"I am going to take the 'bus at Charing Cross, and I'm going straight
home," Clara announced determinedly. She put up her parasol in a pet,
and went up the street into the Strand. A cold shadow seemed to have
fallen over all things. But just as she was getting into the 'bus, a
hansom dashed down Trafalgar Square, and a well-known voice hailed her.
The hansom stopped, and Everard got out and held out his hand.

"I'm so glad you're a bit late," he said. "I was called out
unexpectedly, and have been trying to rush back in time. You wouldn't
have found me if you had been punctual. But I thought," he added,
laughing, "I could rely on you as a woman."

"I _was_ punctual," Clara said angrily. "I was not getting out of this
'bus, as you seem to imagine, but into it, and was going home."

"My darling!" he cried remorsefully. "A thousand apologies." The regret
on his handsome face soothed her. He took the rose he was wearing in the
button-hole of his fashionably-cut coat and gave it to her.

"Why were you so cruel?" he murmured, as she nestled against him in the
hansom. "Think of my despair if I had come home to hear you had come and
gone. Why didn't you wait a moment?"

[Illustration: "SHE NESTLED AGAINST HIM."]

A shudder traversed her frame. "Not with that man, Peters!" she
murmured.

"Not with that man, Peters!" he echoed sharply. "What is the matter with
Peters?"