by Mr Poulter to a table set apart for the artistes
in the room in which the lightest of light refreshments were served to
his patrons.

Mavis sat down to a plateful of what looked uncommonly like her old
friend, brisket of beef; she was now so hungry that she was glad to get
anything so substantial.

"'Ow are you gettin' on?" asked a familiar voice over her shoulder.

Mavis looked up, to see Miss Nippett, who had discarded her cap and
apron; she was now in her usual rusty frock, with her shawl upon her
narrow, stooping shoulders.

"All right, thank you. Why don't you have some?"

"No, thank you. I can't spare the time. I'm 'light refreshments.'"

"But they're all eaten!" remarked Mavis, as her eye ranged along a
length of table-cloth innocent of food or decoration.

"'Poulter's' ain't such a fool as to stick nothink out; it would all be
'wolfed' in a second. Let 'em ask."

"Some people mightn't like to."

"That's their look-out," snapped Miss Nippett, who had a heart of stone
where the interests of anything antagonistic to "Poulter's" were
concerned.

At the conclusion of the evening, the band was paid.

Mr Baffy got a shilling for his services, which he held in his hand and
looked stupidly before him, till he got a cut with a bow from the
second violinist, at which he put the money in his pocket. He then
shouldered his bass viol and plunged out into the darkness.

Mavis's heart went out to Mr Baffy. She wondered where and how he
lived; how he passed his time; what had reduced him to his present
condition.

She spoke of him to Mr Poulter, who looked perplexed before replying:

"Ah, my dear young lady, it's as well for such as you not to inquire
too closely into the lives of we who are artistes."

When Mavis had put on her hat and cloak, and was leaving the Athenaeum,
Miss Nippett called out:

"It's all right; you can sleep sound; 'e's pleased with you."

"Who?" asked Mavis.

"Mr Poulter. Who else d'ye think I meant?"

Three days later, Mavis severed her connection with "Poulter's." Upon
her going, Mr Poulter presented her with a signed photograph of himself
in full war-paint, an eulogistically worded testimonial, also, an
honorarium (this was his word) of five shillings. Mavis was loth to
take it; but seeing the dancing-master's distress at her hesitation,
she reluctantly pocketed the money.

Miss Nippett also gave her a specially taken photograph of herself.

"Where's your shawl?" asked Mavi