cab-stands, of course,” he replied, “but they prefer to keep them over on Fifth Avenue.” “It was a foolish question, I suppose” coldly retorted Constance, quite as moved thereto by the scrutiny as by the words, “but I did not even notice where the carriage was driving when we came here. Can you tell me the nearest car line which will take me to Washington Square?” “As it is five blocks away, and the neighbourhood is not of the nicest, I shall take the liberty of walking with you to it.” “Really, I would rather not. I haven’t the slightest fear,” protested the girl, eager to escape both the observation and the obligation. “But I have,” calmly said her companion, as if his wish were the only thing to be considered. For a moment Miss Durant vacillated, then, with a very slight inclination of her head, conveying the smallest quantity of consent and acknowledgment she could express, she walked out of the porte-cochere. The doctor put himself beside her, and; they turned down the street, but not one word did she say. “If he will force his society upon me, I will at least show him my dislike of it,” was her thought. Obviously Dr. Armstrong was not disturbed by Miss Durant’s programme, for the whole distance was walked in silence; and even when they halted on the corner, he said nothing, though the girl was conscious that his eyes still studied her face. “I will not be the first to speak,” she vowed to herself; but minute after minute passed without the slightest attempt or apparent wish on his part, and finally she asked, “Are you sure this line is running?” Her attendant pointed up the street. “That yellow light is your car. I don’t know why the intervals are so long this evening. Usually—” He was interrupted by the girl suddenly clutching at her dress, and then giving an exclamation of real consternation. “What is it?” he questioned. “Why, I—nothing—that is, I think—I prefer to walk home, after all,” she stammered. “You mustn’t do that. It’s over two miles, and through a really rough district.”
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