He drew himself up to his slim height and looked first at the taxi driver and then at the heavy, swarthy man in evening dress, and then at her. “What’s the matter? Tell me,” he rapped out. “This man tried to insult me,” she gasped. Olivia never knew how it happened: it happened like some instantaneous visitation of God. The lithe young figure suddenly shot forward and the heavy man rolled yards away on the pavement. “Serve him damn well right,” said the driver; “but where do I come in with my window broken?” “Oh, you shall be paid, you shall be paid,” cried Olivia. “Pay him, Mr. Triona, and let us go.” Triona glanced up and down the street. “No, this gentleman’s going to pay,” he said quietly and advanced to the heavy man who had scrambled to unsteady feet. “Just you settle up with that cabman, quick, do you hear, or I’ll knock you down again. I could knock you down sixty times an hour. And so help me, God, if a copper comes in sight I’ll murder you.” “All right, all right,” said the man hurriedly. “I don’t want a scandal for the lady’s sake.” He turned to the taxi man. “How much do you want?” “With the damage it’ll be a matter of ten pound.” The swarthy man in evening dress fished out his note-case. “Here you are, you blackmailing thief.” “None of your back-chat, or I’ll finish off what this gentleman has begun,” said the taxi man, pocketing the money. Until he saw summary justice accomplished, Triona stood in the lee of the houses, his arm stretched protectingly in front of Olivia. Then he drew her away. “I’ll see the lady home. It’s only a few steps.” “Right, sir. Good night, sir,” said the taxi man. They moved on. Immediately in the silence of the night came the crisp exchange of words. “I’ll give you a pound to take me to Porchester Terrace.” “And I’d give a pound to see you walk there,” said the driver, already in his seat. He threw in the clutch and with a cheery “Good night” passed the extravagantly encountered pair. “They say miracles don’t happen, but one has happened now,” said Olivia breathlessly. “If you hadn’t come out of space——” “Do tell me something about it,” he asked. “But don’t you know?” “You said that profit-merchant had insulted you and that was enough for me.” “Oh, my God! I’m so ashamed!” she cried, with a wild, pretty gesture of her hands. “What will you think of me?” Mad words rushed through his brain, but before they found utterance he gripped himself. He had, once more, his hands on the controls. “What I think of you, Miss Gale, it would be wiser not to say. I should like to hear what has occurred. But, pardon me,” he said abruptly, noticing her curious, uneven step, and glancing down instinctively at her feet, “what has become of your shoe?” “My slipper—why, of course——” She halted, suddenly aware of the loss. “I must have left it in the cab. I stuck up my foot and reached for it and broke the window with the heel. I also think I hit him in the face.”