"Yes. The horse, ran away, but there was no accident." "The coachman--is he hurt?" This thought for another in the midst of her own recovery flushed Lionel's being like a draught of wine. Hitherto she had been merely a pretty aristocrat and (apparently) a delightful girl. Now she was more--a divine human whom he longed to kiss, caress and call "You darling!" "No," he said. "He fell softly. Upon a constable, I believe." She was nearly herself again, and gave a little laugh. "Let us hope he was a fat one," she said. And then, after a pause: "Who stopped the horse?" "Oh, I was lucky enough to do that," he replied with an assumed jauntiness, wishing he could feel it was an every-day business. "It was not hard." "Others appeared to think differently," she replied with a grave admiration that pleased him. "Then, madam, they can not have seen you," he smiled. Really, the affair was being conducted on correct lines. She mused for a moment, chin in hand. "... I think," she said presently, "you must be rather an unusual man." Lionel tried to look as if he disagreed. "Yes, I think so.... And I suppose I owe you my life.... I wonder what reward...." It must have been the devil that prompted Lionel to say, "One pound, three and sevenpence"; but by an effort he choked back the horrible words, and stammered that he was already repaid. "No," she demurred, smiling, searching him with her eyes: "that is hardly fair. I wonder if you would like ..." She glanced round. The chemist's back was turned: he was groping for some drug upon the shelves. Lionel was still upon one knee, his face upturned, his eyes drawn as by a magnet. She leaned toward him; her face came closer and closer yet, in her eyes a world of gratitude and fun. Her hair almost brushed his cheek, and he shivered. "I wonder if----" At that moment the chemist turned, and she finished the sentence persuasively, "--if you could get me a cab? I dare not trust my horse again to-day." Lionel rose stiffly. "Do you prefer," he asked, fixing the unhappy and bewildered chemist with a glare of anger, "a hansom or a taxi?" "A taxi, please." Lionel withdrew. He ordered the coachman, dusty and degraded, to drive home. The policeman, who had salved the discomfiture of his over-throw by hectoring the crowd and cuffing the nearest urchins, obligingly blew his whistle. A minute later a taxi came up. CHAPTER II BEHIND THE SCENES