Then, after Easter would come Maxwell's Bill, and the fat in the fire! Poor little Letty!--she would get but few of the bridal observances due to her when _that_ struggle began. But first would come Easter and their wedding; that one short fortnight, when he would carry her off--soft, willing prey!--to the country, draw a "wind-warm space" about himself and her, and minister to all her whims. He turned down St. James's Street, passed Marlborough House, and entered the Mall, on the way to Warwick Square, where he was living with his mother. Suddenly he became aware of a crowd, immediately in front of him, in the direction of Buckingham Palace. A hansom and horse were standing in the roadway; the driver, crimson and hatless, was bandying words with one of the policemen, who had his notebook open, and from the middle of the crowd came a sound of wailing. He walked up to the edge of the circle. "Anybody hurt?" he said to the policeman, as the man shut his notebook. "Little girl run over, sir." "Can I be of any assistance? Is there an ambulance coming?" "No, sir. There was a lady in the hansom. She's just now bandaging the child's leg, and says she'll take it to the hospital." George mounted on one of the seats under the trees that stood handy, and looked over the heads of the crowd to the space in the centre which the other policeman was keeping clear. A little girl lay on the ground, or rather on a heap of coats; another girl, apparently about sixteen, stood near her, crying bitterly, and a lady-- "Goodness!" said Tressady; and, jumping down, he touched the policeman on the shoulder. "Can you get me through? I think I could be some help. That lady"--he spoke a word in the policeman's ear. The man touched his hat. "Stand back, please!" he said, addressing the crowd, "and let this gentleman through." The crowd divided unwillingly. But at the same moment it parted from the inside, and a little procession came through, both policemen joining their energies to make a free passage for it. In front walked the policeman carrying the little girl, a child apparently of about twelve years old. Her right foot lay stiffly across his arm, held straight and still in an impromptu splint of umbrellas and handkerchiefs. Immediately behind came the lady whom George had caught sight of, holding the other girl's hand in hers. She was bareheaded and in evening dress. Her opera-cloak, with its heavy sable collar, showed beneath it a dress of some light-coloured satin, which had already suffered deplorably from the puddles of the road, and, as she neared the lamp beneath which the cab had stopped, the diamonds on her wrists sparkled in the light. During her passage through the crowd, George perceived that one or two people recognised her, and that a murmur ran from mouth to mouth.