“If he doesn't---- She went no further. “Will Cherry be there?” Her face flashed down on him, white and stabbing. “_Again_. Always Cherry.” Later she whispered, “Forgive me, Peter.” Without a word, they passed through tunnels of muted houses. The sky closed down on them. The rain drew a curtain about them. The slap of the horses' hoofs upon the paving started echoes. Traffic slipped by them spectrelike, as if moving in another world. Now it was between shuttered shops of Regent Street that they trotted. At last Trafalgar Square, vast and chaotic, a pagan temple from which the roof had fallen! They strained forward from the box, searching through the darkness. From the entrance to The Métropole light streamed across the pavement. It was the end of their journey. As the horn sounded, a man stepped out from shelter. For a moment--but no; he had only been sent to take the coach to the stables. As they clattered to a standstill, several guests came out on to the steps of the hotel to watch them. The guard climbed down and ran to the leaders' heads. No one was there to greet them--no one who was familiar. She laughed high up, excitedly, “What did I tell you?” “Not there,” he agreed reluctantly; “neither of them.” She touched his hand and caught her breath. “As I said--neither of them care. You and I--we're still alone.” He was sorry for her, guessing her disappointment. Had Lorie been there it would have spelt forgiveness. Big Ben boomed ten. He started. “Hulloa! I'm dished. I can't get back.” “You're not going back? You don't want to leave me? Say you don't.” He was embarrassed. He didn't know what to make of her. She was on his hands; he ought to be in Oxford. Evidently she had been harder hit than she acknowledged. He tried to speak cheerfully. “Look here, it's time we became sensible. That chap's waiting for us to scramble down--he wants to take the horses. Let's go into the hotel. I'll engage a room for you--high time you got those wet things off. Nice little mess we've made of it! When I've seen you settled, I'll toddle off to Topbury and spend the night with my people.” “Will you?” She glanced at him slantingly. To his immense surprise, she brought the whip down smartly across the horses. As the leaders darted forward the guard, taken unaware, was thrown off his balance. As Peter looked back through the steaming mist, he saw him picking himself up from the pavement, waving his arms and shouting. Utterly bewildered by her shifting moods, he turned to her, “You've left that chap behind.---- I wish you'd tell me what the game is. I don't want you to drive me to Topbury and, anyhow, the Embankment's all out of the direction.” “I'm not driving you to Topbury, stupid.” He spoke more sternly, “Seriously, you must tell me. You've brought me to London and--by Jove, I almost believe you tried to make me miss my train. It isn't sporting. Why don't you turn back to The Métropole. I'll get you a room and----.”