Advance!' They followed upon a group of reeling lads and girls, who yelled in chorus the popular song of the day, a sentimental one as it happened-- '_Do not forget me, Do not forget me, Think sometimes of me still_'-- Nancy was working herself into a nervous, excited state.

She felt it impossible to walk on and on under Barmby's protection, listening to his atrocious commonplaces, his enthusiasms of the Young Men's Debating Society.

The glow of midsummer had entered into her blood; she resolved to taste independence, to mingle with the limitless crowd as one of its units, borne in whatever direction.

That song of the streets pleased her, made sympathetic appeal to her; she would have liked to join in it.
Just behind her--it was on the broad pavement at Whitehall--some one spoke her name.
'Miss.

Lord! Why, who would have expected to see you here?
Shouldn't have dared to think of such a thing; upon my word, I shouldn't!' A man of about thirty, dressed without much care, middle-sized, wiry, ruddy of cheek, and his coarse but strong features vivid with festive energy, held a hand to her.