--and then off we go."

"No," she said archly, and yet decidedly. "No more kisses till
bedtime. I'm all ready to show myself to company, and I don't wish to
be rumpled."

They rode like a gentleman and a lady in a hansom cab; they dined like
a duke and a duchess at the Criterion restaurant; and they were both
as happy and light-hearted as schoolboys on the first day of their
holidays. Like children they made silly little jokes which would have
been jokes to no one but themselves. He caused immoderate laughter in
her by assuming the airs of a man about town, by affecting a profound
knowledge of the French names for all the dishes on the table d'hote
menu, and by describing how offended he would now be if any one should
detect that he was not a regular London swell; and she, by whispered
criticism of a stout party at a distant table, sent such a convulsion
of mirth through him that he choked badly while drinking wine. He had
insisted on ordering the wine, and in making Mav take her share of it,
although she vowed that the unaccustomed stimulant would fly to her
head.

"Rot, old girl. You dip your beak in it--it's mostly froth and fizz,
and no more strength than the lager beer, as far as I can make out."

"How much does it cost?"

"Shan't tell. Yes, I will," and he roared with laughter, "since it's
you that's paying for it. Best part of seven shillings."

"Oh, Will, it's _wicked_!"

"Bosh! This is the time of our lives;" and he chaffed her again about
being a secret capitalist. "Blow the expense. Let the money fly. And,
Mav, I on'y borrow it. This is all my affair really."

"No, no. You'll spoil half my pleasure if you don't let me pay."

But his money or her money--what did it matter? They two were one,
reunited after a cruel, most bitterly cruel separation; her face was
flushed with joy more than with wine, and her love poured out of her
eyes like a stream of light.

They walked from the restaurant to Leicester Square, arm in arm, proud
and joyous, enjoying the lamplight and noise, not minding the airless
heat; but when they reached the entrance of the music hall--where he
had stood gaping, solitary and sad, a few nights ago--Mavis met with
disappointment.

"Oh," she said, "what a shame! They've changed the bill. Chirgwin's
name is gone. He was acting here Friday night."

"How d'you know that?"

She followed him into the vestibule, and he asked her again while they
waited in the crowd by the ticket offic