The shadows had lengthened, the sun was sinking behind the trees in Kensington Gardens, and at length I cast away the end of my last remaining cigarette and rose to depart. Perhaps some untoward incident had occurred, and I should receive a further communication from my unknown correspondent. I had, at least, carried out my part of the compact, and was therefore free. So I took my stick and set forth towards Grosvenor Gate at a brisk pace, for I was tired of waiting, and my limbs were cramped by my long and fruitless vigil. I had almost reached the gate leading out to Park Lane when of a sudden, at a sharp bend of the path, a dark figure loomed up before me. In an instant I drew up speechless, aghast, amazed. The mystery was absolutely dumbfounding. CHAPTER TWELVE. "IT IS HIS!" The figure before me was that of a woman, calm, sweet-faced, her countenance rendered piquant by its expression of surprise. It was none other than Mabel Anson. Dressed in a tight-fitting tailor-made gown of some dark cloth, and a neat toque, she looked dignified and altogether charming. The slight severity of attire became her well, for it showed her marvellous figure to perfection, while the dash of red in her hat gave the necessary touch of colour to complete a tasteful effect. Her countenance was concealed by the thinnest of gauze veils, and as she held forth her well-gloved hand with an expression of pleasure at the unexpected meeting, her bangles jingled musically. "This is indeed a most pleasant surprise, Miss Anson," I said, when I recovered speech, for so sudden had been our encounter that in the moment of my astonishment my tongue refused to utter a sound. "And to me also," she laughed. "I've been wondering and wondering when we should meet again," I blurted forth. "I'm so very glad to see you." For the first few moments after she had allowed her tiny hand to rest for an instant in mine we exchanged conventionalities, and then suddenly, noting a roll of music in her hand, I asked-- "Are you going home?" "Yes, across the Park," she laughed. "Mother forbids it, but I much prefer the Park to those stuffy omnibuses." "And you've been to your music, I suppose?" I inquired. "Yes. I've not been well for the past few days, and have missed several lessons. Now, like a good pupil, I'm endeavouring to make them up, you know." And she laughed merrily. "How many times a week do you go to the Academy?" I asked, surprised that she should have gone there that day, after what the hall-porter had told me. "Twice, as a general rule," she remarked; "but just now I'm rather irregular." "And so you prefer to cross the Park rather than ride by omnibus?"