"We go in, I suppose," said Louie. Without pausing, she moved towards the largest door (there was "Public Bar" written upon it) of an establishment that, if it lacked the garishness of a modern drinking-palace, was yet not quite the red-curtained, lattice-windowed, Christmas-number hostelry of Louie's imaginings. But Chaff, with a "No, not there," drew her round the corner to a quieter door, where small bay-trees stood in green tubs. The step had a brightly polished brass sill and a thick rubber mat perforated with the name "Molyneux Arms." Beyond the little vestibule were double doors with cut-glass panels and a diagonal brass bar on each and a piston for automatic closing at the top. "Perhaps you'd better wait here," said Chaff. "All right," said Louie, now heartily wishing she had not left her new abode in Mortlake Road, Putney. With a soft sigh of the piston, the brass-barred doors closed behind Chaff. This entrance lay in a short blind alley off the main street, the end of which seemed to be closed by a stableyard. Somebody over a brick wall was walking a horse over cobbles, and a man's voice muttered, "Come up." There was a light clashing of harness, and the same voice began a soft but strong singing, hoisting itself to the higher notes as if the interpolated aspirates had been so many stirrups: "No re-(_h_)est--but the gra-(_h_)ave For the pi-(_h_)ilgrim of Love!----" Then a back door opened, and a woman's voice was heard. "A gentleman to see you, James." The song ceased. "A what, Susan?" said the man's voice. "Remember----" "A gentleman--in a top hat," said the second voice. "You know that travellers sometimes have top hats, Susan," cautioned the first voice. "I'm sure it's a gentleman, James----" "Very well, let us hope you're not mistaken and that you were hooked up behind. Ask the gentleman to wait a minute." The voices ceased. Instinctively Louie had walked to a half-open coach door and had looked through. She saw a bright little picture. A horse was being put into a gay yellow trap, and the man who was buckling the harness had begun to sing again: "Oryn--thia, my Belovèd!----" All that Louie could see of him was a pair of glossy black boots and a pair of grey check trousers cut close about the knee. The harness twinkled; the horse's coat shone in the sun like Mr. Jeffries' hair; and somebody within the stable was running water into a bucket. Then the man came round the horse, and she saw him--cropped silver hair, long dewlapped chin, and a back and shoulders that might have served Henson's turn yet. And as Louie watched, with no more emotion than if the scene had been one on a coloured bioscope, he sang again: "Oryn--thia, my Belovèd!----"