ed no better than the class she
would have labelled vaguely as "people in shops." They were as different
as possible from her brothers and her brothers' friends, sleek,
well-dressed men with appropriate clothes for every occasion, and a
uniform for the serious observance of dinner which she had never
imagined a man without, except on an unavoidable emergency. She had
never once in her life dined in the same frock as she had worn during
the day and hardly ever in the company of men in morning clothes.

This cheap restaurant, where the food and cooking were good but the
appointments meagre, struck her as strangely as if she had been made to
eat in a kitchen. That it did not strike Mackenzie in that way was plain
from his satisfaction at having introduced her to it. "Just as good food
here as at the Carlton or the Savoy," he said inaccurately, "at about a
quarter of the price; and no fuss in dressing-up!"

She enjoyed it rather, after a time. There was a sense of adventure in
dining in such a place, even in dining where nobody had thought of
dressing, although dressing for dinner was not one of the conventions
she had wished to run away from; it was merely a habit of cleanliness
and comfort. Mackenzie talked to her incessantly in a low voice--they
were sitting at a little table in a corner, rather apart from the rest.
He talked of his travels, and fascinated her; and every now and then,
when he seemed furthest away, his face would suddenly soften and he
would put in a word of encouragement or gratitude to her. She felt proud
of having the power to make such a man happy. They were comrades, and
she wanted to share his life. At present it seemed to be enough for him
to talk to her. He had not as yet made any demand on her for a return of
confidence. In fact, she had scarcely spoken a word to him, except in
answer to speech of his. He had won her and seemed now to take her
presence for granted. He had not even told her what arrangements he had
made for their marriage, or where it was to be; nor had he alluded in
any way to the course of their future life or travels, except in the
matter of Mrs. Fletcher's room in Bloomsbury.

"When are we going to Tibet again?" She asked him the question point
blank, as they were drinking their coffee, and Mackenzie was smoking a
big briar pipe filled with strong tobacco.

He stared at her in a moment's silence. Then he laughed. "Tibet!" he
echoed. "Oh, I think now I shan't be going to Tib