“What you have missed!” was the gay rejoinder, and they both laughed. “I suppose I mustn’t take you home?” as they neared Piccadilly. “Brother Dudley might see us?” “No, thanks. If you will drop me at Hyde Park Corner I will take a homely bus, and return to my Bloomsbury level.” “Until my next free afternoon, I hope. Will you come again soon?” “Perhaps.” “What do you do on Sundays?” “I generally go out with Dick Bruce.” “Does Dick Bruce consider himself entitled to every Sunday?” “Well, I consider myself entitled to Dick!…” laughing. “You’re evidently very fond of Dick.” “Very,” with enthusiasm. “I have been for twenty-five years. We were like the two babies in _Punch_ which said, ‘Help yourself and pass the bottle.’” “Dick’s a lucky devil. Does he take Saturday afternoons as well?” “No; he plays cricket or hockey then.” “Then may I have a Saturday afternoon?” “It would be jolly;” and a swift gleam in her eyes told him she meant it. “Very well. I shall consider that a promise. The first Saturday I can arrange, we’ll run down to some little place on the coast, and get some sea air. And if you feel inclined to write me a letter between now and then, send it to York Chambers, Jermyn Street.” He pulled up, and instantly she exclaimed in haste: “Oh, there’s my bus. Good-bye, thanks awfully; I must fly”; and before he could get in another word, he saw her clambering on to a motor-omnibus, with the utmost unconcern for his sudden, astonished solitariness. “Gad!… what a woman she’ll be one day,” was his comment. “If she’d a hundred thousand pounds I wouldn’t mind marrying her myself; she’d never let a chap get bored. I’ll warrant,” He moved slowly down Piccadilly. “Most of them do,” he cogitated; “it doesn’t seem as if there were one woman in a thousand who didn’t soon become a bore. Heigh-ho, but debts are more boring still sometimes, and I want a fifty-thousand cheque badly.” CHAPTER XV When Hal went to tell Lorraine of her adventure she found her a victim of the prevailing malady, kept indoors two days with influenza. She was not in bed, but lying on a sofa, by a small fire, looking very frail and ill. Hal did not say much, as Lorraine disliked fussing, but her heart smote her to think she had been absent two days while her friend was a prisoner. “Why didn’t you tell Jean to ’phone me?” she asked. “I would have got here somehow.” Instead of answering, Lorraine nestled down into her cushions, and said: “It’s dreadful nice to see you, chummy.” Hal drew up a footstool, and sat down with her head against the sofa. “What does the court physician say, Lorry? Of course he is generally fathering and brothering and mothering you as well as doctoring?” “Yes; he is taking care of me in a sort of all-round, comprehensive fashion. I don’t know what I should do without him.”