s very terrible. Shall we take a 'bus?
To tell you the truth, I am dying of hunger. We rehearsed for two hours
before the performance, and I ate nothing but a sandwich--I was so
excited."

Tavernake hesitated a moment--he certainly was not himself this evening!

"Would you like to have some supper at a restaurant," he asked, "before
we go home?"

"I should love it," she declared, taking his arm as they passed through
a stream of people. "To tell you the truth, I was so hoping that you
would propose it."

"I think," Tavernake said, deliberately, "that there is a place a little
way along here."

They pushed their way down the Strand and entered a restaurant which
Tavernake knew only by name. A small table was found for them and
Beatrice looked about with delight.

"Isn't this jolly!" she exclaimed, taking off her gloves. "Why, there
are five or six of the girls from the theatre here already. There are
two, see, at the corner table, and the fair-haired girl--she is just
behind me in the chorus."

Tavernake glanced around. The young women whom she pointed out were
all escorted by men who were scrupulously attired in evening dress. She
seemed to read his thoughts as she laughed at him.

"You stupid boy," she said. "You don't suppose that I want to be like
them, do you? There are lots of things it's delightful to look on at,
and that's all. Isn't this fish good? I love this place."

Tavernake looked around him with an interest which he took no pains
to conceal. Certainly the little groups of people by whom they were
surrounded on every side had the air of finding some zest in life which
up to the present, at any rate, had escaped him. They came streaming in,
finding friends everywhere, laughing and talking, insisting upon tables
in impossible places, calling out greetings to acquaintances across the
room, chaffing the maitre d'hotel who was hastening from table to table.
The gathering babel of voices was mingled every now and then with the
popping of corks, and behind it all were the soft strains of a very
seductive little band, perched up in the balcony. Tavernake felt the
color mounting into his cheeks. It was true: there was something here
which was new to him!

"Beatrice," he asked her suddenly, "have you ever drunk champagne?"

She laughed at him.

"Often, my dear brother," she answered. "Why?"

"I never have," he confessed. "We are going to have some now."

She would have checked him but he had summone