u couldn't."

"Couldn't I?" said Maurice, breathless. The heavy air of the coffee-shop
vibrated with unheard passionate melodies.

"No," said Jenny, gazing full at the young lover opposite, while Eros
shook his torch, and the gay deep eyes, catching the warm light, shone
as they had never shone for any man before. "But why did you try to make
me not like you?"

"I felt afraid," said Maurice. "I'm not very old, but I've made two
girls unhappy, and I had a presentiment that you would be the revenge
for them."

"I've made boys unhappy," said Jenny. "And I thought you were sent to
pay me out."

"But I shall always love you," said Maurice, putting his hand across the
little table and clasping her fingers close.

"So shall I you."

"We're lucky, aren't we?"

"Rather."

"I feel sorry for people who aren't in love with you. But don't let's
talk here any more. Let's go back to my rooms," he suggested.

"I've got to be in the theater by half-past seven."

"I know, but we've plenty of time. It's only just half-past five."

"Where do you live?"

"Westminster. Looking over the river. I've got a largish studio. Quite a
jolly room. I share the floor below with a friend."

"What's he like?"

"Castleton? Funny chap. I don't expect you'd care for him much. Women
don't usually. But don't let's talk about Castleton. Let's talk about
Jenny and Maurice."

Outside the fumes of the coffee-shop were blown away by soft autumnal
breezes.

"We'll dash it in a taxi. Look, there's a salmon-colored one. What luck!
We must have that. They're rather rare. Taxi! Taxi!"

The driver of the favored hue pulled up beside the pavement.

"Four-twenty-two Grosvenor Road, Westminster."

"I wonder," said Maurice, glancing round at Jenny and taking her slim
gloved hand in his. "I wonder whether taxis will ever be as romantic as
hansoms. They aren't yet somehow. All the same, there's a tremendous
thrill in tearing through this glorious September weather. Oh, London,"
he shouted, bouncing in excitement up and down on the springy cushions,
"London, you're wonderful."

Jenny shook his hand as a nurse reproves a child.

"Keep still," she commanded. "The man'll think you're potty."

"But I am potty. You're potty. The world's potty, and we're in love. My
sweet and lovely Jenny, I'm in love with you.

"There was a young lady called Jenny,
Whose eyes, some men said, were quite squiny."

"Oh, Maurice, you _are_ awful," she proteste