_A Face From the Past._ Maida Crescent was little more than half a mile beyond the park. Philip thought it due to the lady he had beguiled that she should know exactly how he came to interfere in her behalf. She listened in silence, and when she spoke, there was a suggestion of shy nervousness oddly at variance with her spirited action of a few minutes earlier. "I cannot understand it at all," she said. "I am seldom out so late. My professional engagements are few and far between, I am sorry to say." "Were you attending a rehearsal at the Regent's Hall?" "Yes." "A rehearsal for Monsieur Jowkacsy's concert?" "Yes." She volunteered no further information, but Philip was a persistent person. "I do not remember another day in my life previously," he said, "when so many fortuitous events grouped themselves together in such a curious relationship. Even this adventure is a sequel to a prior incident. Just before I joined in the chase after you I had purchased some tickets for Jowkacsy's musicale. The strangest item of all is that I was practically walking away from the direction in which I live when my attention was drawn to the cabman's behavior." "Good gracious!" she protested, "am I taking you out of your way? I thought you merely happened to be driving after us through the park." She invited no confidences. She adhered strictly to the affair of the moment, and he had no option but to follow her cue. "I do not think I have ever been in Regent's Park before." "What an amazing circumstance--that you should gallop off in such fashion to the rescue of an unknown woman, I mean." "That, again, is original, or nearly so." "Are you a Londoner?" "To some extent--a little while each year. I live mostly on the sea." "Oh, that accounts for your gallantry. You are a sailor." "A yachtsman," corrected Philip. "How delightful. I have not even seen the sea for ages. One has to work so hard nowadays to obtain recognition. I do not object to the work, for I love music, but the bread-and-butter aspect is disagreeable, and--and--you have learned to-night how even the small amount of publicity I have achieved brings with it the risk of insult." "By the way," he said, quietly, striving not to add to the excitement under which she was certainly laboring, "one of those men is named Victor Grenier. You ought to know." "Thank you. How did you ascertain it?" "The cabman told me. He knew me." "The cabman knew you?" "Yes. I fly about town in hansoms. I am too lazy to walk." He regretted the slip. He was known to the tribe of Jehus on account of his generosity to their charities; moreover, was not one of the order his horse-master? The girl laughed, with a delightful merriment that relieved the tension. "You acted like an indolent person," she cried. "Do you know, I felt that you would have banged the heads of those men together in another instant." Their vehicle slackened pace, and curved toward the pavement in a quiet street.