“Mrs. Garling,” he went on, gravely, “when may I see you again?” By the light of a passing lamp she saw his eyes fixed on her, and her own did not falter. “I don’t think we’d better meet again,” she said, steadily. “My husband has rather peculiar ideas on the subject.” “That, of course, is quite unthinkable,” he remarked. “I have never enjoyed such a wonderful evening before.” “No more have I,” she said, staring out of the window. She felt his hand close over hers, and for a while she made no effort to remove it. Then with a little shiver she almost snatched her hand away. “Captain Denver,” she said, “this is folly. I must tell you that my husband is almost crazily jealous of me. If he were to know that you and I were driving home at this hour of the night in a taxi alone, I think he’d probably try to—try to kill me. It sounds incredible, but it’s the truth. He becomes like a madman if I even speak to another man; in fact, there have been times when I really believe he has been out of his senses.” “But it’s preposterous,” he said, angrily. “He can’t keep you shut up like a prisoner.” “He would if he could,” she answered. “A truce to this fooling, Hilda,” said Denver, urgently. “We’re nearly at your house. I must see you again; I _must_. It may be folly, or it may not. I know I only met you eight hours ago—what’s that matter? Time has no meaning on some occasions. I’m being crude, too; I know that, but the circumstances make it imperative. May I motor over from Aldershot and call on you?” The taxi was already slowing up. “It’s madness,” she whispered, “absolute madness.” “Then I’m going to be mad,” he remarked quietly, as the car stopped. The other taxi was just behind them, and for a moment or two they all stood talking on the pavement. Then, with a prodigious yawn, Joan voted for bed, and the two girls went indoors. “A gladsome night,” she said, sleepily. “And it strikes me, Hilda, my dear, that for a little sheltered country rose you’re a pretty high-class performer. He’s a pet, that man Denver; in fact, I’d have changed over half-way through if I hadn’t known there wasn’t a look-in for little Joan. Did he kiss you in the bus coming home?” “Joan—how can you ask such a thing?” cried Hilda, blushing furiously. “Cut it out, my angel—cut it out. If he didn’t he’s a mutt—and so are you. Heigh-ho! bed for this child.” True to his word, Jack Denver drove his car over from Aldershot to the Pines three days later. He stayed to tea and talked more to Hubert than to her. And after tea he suggested a spin to Hindhead and the Devil’s Punchbowl. “I’m afraid an open car is one of the things I’m forbidden,” said Hubert. “Then what about you, Mrs. Garling?” asked Jack. “My wife doesn’t care about motoring,” said her husband harshly.