A quarter past five. The train was passing through the outskirts of London. A bare ten minutes more, and we should arrive. I looked anxiously at the girl, wondering where, when, how I should see her again. For the last half-hour we had spoken but little. She had seemed sleepy, and I had begged her to rest. Dreamily she had thanked me, saying that she had had little sleep the night before. Then the eyes had smiled gently and disappeared. It was almost dark now, so swift had been the passing of the winter's day. Lights shone and blinked out of the darkness. Another train roared by, and we slackened speed. Slowly we crawled over a bridge spanning mean streets. One could not but mark the bustling scene below. The sudden din compelled attention. I looked down upon the writhing traffic, the glistening roadway, the pavements crowded with hurrying, jostling forms. An over-lighted public house made the cheap shops seem ill-lit, poorer still. Its dirty splendour dominated everything: even the tall trams took on a lesser light. The lumbering roar of wheels, the insistent clamour of an obstructed tram, the hoarse shouts of hawkers crying their wares--all this rose up above the rumble of the slow-moving train. I was glad when we had left the spot behind. It would not do after the country-side. It occurred to me that, but a little space back some seventy rolling years--here also had stretched fair green fields. Perchance the very ones poor dying Falstaff had babbled of. We slunk past an asylum--a long mass, dark, sinister. By this even the trams seemed to hasten. I could just hear their thin song, as they slid forward. Enough. Already I was half-way to depression. Resolutely I turned, giving the window my shoulder. My Lady had not stirred. Wistfully I regarded her closed eyes. In five minutes we should be in, and there were things I wanted to say... A smile crept into the gentle face. "Go on," she said quietly. "I'm listening." "I was wondering, goddess, if I should ever see you again." "Oh, probably! The world's awfully small. Not for some time, though. I leave for Cannes to-morrow, to join my people." "Cannes!" I exclaimed. "Yes. You must have heard of it. Where the weather comes from." "Where it stays, you mean," I growled, as the rising wind flung a handful of raindrops against the windows. For a moment I sat silent, looking out into the night, thinking. Except for a luncheon, to-morrow was free. And I could cut that. A network of shining rails showed that the terminus was at hand. I turned to my lady. "Then we shall meet again to-morrow," I said gravely. "I have to go down to Dover, too." "What for?" This suspiciously. I rose and took up my hat. "Another dog," I said shortly. She broke into silvery merriment. At length: "Nonsense," she said, rising. "Not at all," said I. "The Dover dogs are famous."