We were passing at that moment the end of a winding thoroughfare, and at a word the cabman turned his horse and proceeded slowly in search of Number 16.
Without much difficulty we found it, a good-sized detached house, built in modern style, with gable ends and long windows; a house of a character far better than I had expected. I had believed the street to be a mean one, of those poor-looking houses which bear the stamp of weekly rents, but was surprised to find a quiet, eminently respectable suburban road at the very edge of London. At the back of the houses were open fields, and one or two of the residences had carriage-drives before them.
There was still a light over the door, which showed that the lost one was expected, and as she descended she allowed her little, well-gloved hand to linger for a moment in mine.
“Good night,” she said, merrily, “and thank you ever so much. I shall never forget your kindness—never.”
“Then you will repay me by meeting me again?” I urged.
“No,” she answered, in an instant serious. “It is best not.”
“Why? I trust I have not offended you?”
“Of course not. It is because you have been my friend to-night that I wish to keep apart from you.”
“Is that the way you treat your friends?” I inquired.
“Yes,” she replied, meaningly. Then, after a pause, added, “I have no desire to bring evil upon you.”