of her to be caught. Indeed, in her face there was a set determination that she should not be overtaken—and certainly not opposite me.

Now whether she kept up this pace or not, I am in no position to say. The movement of a receding figure—I speak almost in terms of physical laws—is well-nigh impossible to estimate. I feel sure, however, that she did. The only means therefore by which I can satisfactorily justify the result in my mind is by the assumption that he must have been walking quicker than she. Whichever it was, he caught her.

He had forgotten his tune as he came by me. I think it was quite right of him. When life is holding out to you its greatest possibility, that is no time for humming a tune. Nevertheless, he did his best to look unconcerned. He pretended he had forgotten something at that house in the West End. In fact, as he passed me, he took out his watch and distinctly I heard him say—"Sch! Sch!"

"Splendid fellow," I said to Dandy. And so he was. I would have given much to be in need of such little deception myself. Some one else's romance, however, is very engrossing when it happens that you have none of your own. Dandy and I followed him secretly with our eyes as he sailed down the path like a bold man-o'-war in pursuit of his capture. I say, secretly. There was no secrecy about Dandy. He jumped off his chair and, standing in the middle of the path, he looked directly after them. At least, I think it was after them. There was another dog in sight, but he was very far away.

However that may be, we were not permitted to see the most interesting part of it. She was quick and she was cunning in her manœuvres, was that little nursery maid. Before I could have contemplated the action, she had put about and was off up the path which turns sharply to the right and leads into the solitary heart of the Park. That pram went round that corner bumping on two wheels. I saw the fat, round baby clinging to the sides. Then, sure enough, round went my electrician after her and, but for Dandy, the Park seemed empty once more.

"Well," said I, "that's all there is to that," and I leant back again with disappointment in my chair. There was no such thing as following them. It was not to be done. Love is a timid thing at such a stage as this, and I would not have frightened it for the world. I will confess that I enjoyed the thought that it was generous of me. I fancy, moreover, that Providence, who superintends all these matters, thought so too. In any case, she gave me my reward.

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