turned towards Henry. "Oh, of course. Mr. Quinn,
I always repeat what other people say. I forget that they've said it to
me and think that I've thought of it myself!"

Henry professed to be pleased that she had accepted his ideas so
completely.

"But, of course," she continued, "what you said was quite true. I've
always felt that there was something wrong with Wilde's plays...."

"I can't think what you all want to talk about a play for. I never see
anything in 'em to talk about!" Jimphy murmured sleepily.

"Go to sleep, Jimphy, dear. Well wake you when we get to the Savoy...."

"Always ragging a chap!" Jimphy muttered, and then closed his eyes.

The car turned down one of the narrow streets that lead from Fleet
Street to the Thames Embankment, and then turned again and stopped.

"Oh, is this your office, Gilbert?" Lady Cecily said. "Such an ugly,
dark looking place! But I suppose it's interesting inside? Newspaper
offices are supposed to be awfully interesting inside, aren't they?"

"Are they?" Gilbert replied, as he got out of the car. "I've never
noticed it. Noisy holes where no one has time to think. Good-bye."

"Not 'good-bye,' Gilbert! We shall see you soon at the Savoy, shan't
we?"

"Oh, yes. Yes. I'd almost forgotten that!"

The car drove off, threading the narrow steep street slowly. They could
hear the deep rurr-rurr of the printing machines coming from the
basements of the buildings, and now and then great patches of pallid
blue light shot out of open windows. Motor-vans and horse-waggons were
drawn up against the pavements in front of the office-doors, waiting for
the newly-printed papers. Bundles of _Daily Reflexions_ were already
printed and were being thrown on to the cars and waggons for
distribution.

"Are they printed already?" Lady Cecily said.

"Most of them were printed at nine o'clock," Henry replied. "The
ha'penny illustrated papers go all over the country before the ordinary
papers are printed at all!"

"How awfully clever of them!" she said.

The car turned into Fleet Street and quickly drove up to the Savoy.

"Thank God!" said Jimphy. "I shall get some fun out of my birthday now!"

"Jimphy loves his food," Lady Cecily exclaimed. "Don't you, Jimphy?
Don't you love your little tum-tum?..."

They entered the hotel and found the table which had been reserved for
them. There was a queer, hectic gaiety about the place, as if every one
present were making a desperate effort to eat