Moore's friend, be her friend; if not, I will stop the cab—you shall go back again."
She was silent for a second or two. I suspected her of stifling a smile.
"Thank you. You need not stop the cab." She looked at me, mischief in her eyes. "I believe, Mr. Ferguson, that you're a Scotchman."
There is Scotch blood in my veins; I did not see why she should charge it against me as a fault. I told her so. She laughed outright. Miss Adair was a charming woman, but I will own that I was glad when we reached our destination. She was in a provoking mood, as she showed by the remark she made as she got out of the cab.
"Now to interview this ideal conception of what our mothers should be."
I did not reply. I followed her into the lift.
"The top floor," I said.
But as we were passing the first floor, she started from her seat.
"There's Bessie!" she cried.
From where I sat, as I turned my head, I was just in time to see my last night's visitor vanish round the corner of the staircase. We were still ascending. I told the lift-man to return. When he had done so, and we were out upon the
