Unresisted he took the strap from her, with its tightly wedged pencil case above the school primers. For her thoughts were far away, her dark brows drawn together as she went on steadily in her own defence. "I hate being cross with you--but it's not fair play! You wouldn't like it yourself if you were me, Peter. It didn't matter last year when I was in the Juniors, but now I'm a First Senior" ... pride lay in the words ... "it's quite a different thing. We think it jolly bad form in _my_ set, you know." Instinctively in talking she had fallen into his step. McTaggart glanced sideways, as they turned up Portland Place, at the pretty, flushed face with its dark frame of hair under the little furry cap, pulled close about her ears. "All right, Jill. I won't do it again. I'll admit I was tempted, being sorely in need of a pal. I'd just been through a bad half hour, you see, and was weakly yearning for a little sympathy." She looked up quickly with affectionate concern; for he knew the royal road to her instant forgiveness. "Bills?" He laughed aloud at the laconic suggestion. Then a shade of pity seized the man. Despite her youthful years she spoke from experience. "Not this time." On the verge of confidence, he checked himself, moved by a sudden reticence. "Do you think your mother would give me some lunch? Or, better still, will you come and lunch with me?" He halted as he spoke. "There's Pagani's now, it's not far from here,--in Great Portland Street." She shook her head. "I'd love to"--her voice was regretful--"but I must get back. I've promised Roddy. He's home for his exeat and we're going to the Zoo. You'd better lunch with us if you don't mind pot luck. But we mustn't be late; we've got a new cook." "Another?" McTaggart laughed. It seemed a familiar joke. "The fourth since the Summer," the girl answered dryly. "But Stephen found this one, so she _ought_ to be perfect!" They turned up the Broad Walk where the fog still hung, white and shadowy over the sodden grass. Here and there a nurse moved with steady intention, children trotting beside her, homeward to lunch; and upon a damp bench, oblivious of the weather, a loving couple lingered, speechlessly hand in hand. "And how is the great Stephen? I haven't seen him for years." "Oh, he's just the same." The girl's voice was weary. She stared straight ahead as they swung along together, and a short silence followed that both understood. For they met here on the grounds of a common mistrust, and a hatred shared is a stronger link than even that of love. At the turnstile McTaggart paused, watching her thoughtful face. "Let's go by the Inner Circle, it's a much nicer way." "All right." The words were husky, and, as she passed through, the dark lashes hid from him her downcast eyes. But not before McTaggart had seen what she tried to disguise--the tears standing there in their clear gray depths. "Why, Jill!--why, my dear, whatever is the matter?"