"Let him do it!" murmured Thyme.

The cab-runner hoisted up the trunk, then waited motionless beside the
cab.

Thyme handed him two coppers. He looked at them in silence, and went
away.

'Poor man,' she thought; 'that's one of the things we've got to do away
with!'

The cab now proceeded in the direction of the Park, Thyme following on
her bicycle, and trying to stare about her calmly.

'This,' she thought, 'is the end of the old life. I won't be romantic,
and imagine I'm doing anything special; I must take it all as a matter
of course.' She thought of Mr. Purcey's face--'that person!'--if he
could have seen her at this moment turning her back on comfort. 'The
moment I get there,' she mused, 'I shall let mother know; she can come
out to-morrow, and see for herself. I can't have hysterics about my
disappearance, and all that. They must get used to the idea that I mean
to be in touch with things. I can't be stopped by what anybody thinks!'

An approaching motor-car brought a startled frown across her brow. Was
it 'that person'? But though it was not Mr. Purcey and his A.i. Damyer,
it was somebody so like him as made no difference. Thyme uttered a
little laugh.

In the Park a cool light danced and glittered on the trees and water,
and the same cool, dancing glitter seemed lighting the girl's eyes.