ces of small talk, and thus show him that his offense had been
pardoned. "Yes, I soon begin to pine for my garden. Friday, at latest,
sees me home again. I always call the Abbey home. No place like home,
Dale."

Dale going out, through the long passage to the hall, felt momentarily
depressed by a sense of humiliating failure in the midst of his
apparent success. If only he could have fought them and beaten them
alone, as a strong man fighting unaided, instead of being pulled
through the battle by that veinous, blotchy, ringed hand! However, he
promptly tried to banish all such vague discomfort from his mind.

All of it was gone when he got back to the lodging-house, and found
his wife established in their new room.

VI

"The Acadia Theater! So be it. They're all one to me."

Mavis had chosen this famous music hall because, as she explained,
Chirgwin was performing at it, and her aunt had always said that
Chirgwin was the most excruciatingly funny of all music-hall artists.

"So be it. Half a minute, though." Dale counting his money, dolefully
discovered that it had run very low indeed. "I begin to think we shall
have to cut down our treat a bit."

But Mavis swept away all difficulties. She had brought money--her very
own money--her little emergency hoard; and opening her handbag, and
tumbling inside it, she produced a five-pound note, and smilingly put
it on the dressing-table.

"Hulloa! There's more where that comes from." His quick ear had caught
the rustling sound inside the handbag. "There's other notes in there,
old lady;" and, laughing, he tried to snatch the bag from her. "How
much? Here's a miser, and no mistake."

"Never you mind how much your miser's got." Her lips were smiling, her
eyes shining, and with a happy laugh she sprang away from him. "Now,
no nonsense. Take me out, and make a fuss of me."

For a moment he stood still, admiring her. She was dressed in her very
best Sunday clothes, and, to his eye at least, she looked quite
entrancingly nice. Her straw hat was full of artificial roses that
any one might have sworn were real; her unbuttoned jacket disclosed
the delicate finery of a muslin blouse; her long skirt, held up so
gracefully by the unoccupied hand, was made of veritable silk. She
just looked tip-top--a picture--to the full as much a lady as the
young dames he had been lately observing; and yet, wonder of wonders,
she was his property.

"By Jupiter, I must have another hug