They reached the shop. Florence gave orders with regard to the groceries and scribbled a line to Brenda, telling her that she had met Michael Reid, and was going for a walk with him and would be back before dusk. The duck was also ordered for late dinner, and then the pair sped away into the country as fast as their legs could carry them. Florence said she liked to walk fast, and Michael agreed with her. He hated girls who were not strong: he hated delicacy of any sort. Florence was quite perfect. She had such magnificent health. He did not believe she even had the faintest idea what it was to be tired. Florence, with a smile, assured him that such was the case--she _did_ not know; she was always well. Brenda, poor darling, sometimes had headaches, but she, Florence, never had. "It is a good thing that I am strong, isn't it?" she said with a laugh. He replied in the affirmative. By and by they reached Johnson's, an inn by the river side, much frequented in the summer by all sorts and conditions of people, and in the winter carrying on a fair trade by bicyclists. On this special day, however, the inn parlour was empty and the young pair had it to themselves. Reid felt more in love than ever as he showed the _menu_ to Florence, and consulted with her over the special dainties they were to have for lunch. She said she would like beefsteak best and plenty of onions. She hoped he did not mind onions. He said he adored them, and Florence laughed and showed her white teeth. She really was an adorable girl; and her tastes were so simple. He asked her what she would like to drink, and she said water. He ordered water, therefore, for her and a bottle of Guinness' stout for himself. While they were partaking of their lunch, Florence told him that she and Brenda were going to London on the following day. "We are going to see Mr Timmins," she said. "Oh, your lawyer?" he remarked at once. "He is going to arrange with you about your future?" "Yes," she replied, very gravely; and she looked him full in the face. He returned her glance. "You are not going to stay in London, are you?" "Oh no," she answered. "Oh no; we are both going up by the nine o'clock train. We are travelling first-class." "Why, of course," said Lieutenant Reid. "I only wish I might come with you." "Oh no," said Florence, "you must not do that. He does not even wish poor Mrs Fortescue to come. He wants to see us quite alone." "He is going to make arrangements about you; I quite understand," said the lieutenant. It was there and then he made up his mind. If he did not seize the present opportunity, Florence, beautiful Florence would be snatched from him. Some one else, perhaps some horrid City magnate with lots of money, would come forward and win the darling girl. It could not, it must not be.