The group passed slowly from the platform through a sort of committee room at the back, and reached the side entrance, Here they lingered, exchanging farewells.  The light streamed dimly through the door on the strip of pavement between two hedges of spectators, and on the panelling and brass-work of an automobile by the curb.  A chauffeur, with rug on arm, stepped forward and touched his cap, as the Princess appeared, and opened the door of the car.  Paul, bare-headed, accompanied her across the pavement.  Halt way she stopped for a second to adjust a slipping fur.  He aided her quickly and received a bright smile of thanks.  She entered the car—­held out her hand for, his kiss.

“Come and see me soon.  I’ll write or telephone.”

The car rolled away.  The Winwoods’ carriage drove up.

It was a fighting, enthusiastic, hyperbolic speech, glowing with the divine fire of youth.

“Can we give you a lift home, Paul?” asked Miss Winwood.

“No thanks, dearest lady.  There are one or two little things I must do before I go.”

“Good night.”

“Good night, Paul,” said Colonel Winwood, shaking hands.  “A thundering good speech.”

CHAPTER XIII

Paul looked from side to side at the palely lit faces of the spectators, trying to distinguish Barney Bill and Jane.  But he did not see them.  He was disappointed and depressed, seized with a curious yearning for his own people.  Vehicle after vehicle drew up and carried away the remainder of the platform group, and Paul was left in the doorway with the President and Honorary Secretary of the local lodge.  The little crowd began to melt away.  Suddenly his heart leaped and, after a hasty good night to the two officials, he sprang forward and, to their astonishment, gripped the hand of a bent and wizened old man.

“Barney Bill!  This is good.  Where is Jane?”

“Close by,” said Bill.

The President and Honorary Secretary waved farewells and marched away.  Out of the gloom came Jane, somewhat shyly.  He took both her hands and looked upon her, and laughed.  “My dear Jane!  What ages since we lost each other!”

“Seven years, Mr. Savelli.”

“‘Mr. Savelli I’ Rubbish!  Paul.”

“Begging your pardon,” said Barney Bill, “but I’ve got a pal ’ere what I’ve knowed long before you was born, and he’d like to tell yer how he enjoyed your speech.”

A tall man, lean and bearded, and apparently very well dressed, came forward.

“This is my old pal, Silas Finn,” said Bill.

“Delighted to meet you, Mr. Finn,” said Paul, shaking hands.

“I too,” said the man gravely.

“Silas Finn’s a Councillor of the Borough,” said Bill proudly.

“You should have been on the platform,” said Paul.

“I attended in my private capacity,” replied Mr. Finn.