'What things you do call yourself! Now, don't go off like that, Mr.
Keene. To begin with, my brother won't hear anything about it--'

'You mean that? You are so noble, so forgiving? Pooh, as if I didn't
know you were! Upon my soul, I'd run from here to South Kensington,
like the ragamuffins after the cabs with luggage, only just to get a
smile from you. Oh, Miss Mutimer--oh!'

'Mr. Keene, I can't say yes, and I don't like to be so unkind to you
as to say no. You'll let that do for the present, won't you?'

'Bless your bright eyes, of course I will! If I don't love you for
your own sake, I'm the wretchedest turnip-snatcher in London.
Good-bye, Princess!'

'Who taught you to call me that?'

'Taught me? It was only a word that came naturally to my lips.'

Curiously, this was quite true. It impressed Alice Maud, and she
thought of Mr. Keene for at least five minutes continuously after
his departure.

She was extravagantly gay as they drove in a four-wheeled cab to the
station next morning. Mr. Keene made no advances. He sat
respectfully on the seat opposite her, with a travelling bag on his
knees, and sighed occasionally. When she had secured her seat in the
railway carriage he brought her sandwiches, buns, and sweetmeats
enough for a voyage to New York. Alice waved her hand to him as the