’I suppose so—­to any one who doesn’t know.  Well, where was I?  Oh, George as good as told me I was deceiving him, and he wanted to go away without saying good-night.  He hates standing a-tiptoe, but he must if I won’t sit down.’

Conroy would have smiled, but the chill that foreran the coming of the Lier-in-Wait was upon him, and his hand closed warningly on hers.

‘And—­and so—­’ she was trying to say, when her hour also overtook her, leaving alive only the fear-dilated eyes that turned to Conroy.  Hand froze on hand and the body with it as they waited for the horror in the blackness that heralded it.  Yet through the worst Conroy saw, at an uncountable distance, one minute glint of light in his night.  Thither would he go and escape his fear; and behold, that light was the light in the watch-tower of her eyes, where her locked soul signalled to his soul:  ‘Look at me!’

In time, from him and from her, the Thing sheered aside, that each soul might step down and resume its own concerns.  He thought confusedly of people on the skirts of a thunderstorm, withdrawing from windows where the torn night is, to their known and furnished beds.  Then he dozed, till in some drowsy turn his hand fell from her warmed hand.

‘That’s all.  The Faces haven’t come,’ he heard her say.  ’All—­thank God!  I don’t feel even I need what Nursey promised me.  Do you?’

‘No.’  He rubbed his eyes.  ‘But don’t make too sure.’

’Certainly not.  We shall have to try again next month.  I’m afraid it will be an awful nuisance for you.’

‘Not to me, I assure you,’ said Conroy, and they leaned back and laughed at the flatness of the words, after the hells through which they had just risen.

‘And now,’ she said, strict eyes on Conroy, ’why wouldn’t you take me—­not with a million in each stocking?’

‘I don’t know.  That’s what I’ve been puzzling over.’

’So have I. We’re as handsome a couple as I’ve ever seen.  Are you well off, lad?’

‘They call me so,’ said Conroy, smiling.

‘That’s North country.’  She laughed again.  Setting aside my good looks and yours, I’ve four thousand a year of my own, and the rents should make it six.  That’s a match some old cats would lap tea all night to fettle up.’

‘It is.  Lucky Toots!’ said Conroy.

‘Ay,’ she answered, ’he’ll be the luckiest lad in London if I win through.  Who’s yours?’

’No—­no one, dear.  I’ve been in Hell for years.  I only want to get out and be alive and—­so on.  Isn’t that reason enough?’

’Maybe, for a man.  But I never minded things much till George came.  I was all stu-upid like.’

’So was I, but now I think I can live.  It ought to be less next month, oughtn’t it?’ he said.

’I hope so.  Ye-es.  There’s nothing much for a maid except to be married, and 7 ask no more.  Whoever yours is, when you’ve found her, she shall have a wedding present from Mrs. George Skinner that—­’