High above him an orange sun was swung in the misty heavens, putting to shame the wistful gleam of the pale lamps below, with their air of straggling revellers caught by the dawn. A carriage rolled down the street and was met by a passing taxi, and then, as he moved forward rejoicing to himself, into the foggy calm came a sudden stir of life: the sound of young voices, of laughter and light feet. From under a gloomy portico a crowd of girls swept forth, gathered in groups of twos and threes and dissolved into the fog, chattering and linking arms, swinging bags of books, north and south they scattered with a sweet note of youth. And at the sight McTaggart came to a sudden halt, conscious that he had received the answer to his prayer; that steadily growing wish for the presence of a friend to share in the new-born exuberance of his mood. He crossed the street quickly and joined in the crowd, receiving demure glances of studied unconcern and here and there a frown from elderly duennas whose acid displeasure added to his amusement. But cool, and imperturbable, he proceeded to run the gauntlet until on the steps of the College itself he saw a lonely figure busily engaged in tightening the strap that held together exercises and books. His hand was already midway to his hat when the girl raised a pair of dark-fringed gray eyes and favoured him with a cold glance of non-recognition. For a second McTaggart stared, clearly taken aback. Then, with an impatient gesture, he walked straight past, recrossed the road and turned up a side street. Here he slackened his pace, and, smiling to himself, was presently rewarded by the sound of hurrying steps; but, conscious of former warnings, refrained from looking back until a breathless voice sounded in his ear. "Peter!" He walked on with mischievous intention, "Peter--it's _me_!" He felt a touch on his arm. "Hullo!" He wheeled round. "Why, it's Jill!--what a surprise!" The gray-eyed girl looked up at him with a reproving frown, at his handsome, laughing face and unrepentant air. "I _wish_ you'd remember!" She stood there, slim and straight; as it seemed to him, a-quiver with the miracle of life. For not all the shabby clothes she wore, from the little squirrel cap which, with the tie about her throat, had seen better days, to the short tweed skirt revealing mended boots, could mar the spring-like radiance of her golden youth. "You're a prim little school miss," said McTaggart teasingly. "I'm _not_." She drew back, her head very high, the thick plait of dark hair swinging with the movement. "You don't understand, you really _are_ dense! I've told you heaps of times, not in Harley Street." He gave a happy chuckle, warming to the fray. "Now, don't stand there quarrelling, but give me your books. I'll walk home with you if you're a good girl."