"Well met, Mr. Blair! I wonder whether you have anything very important to do? If not, _would_ you be good enough to take me home? Ellen really ought not to go out in the night air with her rheumatism." "Dee--lighted," murmured Mr. Blair dazedly, in the language of his favorite hero. He recovered his hat, and with it some of his former aplomb. Indeed, as he walked away with his prize, solicitously steering her by one elbow, he was able to wink back over his shoulder at his fellow-conspirator. It was the first time that he had been really alone with the One and Only. Hitherto their conversation had taken place against a background of other conversations, which were somehow helpful. Even when he had paid his two party calls in rapid succession, there had been others present; and though the inexplicable step-mother had quite obviously made opportunities for him to cut her out of the herd, so to speak, his nerve at the critical moment had always failed him. It failed him now. He strolled beside her gloriously, as if on air, but in utter silence. He racked his brain for suitable conversation to offer, and for suitable language to offer it in. Somehow her crisp, cleancut speech (Joan had quite abandoned Southernism) made his own seem hideous, drawling, uncouth. Again Joan came, more or less, to the rescue. "Mr. Blair," she suggested gently, "if you don't mind I'd rather not be helped along quite so much. My elbow, you know!--I sha'n't stumble, I think. The sidewalks seem quite smooth." He withdrew his hand as if it had been stung. "Pardon _me_!" he gasped. "I didn't mean-- "I know--some girls like to be assisted," she said rather remorsefully (but after all a protégé must be taught!) "You'll find most of us, however, rather prefer our independence." "Votes for Women?" he suggested in all respect. Joan dimpled, thinking suddenly of Mrs. Rossiter. "Well, something like that. Elbows for women, anyway!" she murmured nonsensically. Again the conversation languished, being confined on Archie's part entirely to Yea, yea and Nay, nay. Joan was both amused and bored. It had been for some time quite evident to her that this simple soul was not indifferent to her charms; but there was something so boyish about his devotion, so grateful and unobtrusive, that it did not trouble her in the least. Rather the contrary. It reminded her of "cases" the younger girls at the Convent got up on older girls, who were in turn expected to act toward their satellites as guide, philosopher, and friend. Joan had always been very nice to her satellites. This one should come to no harm through her. Indeed, she intended that he should come ultimately to much good, for she really liked him. But this first tongue-tied stage of his admiration was a little trying to both, and she was relieved when the Darcy house came into view.