“Certainly,” Lilian Rosenberg replied.  “I am not in the habit of being kissed.  Such an event can only happen in the most exceptional and privileged circumstances—­such, for example, as exist at the present moment, when I ask you to put yourself to some considerable trouble—­if not actually to incur danger—­in order to accomplish what I wish.”

“And yet I remember kissing you unconditionally,” Kelson commented.

“Memory is a fickle thing,” Lilian Rosenberg replied, “and so is woman.  Times have changed.  I’ll leave you at once, unless you promise to do your very utmost to grant my request.”

Kelson promised, and—­after they had had supper at the Trocadero, suggested that they should take a stroll in Hyde Park.

“I hope you are not awfully shocked?” he inquired rather anxiously, “but a sudden impulse has come over me to go there.  I believe it is the will of the Unknown.  Will you come with me?”

“We shan’t be able to get in, shall we, it’s so late?” Lilian Rosenberg said.  “Otherwise I should like to—­I’m rather in a mood for adventure.”

“They don’t shut the gates till twelve,” Kelson said, “and it’s not that yet.”

“Very well, let’s go, then.  I’m game to go anywhere to see the Unknown,” and so saying Lilian rose from the table, and Kelson followed her into the street.

They took a taxi, and alighting at Hyde Park Corner entered the Park.  It was very dark and deserted.

“It’s nearly closing time,” a policeman called out to them rather curtly.

“We are only taking a constitutional,” Kelson explained.  “We shall be back in five minutes.”

They crossed the road to the statue, and were deliberating which direction to take, when they heard a groan.

“It’s only some poor devil of a tramp,” Kelson said.  “The benches are full of them—­they stay here all night.  We had better, perhaps, turn back.”

“Nonsense!” Lilian Rosenberg replied.  “I’m not a bit afraid.  There’s another groan.  I’m going to see what’s up,” and before he could stop her she had disappeared in the darkness.  “Here I am,” she called; “come, it’s some one ill.”

Plunging on, in the darkness, Kelson at last found Lilian.  She was sitting on a chair under a tree, by the side of a man, who was lying, curled up, on the ground.

“He’s had nothing to eat for two days, and has Bright’s Disease,” Lilian Rosenberg announced.  “Can’t we do something for him?”

“Two gentlemen told me just now,” the man on the ground groaned, “that if I stayed here for a couple of hours—­they would pass by again and guarantee to cure me.  I reckoned there was no cure for Bright’s Disease, when it is chronic, like it is in my case; but they laughed, and said, ‘We can—­or at least—­shall be able to cure anything.’”

“What were the two gentlemen like?” Kelson asked.

“How could I tell?” the man moaned.  “I couldn’t see their faces any more than I can see yours—­but they talked like you.  Twang—­twang—­ twang—­all through their noses.”