the only person in London who still wears a button-hole." 

 They sat down on opposite sides of the table, and for the first time he was able to enjoy a complete and leisurely survey of his companion. 

 She was younger than he had thought at first—a mere girl of seventeen or eighteen—with the complexion of a wild rose, and the lithe, slender figure of a forest dryad. It was her red hair and the little firm, delicately moulded chin which gave her that curious superficial resemblance to Molly which had originally attracted his attention. He saw now that there were several differences between them—one of the most noticeable being the colour of their eyes. Molly's were blue—blue as the sky, while this girl's were of clear deep amber, like the water of some still pool in the middle of a moorland stream. 

 What charmed him most of all, however, was the faint air of sensitive pride that hung about her like some fragrant perfume. Although obviously frightened and apparently in a very awkward predicament, she was yet facing the situation with nervous thoroughbred courage that filled Tony with admiration. 

 One thing struck him as rather incongruous. She had said she had no money, and yet even to his masculine eyes it was quite clear that the clothes she was wearing, though simple in appearance, could have been made by a most expensive dressmaker. On the little finger of her left hand he also noticed a sapphire and diamond ring which if real must be of considerable value. All this combined to fill him with an agreeable and stimulating curiosity. 

 "I hope you are feeling none the worse for our wild adventures," he said, as the waiter withdrew, after handing them the first course. 

 She shook her head.  "You have been extraordinarily kind," she said in a low voice.  "I have a great deal to thank you for. I—I hardly know how to begin." 

 "Well, suppose we begin by introducing ourselves," he suggested cheerfully.  "My name is Conway—Sir Antony Conway. My more intimate friends are occasionally permitted to call me Tony." 

 She hesitated a second before replying.  "My name is Isabel," she said.  "Isabel Francis," she added a little lamely. 

 "I shall call you 'Isabel' if I may," said Tony. "'Miss Francis' sounds so unromantic after the thrilling way in which we became friends." 

 He 

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