“Well, I think you couldn’t do better than stop where you are,” Harry Thornhill made answer, carelessly.

“Stop where I am?  It’s impossible!  My brother Jim would go frantic.  He would make sure I was run over or drowned or something, and be off to the police-stations.”

“Oh, no, he wouldn’t? he wouldn’t stir out on such a night, if he had any sense.”

“Not if he thought his sister was lost?  That’s all you know.  There are some people who do have a little affection in their nature,” said Miss Burgoyne, as she drew aside the curtain and came forth, and went to the tall glass.  “But surely I can get a four-wheeled cab, Mr. Moore?  I will give the man a sovereign to take me safe home.  And even then it will be dreadful.  I get so frightened in a bad fog—­absolutely terrified—­and especially at night.  Supposing the man were to lose his way?  Or he might be drunk?  I wish I had asked Jim to come down for me.  There’s Miss Constance’s mother never misses a single night; I wonder who she thinks is going to run away with that puny-faced creature!”

“Oh, if you are at all afraid to make the venture alone, I will go with you,” said he.  “I don’t suppose I can see farther in a fog than any one else; but if you are nervous about being alone, you’d better let me accompany you.”

“Will you?” she said, suddenly wheeling round, and bestowing upon him a glance of obvious gratitude.  “That is indeed kind of you!  Now I don’t care for all the fogs in Christendom.  But really and truly,” she added—­“really and truly you must tell me if I am taking you away from any other engagement.”

“Not at all,” he said, idly.  “I had thought of going up to the Garden Club for some supper, but it isn’t the sort of night for anybody to be wandering about.  When I’ve left you in the Edgeware Road, I can find my way to my rooms easily.  Once in Park Lane, I could go blindfold.”

And very proud and pleased was Miss Burgoyne to accept his escort—­that is to say, when he had, with an immense amount of trouble, brought a four-wheeled cab, accompanied by two link-boys with blazing torches, up to the stage-door.  And when they had started off on their unknown journey through this thick chaos, she did not minimize the fears she otherwise should have suffered; this was thanking him by implication.  As for the route chosen by the cabman, or rather by the link-boys, neither he nor she had the faintest idea what it was.  Outside they could see nothing but the gold and crimson of the torches flaring through the densely yellow fog; while the grating of the wheels against the curb told them that their driver was keeping as close as he could to the pavement.  Then they would find themselves leaving that guidance, and blindly adventuring out into the open thoroughfare to avoid some obstacle—­some spectral wain or omnibus got hopelessly stranded; while there were muffled cries and calls here, there, and everywhere.  They went at a snail’s pace, of course.  Once, at a corner, the near wheels got on the pavement; the cab tilted over; Miss Burgoyne shrieked aloud and clung to her companion; then there was a heavy bump, and the venerable vehicle resumed its slow progress.  Suddenly they beheld a cluster of dim, nebulous, phantom lights high up in air.