The ancient cab, with a prodigious rattling of framework and windows for its snail’s progress, bore them along past Trafalgar Square, and westward through narrow streets, already teeming with a busy, foreign-looking life, till it halted before a restaurant in one of the broader thoroughfares of Soho. When they had alighted, and the sad old driver, pocketing his shilling in scowling silence, had started off, a thought occurred to Mosscrop. “I tell you what we’ll do,” he broke forth. “Well decree that it’s your birthday, too, so that we can celebrate them together. That will be much more fun. And before we go into breakfast, I must get you a little present of some sort, just to mark the occasion. Come, you haven’t anything to say about it at all. It’s my affair, entirely.” He led the way along past several shops, and halted in front of a narrow window in which a small collection of women’s boots was displayed. A man in shirt-sleeves and apron had just taken down the shutter, and stood now in the doorway, regarding them with a mercantile yet kindly smile. “It is the best Parisian of make,” the shoeman affirmed, to help forward Mosscrop’s decision. “You can see how different they are from ordinary English things,” said David, argumentatively. “The leather is like a glove, and the workmanship--observe that! I don’t believe any lady could have a more unique present than a pair of real French boots.” The girl had come up, and stood close beside him, almost nestling against his shoulder. He saw in the glass the dim reflection of her pleased face, and moved toward the door as if it were all settled. Then, as he stepped on the threshold, she called to him. “No--please!” she urged. “I think we won’t, if you don’t mind.” “Of course we will!” he insisted, turning in the doorway. “Why on earth shouldn’t we? It’s your birthday, you know. Come, child, you mustn’t be obstinate; you must be nice, and do what you’re told.” As she still hung back, shaking her head, he went out to her. “What’s the matter? You liked the idea well enough a minute ago. I saw you smiling in the window there. Come! don’t let a mere trifle like this spoil the beginning of our great joint-birthday. It’s too bad of you! Won’t you really have the boots--from me?” “Well,” she made answer, falteringly, “it’s very kind--but if I do, I’d rather you didn’t come into the shop--that is, that you went out while I was trying them on--because--well, it is my birthday, you know, and I must have my own way--a little. You will stop outside, won’t you?” This struck him as perhaps an excess of maidenly reserve. He smiled impatiently. “By all means, if it is your whim. But--but I’m bound to say--I suppose different people draw the line at different places, but feet always seemed to me to be relatively blameless things, as things go. Still, of course, if it’s your idea.”