"Because I'm going to walk you up the Avenue and into the Park and about six times round the reservoir. Can you stand it?" Betty laughed. "Try me, and if I faint from exhaustion you can carry me into the street and call a taxicab. I'm not afraid of anything with you." "That's fine! This is the first time we've been really alone since I came back. It'll take from now until the middle of next week to tell you even half the things I've got to say. First of all, I love you." "_Darling_ Peter." "I love you more than I ever did, much more--a hundred times more--and I don't care who hears me say so." That was true. He made this statement, not in a whisper, but in his natural voice, and it was overheard by several passers-by who turned their heads,--and being women, smiled sympathetically and went on their way with the deep thrill of the young giant's voice ringing in their ears like music. They stood for a moment on the curbstone trying to find an opportunity to cross the street. Betty gave herself up to the masterly person at her side without a qualm. She adored being led by the arm through traffic which she wouldn't have dared to dodge had she been alone. It gave her a new and splendid sense of security and dependence. The rain had begun to fall softly. It gathered strength as they turned into Fifth Avenue, and came down smartly. Betty didn't intend to say a word about the fact that she was wearing a new hat. It had escaped Peter's notice. Her face was all he saw. He wasn't even aware that it was raining until he took her arm and found her sleeve was wet. "Good Lord!" he said. "This won't do. Dash this rain, it's going to spoil our walk. Where can we go? I know." A line of taxis was standing on a stand. He opened the door of the first one. "Pop in, baby," he said. "We'll drive to the Ritz and have tea. I can't have you getting wet." Betty popped in, not really so profoundly sorry to escape that strenuous walk as Peter was. Being a wise man he took full advantage of the taxicab, and for all the fact that it was broad daylight and that anybody who chose could watch him, he gave Betty a series of kisses which did something to make up for lost time and a long separation. The new hat suffered rather in the process, but what did that matter? This was love. Hats could be replaced--such a love as his, never. "Your father is a great chap," said Peter. "We had a good yarn last night. By Jove! I wish my father had something of his friendly way. I felt that there was nothing I couldn't tell him--nothing that he wouldn't understand. Well, well; there it is. Graham and I will have to worry along as best we may. Everything'll come out all right, I hope." "How did you like mother?" asked Betty. "Well," said Peter, considering his answer with the greatest care, "she's undoubtedly a wonderful woman, but she scares me to death. The very first thing she did was to ask me to speak at one of her meetings."