enly London was interesting! And "I don't know when we shall go back
to Paris!" she said to Miss Cronin.

"Is it the Wallace Collection, Beryl?" murmured "Old Fanny," with
plaintive suspicion over her cup of camomile tea.

"Yes, it's the Wallace Collection," said Miss Van Tuyn.

And she went away to dress for her dinner with Dick Garstin.

She met him at a tiny and very French restaurant in Conduit Street,
where the cooking was absolutely first rate, where there was no sound
of music, and where very few English people went. There were only some
eight or ten tables in the cosy, warm little room, and when Miss Van
Tuyn entered it there were not a dozen people dining. Dick Garstin was
not there. It was just like him to be late and to keep a woman waiting.
But he had engaged a table in the corner of the room on the right, away
from the window. And Miss Van Tuyn was shown to it by a waiter, and sat
down. On the way she had bought _The Westminster Gazette_. She opened
it, lit a cigarette, and began to glance at the news. There happened to
be a letter from Paris in which the writer described a new play which
had just been produced in an outlying theatre. Miss Van Tuyn read the
account. She began reading in a casual mood, but almost immediately all
her attention was grasped and held tight. She forgot where she was,
let her cigarette go out, did not see Garstin when he came in from
the street. When he came up and laid a hand on her arm she started
violently.

"Who's--Dick!"

An angry look came into her face.

"Why did you do that?"

"What's the matter?"

He stared at her almost as if fascinated.

"By Jove . . . you look wonderful!"

"I forbid you to touch me like that! I hate being pawed, and you know
it."

He glanced at the pale green paper.

"The sea-green incorruptible!"

He stretched out his hand, but she quickly moved the paper out of his
reach.

"Let us dine. You've kept me waiting for ages."

Garstin sent a look to his waiter, and sat down opposite to Miss Van
Tuyn with his back to the room.

"I'll buy a _Westminster_ going back," he observed. "Bisque! Bring a
bottle of the Lanson, Raoul."

He addressed the waiter in French.

"_Oui, m'sieu_."

"Well iced!"

"_Certainement_, Monsieur Garstin."

"Better tempered now, Beryl?"

"You always make out that I have the temper of a fiend. I hate being
startled. That's all."

"You're awfully nervy these days."

"I think you are the cruellest man I