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dinner and all that; and—well"—he looked more sheepish—"she began to make out that she had taken a liking to me, and, of course, I liked her; so then I gave her the motor-car."

"You did what?" I almost shouted in that Tube station.

"You see, we were going to be married——"

"Oh, you were going to be married!"

"Of course; I knew she'd got lots of money, and that it would be a first-rate thing for me, and so I thought, there being only one thing I could give her worth having, that was the least I could give her, so I gave her the motor-car, thinking," he quickly added, "that, as what was hers would be mine, it would make no difference, and that it would be as much mine as ever; only the mischief was I gave it her before witnesses; and that very same night, if she didn't get up in the middle of the night, and go down to the garage, and take the car out, and drive off with it, and I've seen nothing of either of them since."

This was such an astounding story that if it had not been for the sincere air of depression which marked the man I should have thought that he was having a joke at my expense; but he was serious enough, as he had good reason to be.

"It was no use my going after her, even if I had known where she was, because, of course, she hadn't stolen the motor-car, seeing that I had given it to her in the presence of witnesses—and that's how it was."

"Do you mean to say you've lost your motor-car?"

"It looks as if I had. I did hear by a sort of side-wind that she's taken it to France, but, seeing that it's hers, I don't see what I can do to her if she has. She's had me fairly. It was one of the best motor-cars that money could buy; I didn't grudge anything in the way of fittings."

He sighed. My train came up, and I left the youth lamenting. He was only another example of what absolute idiots all sorts and conditions of men, old and young, can make themselves over a woman.

It was not very long afterwards that a letter reached me which bore the Paris post-mark. As a specimen of—I will call it courage—I give it verbatim. There was no date and there was no address.

"My dear Miss Lee—may I call you Judith?——"

It was at this point that I realized that the letter was from that woman. Might she call me Judith! I read on—with my teeth set pretty close together.

"When I saw you the other day in Regent Street—I don't know if you saw me; I was in a motor-car and you were walking—quite a wave of emotion passed over me. It was so sweet to see again one of whom one has such sunny memories. And you were looking so well; a little older, perhaps, but a few years more or less would make no difference to your appearance. I should have liked to stop my motor-car and begged you to have a cup of tea. I cannot help sending you just a line to say so, if only to recall to your recollection one who I hope you look upon as an old friend.

"A great change is about to take place in my life. I am shortly to be married—to a Russian merchant of immense wealth. One has to be married some time. I wonder if you will ever be? There are men who will marry anything—who knows?

"I had no idea until the other day that you were the famous Judith Lee. It was a surprise. I had heard so much about you—about how wise and clever and wonderful you were. You are not in the least like what I expected. And yet how beautiful it must be to be able to read people's thoughts, even the secrets of their hearts, as I am told you can. Who would have thought it? I shall look forward to meeting you again some day, in order that you may teach me some of the strange magic—I am bound to call it magic—of which you are such a mistress. You will find me an apt pupil; don't you think you will?

"You must be able to do a great deal of good In the world with such a gift as yours. I love doing good—don't you? It must be so nice to detect an improper person directly you see one. Your friendship for me was almost a certificate of character. If only it had not been so brief—but the night was fine, and the boat was handy, and we did not tie you very tight.—Your affectionate friend, Marianne Tracy.

"Pray remember me to the gentleman whose name you once mentioned to me—Mr. Everard Brookes. Is he married?"

The audacity of the woman in writing to me at all! And such a letter, with such innuendoes! I could hardly contain myself till I got to the end. For quite two days after I had received that effusion I could hardly bring myself to speak civilly to a single person I came across. And even now sometimes I tingle all over when I think of it—and that was ages ago, and I have never heard of nor seen the woman since.