"Kervyn," she said. "You won't forget?" "No." "I think you had better say 'no, dear.' Try it." "No--dear." "Try it again." "No, dear." "Letter perfect," he said, trying to speak lightly. "You see you look about seventeen, and it's plain we couldn't have been married very long. So it's safer to say 'yes, dear,' and 'no, dear,' every time. You won't forget, Karen, will you?" She flushed a trifle when her name fell from his lips. "No, dear," she said in a low voice. "And if anybody addresses you as Mrs. Guild--will you try to be prepared?" "Yes--dear. Yes, I will--Kervyn." He laughed a trifle excitedly. "You are perfect--and really adorable in the part," he said. And his nervous excitement in the imminence of mutual danger subtly excited her. "I ought to do it well," she said; "I have studied dramatic art and I have had some stage experience. It's a part and I _must_ do it well. I shall, really--Kervyn, dear." He laughed; the dangerous game was beginning to exhilarate them both, and a vivid colour began to burn in her delicate cheeks. Suddenly the blond chauffeur pulled the car up along the curb in a crowded street and stopped. "It is better, sir, to take a hansom from here to the wharf." "Do you think so?" "Yes, sir.... Pardon, sir, here are passports for madam and yourself." And he handed the papers very coolly to Guild. The young man changed colour, realizing instantly that the papers were forged. "Had I better take these?" he asked under his breath. "Yes, sir," said Bush, smiling his eternal smile and opening the car door for them. Guild descended. Bush set the luggage on the curb, touched his cap, and said: "Walk south, sir, until a cabby hails you. Good-bye, sir. A pleasant trip, madam." And he sprang back into the car, started it, and rolled away grinning from ear to ear. Guild took the luggage in both hands; Karen walked beside him. At the end of the square the driver of a hansom held up one hand inquiringly, then smiled and drew in to the curb. "Fresh Wharf, sir?" asked the cabby. "Yes," said Guild, calmly, red with surprise. "Thanks, sir. I understand all about it." CHAPTER VII THE SATCHEL It was only a short drive to Fresh Wharf by London Bridge. A marching column of kilted Territorials checked them for a while and they looked on while the advanced guard of civilians surged by, followed by pipers and then by the long leaf-brown column at a smart swinging stride. When the troops had passed the hansom moved on very slowly through the human flotsam still eddying in the wake of the regiment; and after a few more minutes it pulled up again and Guild sprang out, lifted the young girl to the sidewalk, and handed the fare to the driver. The latter leaned over and as he took the coins he thrust a parcel into Guild's hands. "Your change, sir," he said genially, touched his top hat and drove off, looking right and left for another fare.