"Plenty. But I don't know whether they'll come to anything. I believe there'll be an unpaid under-secretaryship presently, and by-and-by I hope to get into the House. Politics are rather low down, you know, Miss Vincent, so they'll suit me. What did you think of Miss Hunstan? I saw her last night; she had fallen in love with you." "Had she?" Margaret exclaimed, joyfully. "I'm so glad. I love her, though I only saw her for a moment." "I'll tell her so. Every one does. My mother was devoted to her; that's one reason why I am. She's great fun, too, though, of course, she's getting on a bit," he added, with the splendid insolence of youth. "There's something more at the back of this visit," and he looked at Mr. Vincent. "I have been wondering if you are really going to-day?" "By the 2.50 from Waterloo. We can't stay any longer." "Well--I know this is daring; but couldn't you both come and lunch with me? I have my father's little house in Stratton Street, and should like to think you had been there. It would be very good of you." Mr. Vincent shook his head. "No time." "You'll have to lunch somewhere," Tom pleaded. "Yes, but I must go to my lawyer's almost immediately, and one or two other places, and don't quite know how much time they'll take up." "Are you going alone?" "Yes." "Then look here," Tom exclaimed, delighted at his own audacity, "if you are going to lawyers and people, couldn't I take Miss Vincent round and show her something? Picture-galleries, Tower of London, British Museum, Houses of Parliament, top of the Monument--that kind of thing, you know. We'd take a hansom, and put half London into a couple of hours." "Could I, father--could I?" she asked, eagerly. Mr. Vincent looked from one to the other. They were boy and girl, he thought--Tom was twenty-two and Margaret eighteen, a couple of wild children, and before either of them was born their fathers had been old friends. Why shouldn't they go out together? "It's very kind of you," he said, "and it would prevent her from spending a dull morning." "It sha'n't be dull if I can help it," Tom answered, triumphantly. "I may really go?" Margaret cried and kissed her father. "Oh, father, you are a dear." She was a dear, too, Tom thought, and so was the old man, as he described Mr. Vincent in his thoughts. The "old man" had an idea of his own. "Bring Margaret back here and lunch with us," he said; "there might be just time enough for that, and we will go and see you on another occasion." "Good--good!" And Margaret presently found out that this was his favorite expression. "It shall be as you say. Now, Miss Vincent, there's hard work before us." Five minutes later Mr. Vincent watched them start. They waved their hands to him from the hansom, and he turned away with a smile.