He burst out laughing. If this wasn’t Desire, it was some one extraordinarily like her--some one who knew how to use the same dear inconsequent coaxing arguments. Who but Desire would urge the propriety of a night ride to London with an unknown man to save the impropriety of an unchaperoned trip across the Atlantic? She spread her fingers against the comers of her mouth to prevent her lips from smiling. “Why do you laugh? I rather like you when you laugh.” He wasn’t going to tell her--at least, not yet. “I thought I’d strike a bargain with you. If you’ll promise not to change that dress, I’ll take you.” “But why this dress?” He hunched his shoulders. “A whim, perhaps.” “All right. I’ll go up and pack.” She walked slowly out of the office, her brows drawn together with thought. At the door she turned: “You remind me of some one I once knew. I can’t remember who it was. He used to screw up his shoulders just like that.” Before he could make up his mind whether or not to assist her memory, she was gone. CHAPTER II--A SUMMER’S NIGHT He had hurried so as not to keep her waiting. By the time he had brought his car round to the hotel the clocks were striking eleven. He throttled down his engine; it didn’t seem worth while shutting it off, since she might appear at any moment. Its muffled throbbing in the shadowy street seemed the panting of his heart How impatient he was to see her! Running up the steps, he peered into the hall. The landlady approached him with a severe expression. “She sent word for me to tell you she’d be down directly. These--these are strange goings-on. Dangerous vagaries, I call them. It’s none of my business--me not being your mother nor related; but I do hope you know what you’re doing, young gentleman.” The young gentleman laughed. “We shan’t come to any harm,” he assured her. The company was breaking up. The vaulted hall and passages echoed with laughter, the jingling of armor and snatches of songs. Knights and ladies were bidding each other extravagant farewells, enacting the gallantries which went with their parts. Men dropped to one knee and pressed their lips to slender hands. Flower faces drooped above them mockingly--and not so mockingly after all, perhaps; for when the Pied Piper of Love makes his music, any heart that is hungry may follow. Those of them who were stopping at the inn caught up their lighted candles. By twos and threes, with backward glances, casting long shadows on the wall, they drifted up the wide carved stairs. Others, who had cheaper quarters, sauntered out into the summer stillness. The porter, like a relentless guardian of morals, stood with his hand upon the door, waiting sourly for the last of them to be gone.