"Take me home, Herr Schmidt, please," she cried. In the cab the reaction came. Suppose she had been making a fuss about nothing? What would Denis think of her? Two tears fell with a little splash on her ungloved hands. She turned suddenly to her big, silent companion. "Herr Schmidt, was I horrid to you about coming with me?" "Ach, mein Fräulein! I intrude, I know—-" "Oh, you don’t, you don’t! I think you have been beautiful! I’ll never forget it!" "Fräulein, you are goot to say so, but I am troubled. I haf ze unquiet conscience about you." "You needn’t have, Herr Schmidt. I—" with a sudden wild Irish change of feeling, "I believe I have just been making a fuss about nothing!" She gave a quick little laugh. "Oh, Herr Schmidt, it’s nothing at all! Don’t go making mountains out of it." "Fräulein, I will think of it as a mere young maid’s episode. Hein? A mere naughty prank." She laughed almost hysterically. "That’s it, Herr Schmidt!" She went up to the Stronghold and sat down wearily. Only five minutes to ten now! It seemed hours since she had left that room. She sat doing nothing—just waiting. She had not long to wait. In a very little while there was a ring at the door; she sat forward, listening breathlessly, but she did not go downstairs. Then she heard him coming up. He strode into the room, laughing. "I say, old girl, such a spree! Never enjoyed myself so much since I’ve been in London! Spoilt my gloves a bit! Given ’em quite the dear old look—" "What have you been doing, Denis?" "Driving a hansom!" "A—is that _all_?" "Rather! Quite enough, too, with a brute like that! What’s up, Nell?" She had risen and gone across to the window; she was looking out with great interest through one of the slats of the Venetian blind. "Nothing. Tell me about it."