ce. She could not, she felt, face
the Pall Mall or Jermyn Street restaurants, their lights, wealth of
silver and glass, their soft carpets, their silent waiters. The Major
had agreed, for he knew women well and was not over-anxious to expose to
the eyes of the town Victoria's paltry clothes. Now he had her before
him he began to regret that he had not risked it. For Victoria had
gained as much as she had lost in looks. Her figure had shrunk, but her
neck was still beautifully moulded, broad as a pillar; her colour had
gone down almost to dead white; the superfluous flesh had wasted away
and had left bare the splendid line of the strong chin and jaw. Her
eyes, however, were the magnet that held Cairns fast. They were as grey
as ever, but dilated and thrown into contrast with the pale skin by the
purple zone which surrounded them. They stared before them with a novel
boldness, a strange lucidity.

'Victoria,' whispered Cairns leaning forward, 'you are very beautiful.'

Victoria laughed and a faint flush rose into her cheeks. There was still
something grateful in the admiration of this man, gross and limited as
he might be, centred round his pleasures, sceptical of good and evil
alike. Without a word she took up a spoon and began to eat her ice.
Cairns watched every movement of her hand and wrist.

'Don't,' said Victoria after a pause. She dropped her spoon and put her
hands under the table.

'Don't what?' said Cairns.

'Look at my hands. They're . . . Oh, they're not what they were. It
makes me feel ashamed.'

'Nonsense,' said Cairns with a laugh. 'Your hands are still as fine as
ever and, when we've had them manicured. . . .'

He stopped abruptly as if he had said too much.

'Manicured?' said Victoria warily, though the 'we' had given her a
little shock. 'Oh, they're not worth manicuring now for the sort of work
I've got to do.'

'Look here, Victoria,' said Cairns rather roughly. 'This can't go on.
You're not made to be one of the drabs. You say your work is telling on
you: well, you must give it up.'

'Oh, I can't do that,' said Victoria, 'I've got to earn my living and
I'm no good for anything else.'

Cairns looked at her for a moment and meditatively sipped his port.

'Drink the port,' he commanded, 'it'll do you good.'

Victoria obeyed willingly enough. There was already in her blood the
glow of Burgundy; but the port, mellow, exquisite, and curling round the
tongue, coloured like burnt almonds, fragr