Linforth detected now a certain flashiness in his well grooming
which he had not noticed before. Or was it the fat insignificant young
man three seats away from her?

A rather gross young person, Linforth thought him--the offspring of some
provincial tradesman who had retired with a fortune and made a gentleman
of his son.

"Well, no doubt he has the dibs," Linforth found himself saying with an
unexpected irritation, as he contemplated the possible husband. And his
friend broke in upon his thoughts.

"If you are going to eat any dinner, Linforth, it might be as well to
begin; we shall have to go very shortly."

Linforth fell to accordingly. His appetite was not impaired, he was happy
to notice, but, on the whole, he wished he had not seen Violet Oliver.
This was his last night in London. She might so easily have come
to-morrow instead, when he would already have departed from the town. It
was a pity.

He did not look towards her table any more, but the moment her party rose
he was nevertheless aware of its movement. He was conscious that she
passed through the restaurant towards the lobby at no great distance from
himself. He was aware, though he did not raise his head, that she was
looking at him.

Five minutes afterwards the waiter brought to him a folded piece of
paper. He opened it and read:

"Dick, won't you speak to me at all? I am waiting.--VIOLET."

Linforth looked up at his friend.

"There is someone I must go and speak to," he said. "I won't be
five minutes."

He rose from the table and walked out of the restaurant. His heart was
beating rather fast, but it was surely curiosity which produced that
effect. Curiosity to know whether with her things were--just not, too. He
passed across the hall and up the steps. On the top of the steps she was
waiting for him. She had her cloak upon her shoulders, and in the
background the gross young man waited for her without interposing--the
very image of a docile husband.

"Dick," she said quickly, as she held out her hand to him, "I did so want
to talk to you. I have to rush off to a theatre. So I sent in for you.
Why wouldn't you speak to me?"

That he should have any reason to avoid her she seemed calmly and
completely unconscious. And so unembarrassed was her manner that even
with her voice in his ears and her face before him, delicate and pretty
as of old, Dick almost believed that never had he spoken of love to her,
and never had she answered him.

"Y