A few evenings after he had given the lecture at the Radical Club, he took her to the theatre. Some weeks previously he had treated her to the Lyceum, not doubting in the guilelessness of his heart that her aesthetic appreciation would be as great as his own. But she had been bored to death, had come home cross, and the subject of play-going became a dangerous one. This time, however, by way of compensation, it was the Adelphi. Lizzie laughed and wept and squeezed Daniel’s arm, and enjoyed herself amazingly. She did not know with whom she was the more delighted, Mr. William Terriss or Daniel. On the top of the homeward ’bus she decided in favour of Daniel. She nestled close to him on the garden-seat, and brought his arm round her. Then she drew off her well-worn glove, so as to put her bare hand in his. He was touched, tightened his circling arm, and bent down his head till the fluffy fair curls brushed his lips. “Why don’t you hug me oftener, Dan?” she murmured. “Like this. It makes me feel much more homey with you.” “We are not always on top of a ’bus,” said Dan. She gave him a little nudge to show him that she appreciated his jest, but she went on-- “I don’t mind your kissing me, Dan. I like it. Now we’re engaged you ought to be awfully spoony, you know, and squeeze me, and tell me how lovely I look, and all that.” They were on the front seat of the ’bus; the people behind did not count as spectators; the hurrying roadway and crowded pavement below were remote as the clear-shining stars above. Daniel surrendered to the coaxing murmur, and kissed her a long lover’s kiss. When an inspector, a short time afterwards, demanded their tickets, Goddard forgot his Collectivist principles and became a fierce Individualist. “What a confounded nuisance--these fellows disturbing us! It oughtn’t to be allowed,” he said, resettling himself. And Lizzie acquiesced. Towards the end of the journey they grew silent. Lizzie, tired, dozed with her head on his shoulder. A sudden jolt of the ‘bus awakened her. She laughed, and rubbed her eyes. “I do believe I’ve been asleep. What have you been doing all the time?” “Thinking,” he replied, smiling at the question. “What of?” “Well, I was thinking of my speech on Saturday in Hyde Park, you know. There is an Eight Hour demonstration, and the League people have asked me to take a platform. I’m becoming quite an important person, you see, Liz.” “I thought you were going to say you’d been thinking of me,” said Lizzie, piqued. “I call that beastly of you.” It took him all the time until they parted to re-establish the “spoony” relations that alone, according to Lizzie, seemed to make for happiness between them. But when he went to bed that night he found himself wondering for the first time whether his political interests might not cause serious friction between Lizzie and himself. To give them up was out of the question. Vague doubts came as to the wisdom of the step he was about to take.