The girl smiled, a little wistfully. "How funny! But you will get a good dinner, won't you, Arnold? Eat ever so much, dear. Yesterday I fancied that you were getting thin. I do wish I could see what you have in the middle of the day." "Little mother!" he laughed. "To-day I gorged myself on poached eggs. What did Isaac give you?" "Mutton stew and heaps of it," the girl replied, quickly. "To-night I shall have a bowl of milk as soon as you are gone. Have you everything you ought to have to wear, Arnold?" "Everything," he declared, rising to his feet with a sigh of relief. "It's so long since I looked at my clothes that to tell you the truth I was a little bit anxious. They may be old-fashioned, but they came from a good man to start with." "What made Mr. Weatherley ask you?" she demanded. "Wanted one of his clerks to fill up and found that I played bridge," Arnold answered. "It's rather a bore, isn't it? But, after all, he is my employer." "Of course you must go and behave your very nicest. Tell me, when have you to start?" "I ought to be changing in a quarter of an hour. What shall we do till then?" "Whatever you like," she murmured. "I am coming to sit at the window with you," he said. "We'll look down at the river and you shall tell me stories about the ships." She laughed and took his hand as he dragged a chair over to her side. He put his arm around her and her head fell naturally back upon his shoulder. Her eyes sought his. He was leaning forward, gazing down between the curving line of lamp-posts, across the belt of black river with its flecks of yellow light. But Ruth watched him only. "Arnie," she whispered in his ear, "there are no fairy ships upon the river to-night." He smiled. "Why not, little one? You have only to close your eyes." Slowly she shook her head. "Don't think that I am foolish, dear," she begged. "To-night I cannot look upon the river at all. I feel that there is something new here--here in this room. The great things are here, Arnold. I can feel life hammering and throbbing in the air. We aren't in a garret any longer, dear. It's a fairy palace. Listen. Can't you hear the people shout, and the music, and the fountains playing? Can't you see the dusky walls fall back, the marble pillars, the lights in the ceiling?" He turned his head. He found himself, indeed, listening, found himself almost disappointed to hear nothing but the far-off, eternal roar of the city, and the melancholy grinding of a hurdy-gurdy below. Always she carried him away by her intense earnestness, the bewitching softness of her voice, even when it was galleons full of treasure that she saw, with blood-red sails, coming up the river, full of treasure for them. To-night her voice had more than its share of inspiration, her fancies clung to her feverishly. "Be careful, Arnold," she murmured. "To-night means a change. There is something new coming. I can feel it coming in my heart."