ going to celebrate my birthday,” she murmured, with a wistful, flickering smile ready to fade into depression. “Of course you are; that’s all settled,” he responded, making up by the heartiness of his tone for the forgetful stupidity of his query. “What I meant was--what _were_ you thinking of doing before--before you knew you had a birthday on hand?” Vestalia examined the bottom of her coffee-cup, and poked at it with the spoon. “Me? Oh, I had several things to do,” she made reply, hesitatingly. “I had to find something to eat, and contrive how to earn some money, and hunt up a new lodging, and see how I was going to feed myself to-morrow, and--and other small matters of that sort.” His comment was prefaced with a kind, sad little laugh. “You must go to the old place, and get your things,” he said. “How much do you owe?” “I’d rather not _go_ back at all.” She ventured to look up at him now. “I don’t want ever to lay eyes on that old hag again.” “But your things. If I sent a commissionaire, would she give them up?--on payment of the bill, of course.”