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“You’re sure you’re all right?” said loyal and anxious Mrs. Hill.

“Quite. Good night.”

The Hills went off, and Ann moved beside Rodney out on to the crowded pavement. They walked in silence until they were clear of the stream of pedestrians.

“I was rather surprised to see you at the pictures,” said Ann, at last, making a small attempt at conversation.

“Why?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I can’t quite imagine you as a film fan.”

“I’m not. I went tonight to see Snowy Baker. He’s a fine rider, and the horse he rode was bred in New Zealand. He took it over to California from Australia.”

“Really.”

The conversation languished. Then all at once Ann halted.

“This isn’t my way home,” she said.

“Never mind. It’s quite early.”

“It’s certainly a lovely night for a walk,” agreed Ann, weakly. “I’m always glad to get out in the fresh air alter being cooped up in my shop all day.”

“How are you doing?”

“Splendidly. Making money hand over fist.”

“I’ve been lucky too.”

Suddenly Ann laughed.

“We’re both rather good at bragging, aren’t we?”

Her laugh relieved the tension between them, and they began to talk more easily.

“You must be doing well,” she chaffed him, “if you can afford an expensive game like polo.”