nd
pretty. Her childishness whetted him keenly. She would he
helpless between his hands.

"That was the best turn we've had," he said to her, leaning
over as he clapped his hands. He felt strong and unshakeable in
himself, set over against all the world. His soul was keen and
watchful, glittering with a kind of amusement. He was perfectly
self-contained. He was himself, the absolute, the rest of the
world was the object that should contribute to his being.

The girl started, turned round, her eyes lit up with an
almost painful flash of a smile, the colour came deeply in her
cheeks.

"Yes, it was," she said, quite meaninglessly, and she covered
her rather prominent teeth with her lips. Then she sat looking
straight before her, seeing nothing, only conscious of the
colour burning in her cheeks.

It pricked him with a pleasant sensation. His veins and his
nerves attended to her, she was so young and palpitating.

"It's not such a good programme as last week's," he said.

Again she half turned her face to him, and her clear, bright
eyes, bright like shallow water, filled with light, frightened,
yet involuntarily lighting and shaking with response.

"Oh, isn't it! I wasn't able to come last week."

He noted the common accent. It pleased him. He knew what
class she came of. Probably she was a warehouse-lass. He was
glad she was a common girl.

He proceeded to tell her about the last week's programme. She
answered at random, very confusedly. The colour burned in her
cheek. Yet she always answered him. The girl on the other side
sat remotely, obviously silent. He ignored her. All his address
was for his own girl, with her bright, shallow eyes and her
vulnerably opened mouth.

The talk went on, meaningless and random on her part, quite
deliberate and purposive on his. It was a pleasure to him to
make this conversation, an activity pleasant as a fine game of
chance and skill. He was very quiet and pleasant-humoured, but
so full of strength. She fluttered beside his steady pressure of
warmth and his surety.

He saw the performance drawing to a close. His senses were
alert and wilful. He would press his advantages. He followed her
and her plain friend down the stairs to the street. It was
raining.

"It's a nasty night," he said. "Shall you come and have a
drink of something--a cup of coffee--it's early
yet."

"Oh, I don't think so," she said, looking away into the
night.

"I wish you would," he said, putting