He took her hand and held it, while his eyes travelled from her delicate face to her pale cloth gown, from her soft furs to the bunch of roses fastened in her muff, The sight of her was a curious relief. Her cool, slim fingers were so casual, yet so clinging, her voice and her presence were so redolent of easy, artificial things. “How well you look!” he said, involuntarily. Again she laughed. “That's my prerogative,” she responded, lightly. “But I was serious in being glad to see you. Sarcastic people are always so intuitive. I'm looking for some one with intuition.” Chilcote glanced up. “Extravagant again?” he said, dryly. She smiled at him sweetly. “Jack!” she murmured with slow reproach. Chilcote laughed quickly. “I understand. You've changed your Minister of Finance. I'm wanted in some other direction.” This time her reproach was expressed by a glance. “You are always wanted,” she said. The words seemed to rouse him again to the shadowy self-distrust that the sight of her had lifted. “It's--it's delightful to meet you like this,” he began, “and I wish the meeting wasn't momentary. But I'm--I'm rather pressed for time. You must let me come round one afternoon--or evening, when you're alone.” He fumbled for a moment with the collar of his coat, and glanced furtively upward towards Oxford Street. But again Lillian smiled--this time to herself. If she understood anything on earth it was Chilcote and his moods. “If one may be careless of anything, Jack,” she said, lightly, “surely it's of time. I can imagine being pressed for anything else in the world. If it's an appointment you're worrying about, a motor goes ever so much faster than a cab--” She looked at him tentatively, her head slightly on one side, her muff raised till the roses and some of the soft fur touched her cheek. She looked very charming and very persuasive as Chilcote glanced back. Again she seemed to represent a respite--something graceful and subtle in a world of oppressive obligations. His eyes strayed from her figure to the smart motor-car drawn up beside the curb. She saw the glance. “Ever so much quicker,” she insinuated; and, smiling again, she stepped forward from the door of the shop. After a second's indecision Chilcote followed her. The waiting car had three seats--one in front for the chauffeur, two vis-a-vis at the back, offering pleasant possibilities of a tete-a-tete. “The Park--and drive slowly,” Lillian ordered, as she stepped inside, motioning Chilcote to the seat opposite. They moved up Bond Street smoothly and rapidly. Lillian was absorbed in the passing traffic until the Marble Arch was reached; then, as they glided through the big gates, she looked across at her companion. He had turned up the collar of his coat, though the wind was scarcely perceptible, and buried, himself in it to the ears.