I felt her hand on my knee.

"Oh, you haven't got any of it."

She would have untucked it again if I hadn't caught her wrist.

"That's all right," I said. "I'm not allowed rugs."

"Nonsense."

"My dear, doctor's orders. The last thing the great Harley
Street specialist said to me, as I pushed the two pounds two
shillings beneath the current number of The Lancet, was, 'Now,
mind, no rugs. Eat and drink what you like. Smoke in
moderation, and get up as late as you please. But no rugs.'"

As the wrist felt unconvinced, I slipped it through my arm, where
it lay comfortably enough.

"Do vou often do this sort of thing?" I said presently.

"Get late coming home and have no lights? Not often."

"I'm glad of that- I'm sure it's very dangerous. Good whips like
myself aren't as common as blackberries. And so few tramps one
meets nowadays can drive really well."

"I don't look as if I'd got any money, do I?"

"Well, you don't look anything just now, as it's too dark to see;