"Very well, then, I'll make one for you." He refilled her glass and handed it to her. "Now say after me: 'I resolve that during the coming year I will be good friends with Micky Mellowes----' Oh, I say, don't--please don't...." She had dropped her face in her hands again, and Micky had a miserable conviction that she was crying. But he was wrong, for presently she looked up again, and her eyes were dry, though a little hard and bright. "I don't believe in a man's friendship for a woman," she said. "But I'll say it, if you like," and she took the glass from his hand. "And to-morrow," said Micky presently, "I'm going to take you out to tea or something--if I may," he added hurriedly. He waited, but she did not speak. "May I?" he asked. She was twisting the stem of her wineglass nervously; after a moment she began to speak jerkily. "When I came out to-night I didn't mean to go back any more," she said. Her voice was low and full of a weary bitterness. "I was so unhappy I didn't want to live." She caught her breath. "If it hadn't been for you"--she was looking at him now with shame in her eyes. "If it hadn't been for you I shouldn't have gone back--ever----" she added. "But now...." "But now," said Micky as she paused, "you're going back, and we're going to start the new year--friends, you and I! Is that a bargain?" he asked. "Yes...." Outside Micky hailed a taxicab. "You're much too tired to walk," he said when she protested. "And it will be a new experience for Charlie," he added with a twinkle. He put her into the cab, and stood for a moment at the door. "And the address?" he asked. She hesitated, looking away from him; then suddenly she told him. "It's Brixton Road--it's--it's a very horrid boarding-house," she added with a half-sigh. "Boarding-houses are all horrid," said Micky cheerily. "But I'll come down myself to-morrow and see how bad it really is." He tried to see her face. "Shall you be in if I come in the afternoon?" he asked anxiously. "Yes." "About four, then," said Micky. He groped for her hand, found it, and pressed it. "Good-night," he said. "Good-night." And the next moment Micky was alone in the starlight. He stood looking after the taxi with a queer sense of unreality. Had he just dreamt it all, and was there really no such girl as Esther Shepstone? No Charlie? He shook himself together with a laugh. Of course it was real, all of it! He walked on soberly through the cold night. To-morrow he would go to the very horrid boarding-house in the Brixton Road and see her again. Esther! He liked her name; there was something quaint and old-world about it. It seemed impossible that they had only met a few hours ago. His headache had quite vanished. He was whistling a snatch of song when he let himself into the house and went upstairs.