Chilcote jerked the book, then laughed with a touch of embarrassment. “Oh, the crosses? Merely to remind me that certain 'appointments must be kept. You know my beastly memory! But what about the day? Shall we fix the day?” His voice was in control, but mentally her trivial question had disturbed and jarred him. “What day shall we say?” he repeated. “Monday in next week?” Lillian glanced up with a faint exclamation of disappointment. “How horribly faraway!” She spoke with engaging petulance, and, leaning forward afresh, drew the book from Chilcote's hand. “What about to-morrow?” she exclaimed, turning back a page. “Why not to-morrow? I knew I saw a blank space.” “To-morrow! Oh, I--I--” He stopped. “Jack!” Her voice dropped. It was true that she desired Chilcote's opinion on her adventure, for Chilcote's opinion on men and manners had a certain bitter shrewdness; but the exercise of her own power added a point to the desire. If the matter had ended with the gain or loss of a tete-a-tete with him, it is probable that, whatever its utility, she would not have pressed it, but the underlying motive was the stronger. Chilcote had been a satellite for years, and it was unpleasant that any satellite should drop away into space. “Jack!” she said again, in a lower and still more effective tone; and, lifting her muff, she buried her face in her flowers. “I suppose I shall have to dine and go to a music-hall with Leonard--or stay at home by myself,” she murmured, looking out across the trees. Again Chilcote glanced over the long, tan-strewn ride. They had made the full circuit of the park. “It's tiresome being by one's self,” she murmured. For a while he was irresponsive, then slowly his eyes returned to her face. He watched her for a second, and, leaning quickly towards her, he took his book and scribbled something in the vacant space. She watched him interestedly; her face lighted up, and she laid aside her muff. “Dear Jack!” she said. “How very sweet of you!” Then, as he held the book towards her, her face fell. “Dine 33 Cadogan Gardens, 8 o'c. Talk with L.,” she read. “Why, you've forgotten the essential thing!” He looked up. “The essential thing?” She smiled. “The blue cross,” she said. “Isn't it worth even a little one?” The tone was very soft. Chilcote yielded. “You have the blue pencil,” he said, in sudden response to her mood. She glanced up in quiet pleasure at her Success, and, with a charming affectation of seriousness, marked the engagement with a big cross. At the same moment the car slackened speed, as the chauffeur waited for further orders. Lillian shut the engagement-book and handed it back. “Where can I drop you?” she asked. “At the club?” The question recalled him to a sense of present things. He thrust the book into his pocket and glanced about him.