"You see," she added, "I don't understand myself, not the weeniest bit in the world."
He smiled, still unable to realise the strange jugglings of fate by which he had become possessed of this wonderful creature. A few hours previously he had almost consigned himself to the Great Adventure; now he was about to embark on what promised to be an even greater adventure. It was all too strange, too mysterious, too bewildering for a man's brain to assimilate in a few short hours.
"Now," she cried, "go and get your hat."
"I can get it as I go out, Rain-Girl," he said.
"Go—and—get—your—hat," she repeated, emphasising each word.
"But" he began.
"Jerry!" This in such a comical tone of admonition that, laughing in spite of himself, he rose an walked towards the door.
Swiftly Lola beckoned the waiter, paid the bill, and was at Beresford's side just as the man was handing him his stick.
Turning, he looked at her and suddenly realised why it was that he had been sent away.
"Rain-Girl," he whispered, "I think we shall be very happy when—when I get used to it."
"Am I as bad as that?" she enquired. "It sounds like a new pair of boots."
"Will you stand me a taxi?" he asked.
And then she knew she had won.
In the taxi neither of them spoke. Beresford was still dazed by the rapidity with which events had
