of coffee. He opened the door. On a mat outside lay a letter. The handwriting was feminine. It was also in pencil, and strange to him. He opened the envelope. "Dear Mr. Bevan" (it began). With a sudden leap of the heart he looked at the signature. The letter was signed "The Girl in the Cab." "DEAR MR. BEVAN, "I hope you won't think me very rude, running off without waiting to say good-bye. I had to. I saw Percy driving up in a cab, and knew that he must have followed us. He did not see me, so I got away all right. I managed splendidly about the money, for I remembered that I was wearing a nice brooch, and stopped on the way to the station to pawn it. "Thank you ever so much again for all your wonderful kindness. Yours, THE GIRL IN THE CAB." George read the note twice on the way down to the breakfast room, and three times more during the meal; then, having committed its contents to memory down to the last comma, he gave himself up to glowing thoughts. What a girl! He had never in his life before met a woman who could write a letter without a postscript, and this was but the smallest of her unusual gifts. The resource of her, to think of pawning that brooch! The sweetness of her to bother to send him a note! More than ever before was he convinced that he had met his ideal, and more than ever before was he determined that a triviality like being unaware of her name and address should not keep him from her. It was not as if he had no clue to go upon. He knew that she lived two hours from London and started home from Waterloo. It narrowed the thing down absurdly. There were only about three counties in which she could possibly live; and a man must be a poor fellow who is incapable of searching through a few small counties for the girl he loves. Especially a man with luck like his. Luck is a goddess not to be coerced and forcibly wooed by those who