"He's talking to that artist chap. Now, softly into the passage, and then we'll make a bolt for it." But he paused for a moment, very near her, his eyes on her frightened face. "You dear thing--don't worry! I hate to see you look like that." For a second's space he fought hard against the temptation of her answering smile. Then, drawing back, he led the way noiselessly into the hall. The ruse succeeded, but outside a further problem awaited them. For Mason was "taking her time" conscientiously earning her tip. "I can't leave you here alone." McTaggart's glance swept the street. "What shall we do? Walk to Marshall's? or--isn't that your car there?" He pointed out a landaulette, drawn up against the curb. "Is Willcox safe, do you think?" Willcox was the Cadells' chauffeur. He despised the family whom he served, realizing with the flair of his kind their status as parvenu. But he made an exception of Cydonia. Her sweet voice and well-bred face induced in him the belief of blue blood--achieved by some worthy misdemeanor! The girl, aware of his silent worship, welcomed the sight of him with relief. "He'll say nothing--how splendid! I'll just get into the car and wait." McTaggart agreed. "You can explain you saw your Father go into the Gallery. And, as you felt tired, dispatched Mason to do your shopping, while you rested." "Yes. That's it." She nodded her head. "Please go now. He might come out. You know what a rush he's always in." She reached the carriage breathlessly, with a glance at the chauffeur's impassive face. "Willcox--I'll wait inside. Mr. Cadell won't be long." McTaggart tucked the rug around her. "To-morrow," he whispered, "at Lady Leason's." Then, out loud, "Good-bye, Miss Cadell--I won't forget your Mother's dance." "Good-bye, Mr. McTaggart." She smiled at the formal address. Stiff and discreet on the box Willcox was smiling too. He was conscious of the whole manoeuvre, and in his heart he approved. He watched McTaggart stride away, with his careless, well-bred walk, pause at the corner and glance back surreptitiously through the crowd. And then he heard his young mistress call in a low, quick voice, "Mason!" And the maid's excuse, rather frightened. "I hope I'm not late, miss--I've got the satin." "A little," Cydonia calmly replied, "but you needn't wait. Give me the parcel. I'm driving home with Mr. Cadell when he's bought that picture we went to see." CHAPTER X "If you please, miss"--the untidy maid stood in the doorway, aggressively--"the chicken 'asn't come yet and Cook sez it would be no good sending round, as the shop's shut." Jill jumped up from the floor where she crouched drying her wet hair before the fire. She glanced up at the clock and frowned. "Why, it's half past seven!--Of course. She ought to have told me long ago."