"I’m ravenous, by the way! Still, here goes. I went with Pennington about his camera—gone wrong—to the shop after I left the bank this afternoon. When I left him I came upon a hansom—empty—no driver—ugly brute of a horse, sort of pink roan. I was having a look at him when out came cabby from the public house. He had evidently ’met friends,’ as they say at home, and he hailed me as a long-lost brother. Well, I wanted to drive that hansom, wanted to see what it was like. He wouldn’t let me—swore he’d be taken up and so should I if we were found out. I tipped him. He hesitated. I let out a flood of native eloquence and another tip. I might drive it to the corner and up the next road and back to him. I did. Then at the corner I called back to him not to get anxious if I took a few hours getting to the end of that road. Heavens, he did swear! He started chasing me, too, but gave it up when he found a lamp-post in his way. I called out to him that all the tips over sixpence I won by my eloquence I should stick to. By Jove, it was a spree! I pulled my hat down over my eyes, turned up my collar, and trusted to the darkness to hide my aristocratic features from the bobbies. Then it struck me you’d get wondering where I was, and I pulled out a letter I’d taken down for old Pom-Pom to some man, and which I’d forgotten to send off, tore off the blank sheet, scrawled that message to you, shouted at a boy, threw it at his head, and sent him off with it. I’ve posted t’other half just now, by the way. Then I prepared to enjoy myself! I’ve taken tons of people to the theatres and restaurants. I made that brute go! But he nearly pulled my arms out of their sockets every now and then—had a mouth like my boots. Guess what I made—thirteen and six! Not bad, you know. But I needed it all to soften cabby’s wrath. He’d been in a dead funk that I’d made off with horse and cab for good. Oh, I can tell you, he was pretty eloquent! But I soothed him a bit with the thirteen and six. I wish I’d met Lancaster a bit sooner," he broke off, "I’d have made him pay double fare!" "Sooner?" Nell said. "Yes. Met him just now. He was apparently gazing at the house. Fallen in love with Aunt Kezia, perhaps." "Did—didn’t—he say anything?" "Not much. What d’you mean?" "I—I want to tell you something, Denis. I—I’ve been—mad, I think—" "Thought there was something up. What is it, old girl?" Nell suddenly turned and faced him. "You’ll hate me," she said, and plunged into her story. When she had done there was a little silence. She had averted her eyes from him in terror. She knew how a boy of his age would loathe the fuss she had made—how he would resent her going to Lancaster. She turned her eyes to him—he had buried his head in the cushion and was shaking with laughter! "Oh, poor old Lancaster! Did you really slang him like that, Nell? I can see him." She drew a deep breath. He sat up, rubbing his eyes.