The two ladies seated themselves in the luxurious landau with an ease that showed familiarity, but Mrs. Atherley, being a woman, could not help being troubled in the matter of dress. "The Savoy!" she murmured, as the rubber-tired vehicle glided away noiselessly. "I have not been there for years. And people at supper are always attired so fashionably. Could we not----" The girl put her arm around her waist. "Just for once, mamma, you shall not care a little bit, and none may be the wiser. Here is Mr. Anson--quite an _élégant_ himself--he would never guess that our gowns were homemade." "The women, dear one. They will know." "Oh, you deceiver! You said my toilet was perfect, and I am quite sure yours is." This logic was incontrovertible. Mrs. Atherley sighed, and asked what took place the previous night. Philip imagined that the girl hung back, so he boldly undertook an explanation. By describing the cabman as apparently intoxicated, and certainly impudent, he covered a good deal of ground, and the rest was easy. When they reached the Savoy, the anxious mother had relegated the incident to the limbo of unimportant things. Only one other matter troubled her--the somewhat unconventional origin of her daughter's acquaintance with this pleasant-mannered young gentleman. She was far too tactful to hint at such a point just then. It should be reserved for home discussion. Meanwhile, they were early arrivals. The head waiter marshaled them to a window table. Mrs. Atherley smiled; she knew her London. "You were sure we would accompany you?" she cried. "Not at all sure; only hopeful," said Philip. "Ah, well. It is good occasionally to revisit the old scenes. No, Elf, I will sit here; I will not be _en face_ to that row of tables. Half a dozen people would certainly recognize me, and I do not wish it." Elf! The name drove Philip's thoughts backward with a bound--back to a torrential night in a London square, and the tearing open of a carriage door in time to save a sweet little girl all robed in white, who, but for him, would have fallen with an overturned vehicle. Elf! It was an unusual pet name. The child of ten years ago would be about the age of the lively and spirituelle girl by his side. The child had faced her enraged uncle on that memorable night; the woman had refused to leave him when she thought danger threatened in the park. Could it be possible! He was startled, bewildered, utterly dumfounded by even the remote possibility that another figure from the past should come before him in such wise. "Mr. Anson! What have you found in the menu to perplex you so terribly? Does danger lurk in the _agneau du printemps_? Is there a secret horror in the _salmi_?" Evelyn's raillery restored his scattered wits. "May I say something personal?" he inquired. "About the lamb?" "About you? Mrs. Atherley called you 'Elf' just now." "Yes. I regret that I earned the title in ages past. The habits have ceased, but the name remains."