He hurried off, only to return in a minute with the news that the debate was given up to a succession of superfluous people, and he was free, at any rate for an hour. Letty, Miss Tulloch, and he accordingly made their way to Palace Yard. A bright moon shone in their faces as they emerged into the open air, which was still mild and spring-like, as it had been all the week. "I say--send Miss Tulloch home in a cab!" George pleaded in Letty's ear, "and walk with me a bit. Come and look at the moon over the river. I will bring you back to the bridge and put you in a cab." Letty looked astonished and demure. "Aunt Charlotte would be shocked," she said. George grew impatient, and Letty, pleased with his impatience, at last yielded. Tully, the most complaisant of chaperons, was put into a hansom and despatched. As the pair reached the entrance of Palace Yard they were overtaken by a brougham, which drew up an instant in the gateway itself, till it should find an opening in the traffic outside. "Look!" said George, pressing Letty's arm. She looked round hurriedly, and, as the lamps of the gateway shone into the carriage, she caught a vivid glimpse of the people inside it. Their faces were turned towards each other as though in intimate conversation--that was all. The lady's hands were crossed on her knee; the man held a despatch-box. In a minute they were gone; but both Letty and George were left with the same impression--the sense of something exquisite surprised. It had already visited George that evening, only a few minutes earlier, in connection with the same woman's face. Letty laughed, rather consciously. George looked down upon her as he guided her through the gate. "Some people seem to find it pleasant to be together!" he said, with a vibration in his voice. "But why did we look?" he added, discontentedly. "How could we help it, you silly boy?" They walked to wards the bridge and down the steps, happy in each other, and freshened by the night breeze. Over the river the moon, hung full and white, and beneath it everything--the silver tracks on the water, the blaze of light at Charing Cross Station, the lamps on Westminster Bridge and in the passing steamers, a train of barges, even the darkness of the Surrey shore--had a gentle and poetic air. The vast city had, as it were, veiled her greatness and her tragedy; she offered herself kindly and protectingly to these two--to their happiness and their youth. George made his companion wait beside the parapet and look, while he himself drew in the air with a sort of hunger. "To think of the hours we spend in this climate," he said, "caged up in abominable places like the House of Commons!" The traveller's distaste for the monotony of town and indoor life spoke in his vehemence. Letty raised her eyebrows. "I am very glad of my furs, thank you! You seem to forget that it is February." "Never mind!--since Monday it has had the feel of April. Did you see my mother to-day?"