and
clutched her friend's wrist, aware of hot blushes that surely must flame
visibly in the darkness.

"Who's he?" whispered Irene.

"Who's who?"

"The fellow by himself at the end of the court?"

"How ever on earth should I know? Do you think I'm a walking _Answers_?"

The two girls passed him by. He hesitated; then, as if by an effort,
raised his hat.

Irene giggled foolishly.

"How d'ye do, Tootoose?" said Jenny, self-possessed through his
embarrassment.

"I liked your dancing," he said simply.

"Did you? Who ca----?" She stopped. Somehow the formula was inadequate.

"Can't we go and have supper somewhere?" he asked.

"Just as _you_ like."

"Where shall we go?"

"It doesn't matter to me," said Jenny.

"Gatti's?"

"Um."

"But do you like Gatti's?" persisted the stranger.

"It's all right."

"We can all squash into a hansom, can't we?"

"Rather," said Jenny.

They rattled off to Gatti's, and were soon sitting on red velvet, rulers
of gayety.

"What's your name, Claude?" inquired Jenny.

"Raymond," he said.

"Oo-er! What a soppy name!"

The young man hesitated. He looked for a moment deep into Jenny's eyes:
perceived, it may be, her honesty, and said:

"Well, as a matter of fact, my real name is Maurice--Maurice Avery."

"Oh, and he wasn't going to tell us," cried Jenny, clapping her hands.
"We shall have to call him careful Willie."

"No, I say, really, do forgive me for being a silly ass."

"Now he's being rude to himself."

Here a fat waiter interposed with a dish, and Avery had time to recover
himself. Meanwhile, Jenny regarded him. She liked his fresh complexion
and deep-blue eyes. She liked better still his weak, girlish mouth and
white teeth. She liked best of all his manner, which was not too easy,
although it carried some of the confidence of popularity.

"Whatever made you come on the first night? I think the ballet's rotten
on the first night," said Jenny.

"I'm awfully glad I did. But, as a matter of fact, I had to. I'm a
critic. I'm going to write a notice of the ballet for the _Point of
View_."

Something in the intonation of this announcement would have warned
anybody of the world that Avery's judgment had not long ago been
demanded for the first time.

"A reporter?" asked Jenny.

"Well, a sort of reporter."

"You don't look much like a reporter. I knew a reporter once who was
going to photograph me in a bathing-dress for _Fluffy Bits_. But his
flat was