“Oh, well, all London is too big for one canvas.  You must cut it into sections.  I dare say she will take up Whitechapel in her next book.”

Miss Burgoyne turned from the glass case to seek her companion, and seemed a little surprised to find him talking to these two strangers.  It was the swiftest glance; but Miss Georgie divined the situation in an instant.

“Good-bye for the present,” she said, and she and her brother passed on.

And now he was more anxious than ever to get away.  If Lady Adela and her sisters were coming to this exhibition, was it not highly probable that Honnor Cunyngham might be of the party?  He did not wish to meet any one of them; especially did he not care to meet them while he was acting as escort to Miss Burgoyne.  There were reasons which he could hardly define; he only knew that the clicking of the turnstile on the stair was an alarming sound, and that he regarded each new group of visitors, as they came into the room, with a furtive apprehension.

“Oh, very well,” Miss Burgoyne said, at length, “let us go.”  And on the staircase she again said:  “What is it?  Are you afraid of meeting the mamma of some girl you’ve jilted?  Or some man to whom you owe money for cards?  Ah, Master Lionel, when are you going to reform and lead a steady and respectable life?”

He breathed more freely when he was outside; here, in the crowd, if he met any one to whom he did not wish to speak, he could be engaged with his companion and pass on without recognition.  He proposed to Miss Burgoyne that they should walk home, by way of Piccadilly and Park Lane, and that young lady cheerfully assented.  It was quite a pleasant afternoon, for London in midwinter.  The setting sun shone with a dull-copper lustre along the fronts of the tall buildings, and over the trees of the Green Park hung clouds that were glorified by the intervening red-hued mists.  The air was crisp and cold—­what a blessing it was to be able to breathe!

Lionel was silent and absorbed; he only said, “Yes?” “Really!” “Indeed!” in answer to the vivacious chatter of his companion, who was in the most animated spirits.  His brows were drawn down; his look was more sombre than it ought to have been, considering who was with him.  Perhaps he was thinking of the crowded rooms they had recently left, and of the friends who might now be arriving there, from whom he had voluntarily isolated himself.  Had they, had any one of them, counselled him to keep within his own sphere?  Well, he had taken that advice; here he was—­walking with Miss Burgoyne!

All of a sudden that young lady stopped and turned to the window of a jeweller’s shop; and of course he followed.  No wonder her eyes had been attracted; here were all kinds of beautiful things and splendors—­tiaras, coronets, necklaces, pendants, bracelets, earrings, bangles, brooches—­set with all manner of precious stones, the clear, radiant diamond, the purple amethyst, the sea-green emerald, the mystic opal, the blue-black sapphire, the clouded pearl.  Her raptured vision wandered from tray to tray, but it was a comparatively trifling article that finally claimed her attention—­a tiny finger-ring set with small rubies and brilliants.