Her eyes fell, and then sought his again with timid interest. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. All we have to apprehend is a rescue. After passing Tottenham Court Road, very few houses were to be seen on the right hand, opposite Wardour Street it was open country. It could not go on much longer, her luck. It is quite light yet, and I want to have one more look at that angry red sun. Furiously, she dashed his hands away. CHAPTER XXVII.
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