out of the hotel, for in reality there had been no engagement. "Thank
you--and good-bye." I wrung her hand, and she gave a funny little
squeak, for I had forgotten her rings.

"What! Aren't you coming?" asked Jack.

"We really want you," said Molly. "Please let us take you home with
us--to supper."

"We've just finished dinner," I objected weakly.

"That makes no difference. Eating is only an incident of supper. It's
a meal which consists of conversation. Look, here's the car. Isn't she
a beauty? Can you resist her? Such a dear darling of a girl gave her
to me, a girl you would love. Can you resist Mercédès?"

"I could resist anything if I could resist you. But seriously, though
you're very good, I think I'll walk to the Albany, and--and go to
bed."

"What nonsense! As if you would. You're quite a clever actor, Lord
Lane, and might deceive a man, but--I'm a woman. Jack and I want to
talk to you about--about that walking tour."

It would have been ungracious to refuse, since she had set her heart
upon a rescue. The chauffeur who had brought round the motor
surrendered his place to Molly, whom Jack had taught to drive the new
car, and I was given the seat of honour beside her. By this time the
streets were comparatively clear of traffic, and we shot away as if we
had been propelled from a catapult, Molly contriving to combine a