Then again the face which he had seen at the grave rose before him with silent pleadings, a face touching to a man's heart, with dry rose-leaf lips which she had a way of wetting quickly, and in her cheeks a die-away touch of the peach, purplish like white violets. And how did he know, the jealous youth, by what hundred reasons her nightly wandering might be accounted for? Why did he nourish that sort of resentment against a girl who was a perfect stranger? Perhaps there was really some jealousy in it! At which thought he laughed aloud, and suddenly darted into action, snatched a hat, and went flying. But then it was already past nine. When he reached Miss L'Estrange's flat, for some time no one answered his ring, and then the door opened but a little way to let out a voice which said: "What is it? I am not dressed. She's gone. I told you you'd be too late." "Is she gone?" said David, blankly, eager enough now to see her. "Look here, why should I be bothered with the lot of you at this ungodly hour of the morning?" cried the fickle L'Estrange. "_I_ can't help your troubles! Can't you see when anybody is in bed?" "But why did you let her go before I came?" asked David. "You are cool! Am I your mother?" "I wish you were for this once." "Nice mother and son we little two would make, wouldn't we?" "That's not the point. I'm afraid you are getting cold. You ought to have contrived to keep the girl till I came, though it is my own fault. But can't anything be done now? Where is she gone to?" "To Strauss, of course." "With the certificates?" "I suppose so. I know nothing about it, and care less. I did try to keep her back a bit for your sake, but she was pretty keen to be gone to him when once she had his address, the underhanded little wretch!" "But stop--how long is it since she has gone?" "Not three minutes. It's just possible that you might catch her up, if you look alive." "How can that be? I shouldn't know her. I have never seen her. We may have passed each other in the street." "Listen. She is a small, slim girl with nearly white hair and little Chinese eyes. She has on a blue serge skirt with my old astrakhan bolero and a sailor hat. Now you can't miss her." "But which way? Where does Strauss live?" "I promised not to tell, and I'm always as good as my word," cried the reliable Miss Ermyn L'Estrange, "but between you and me, it's not a thousand miles from Piccadilly Circus; and that is where Jenny will get down off her bus; so if you take a cab--" "Excellent. Good-by! See you again!" said David.