"This evening, I should think. I must work till four; I've a novel to do for _The Pilgrim_, and I've not read a line yet." "Oh, don't bother about that. 'Smell the paper-knife' instead; let's go to the 'copy shop.'" "Afraid I can't; I must do it. Look here, I will come round about ten this evening. Don't be drunk." "Right oh! I'll go back now and get my rooms into some sort of order." He rolled a cigarette and roamed about the room, looking for his hat. "It's gone to the devil, I think," he said. "In that case you'll find it again some day. There it is, though--under the sofa. I thought you didn't believe in the devil." "Satan may be dead, as the hedonists think; but I expect someone still carries on the business." When he had gone Gobion got to work, and wrote steadily till three, when he went to the "copy shop" to get something to eat. They kept him waiting some little time. Albert, the waiter, who was supposed to be smart in his profession, on this occasion hid his talent (no doubt in a napkin), and Gobion had only a minute to spare when he got to Victoria. The train curved into the station and pulled up slowly. He made for the door of a first-class carriage where he saw Mr. Lovering getting out. The parson was a little man, all forehead and nose. When Gobion came up he was struggling with a bundle of rugs and umbrellas. "Ah, dear boy, you have come then. So good of you. Get Marjorie out while I find our luggage." Then Marjorie came down from the carriage, glowing with health and spirits, her dark eyes flashing when they saw Gobion. "Dearest," he said. She put her little gloved hand into his, looking up in his face, while his blood ran faster through his veins. "Caradoc, dear, it _is_ so jolly to see you again; we are going to stay in London for over a fortnight, and you shall take me about everywhere. Oh, here's father." The little man bustled up. He was one of those dreadful people whom a railway journey excites to a species of frenzy. He ran up and down the platform, dancing round the truck which held his baggage, holding a piece of paper in his hand, muttering, "One black bag--yes; two corded trunks--yes; one hat-box--yes; two boxes of ferns--yes; one bundle of rugs--y--NO! Marjorie! _where_ are the rugs? Gobion, I _know_ I had the rugs _after_ we got out--a big bundle with a striped red and green one on the outside." "You're carrying it, aren't you, Mr. Lovering?" "Dear me! so I am. How very stupid of me! Now if you will get a cab I should be so obliged--a four-wheeler, mind!" Gobion secured one and came back, standing by Marjorie while the luggage was hoisted on the roof. "I do hate a silly old four-wheeler!" she said. "Never mind, dearest, soon we'll go about in a hansom together to your heart's content--jump in! May I call to-morrow, Mr. Lovering?" "Yes, yes, dear boy--you know the address. Good-bye for the present."