And when the morrow came, he found it, after all, safe enough, and an easy enough matter, to tuck Theodora's small, gloved hand under his arm, when they set out on their tour of investigation and discovery. The girl was pretty enough, too, in her soft, black merino--her "best" dress in Downport--but she was not dazzling. The little round, black-plumed hat was becoming also; but in his now more prosaic mood, he could stand that, too, pretty as it was in an innocent, unconsciously-coquettish way. Theo was never coquettish herself in the slightest degree. She was not world-wise enough for that yet. But she was quite exhilarating to-day; so glad to be out even in the London fog of November; so glad to be taken lion-hunting; so delighted with the shops and their gay windows; so ready to let her young tongue run on in a gay stream of chatter, altogether so bright, and pretty, and joyous, that her escort was fain to be delighted too. "Guess where we are going to first?" said he. (He had not before openly spoken of Priscilla to her.) She glanced up into his face, brightly. She remembered what he had told her about his lady friend. "I don't exactly know the name of the place," she said; "but I think I know the name of the person we are going to see." "Do you?" was his reply. "Then say it to me--let me hear it." "Miss Gower," she answered, softly, in a pretty reverence for him. "Miss Priscilla Gower." He nodded, slightly, with a curious mixture of expressions in his face. "Yes," he said. "Miss Gower, or rather Miss Priscilla Gower, as you say. Number twenty-three, Broome street; and Broome street is not a fashionable locality, my dear Theodora." "Isn't it?" queried Theo. "Why not?" He shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Lady Throckmorton," he said. "But do you know who Miss Priscilla Gower is, Theodora?" Her bright eyes crept up to his, half-timidly; but she said nothing, so he continued. "Miss Priscilla Gower is the young lady to whom I am to be married next July. Did you know that?" "Yes," answered Theo, looking actually pleased, and blushing beautifully as he looked down at her. "But I am very much obliged to you for telling me, Mr. Oglethorpe." "Why?" he asked. It was very preposterous, that even though his mood was so prosaic and paternal a one, he was absurdly, vacantly sensible of feeling some uneasiness at the brightness of her upturned face. For pity's sake, why was it that he was impelled to such a puerile weakness--such a vanity, as he sternly called it. "Because," returned Theo, "it makes me feel as if--I mean it makes me happy to think you trust me enough to tell me about what has made you happy. I hope--oh! I do hope Miss Priscilla Gower will like me." He had been looking straight before him while she spoke, but this brought his eyes to hers again, and to her face--bright, appealing, upturned--and he found himself absolutely obliged to steady himself with a jesting speech.