sort--more than he wants. It was so kind of him to think of me."

"They also send me invitations of this kind--more than _I_ want. And if
thinking of _you_ will do it--!" Paul went on.

"Oh I delight in them--everything that's life--everything that's London!"

"They don't have private views in Asia, I suppose," he laughed. "But
what a pity that for this year, even in this gorged city, they're pretty
well over."

"Well, next year will do, for I hope you believe we're going to be
friends always. Here he comes!" Miss Fancourt continued before Paul had
time to respond.

He made out St. George in the gaps of the crowd, and this perhaps led to
his hurrying a little to say: "I hope that doesn't mean I'm to wait till
next year to see you."

"No, no--aren't we to meet at dinner on the twenty-fifth?" she panted
with an eagerness as happy as his own.

"That's almost next year. Is there no means of seeing you before?"

She stared with all her brightness. "Do you mean you'd _come_?"

"Like a shot, if you'll be so good as to ask me!"

"On Sunday then--this next Sunday?"