too high up for this little girl."

Maurice Avery wished that Jenny were alone. He would in that case have
attempted to explain the difference between a reporter and a dramatic
critic. Under the circumstances, however, he felt that the subject
should be dropped, and turned politely to Irene.

"You're not talking much."

"Ah, but I think the more."

The conversation became difficult, almost as difficult as the _macaroni
au gratin_ which the three of them were eating. Maurice wished more than
ever that Irene was out of the way. He possessed a great sense of
justice which compelled him to be particularly polite to her, although
his eyes were all for Jenny. The unsatisfactory meal evaporated in
coffee, and presently they stood on the pavement.

"I say, I ought to drive you girls home," said Maurice. "But to-night I
absolutely must get back and finish this notice in time to catch the
three o'clock post. Couldn't we all three meet to-morrow?"

Inwardly he lamented the politeness which led him to include Irene in
the suggested reunion.

"All right, Willie Brains," said Jenny.

"Where?"

"Oh, I don't know. Outside the Palace. Good night."

They shook hands discreetly, and though Maurice held Jenny's hand longer
than was necessary, he held Irene's just as long in case she might have
noticed and felt hurt by the greater attention paid to her friend.

Jenny and Irene turned in the direction of the Tube station by Leicester
Square.

"He might have stood us a cab home," complained the latter.

"Why should he?" said Jenny.

Irene looked at her in perplexity.

"You're usually the one to get all you can out of a fellow. And it was
your turn to ask to-night."

"I like Maurice," Jenny replied. "And what's more, I think I shall like
him again to-morrow."

The afternoon arrived. Jenny and Irene, walking down Shaftesbury Avenue,
perceived Maurice gazing at the photographs outside the Palace.

"There he is," cried Jenny.

Avery turned round.

"You _are_ punctual," he exclaimed.

Tea, at whatever tea-shop they drank it, was dull. The acquaintance did
not seem to advance.

When it was time for the girls to go into the theater, Maurice said
desperately:

"Could I drive you--both home to-night?"

At the last moment he was afraid to exclude Irene. "I'll wait outside,"
he went on, "till you come out."

Rain fell that night, and Maurice was glad when, along the court, he
could see them strolling towards him.

"A