Philip emptied the contents of the champagne bottle into the glasses.  Never was wine poured out more gladly.

“Douglas,” he explained, “this is Miss Elizabeth Dalstan, whom you saw act this evening.  We were married this afternoon.  You can understand, can’t you, just what your coming has meant for us?”

Douglas shook Elizabeth by the hand.  Then he held up his glass.

“Here’s the best of luck to you both!” he said heartily.  “Very soon Beatrice and I will ask you to wish us the same.  Philip, old chap,” he added, as he set his glass down and without the slightest protest watched it replenished, “that’s a thundering good play of yours I’ve seen this evening, but you’ll never write one to beat this!”

Soon Beatrice and Douglas also took their departure.  Elizabeth held out her arms almost as the door closed.  The tear-stains were still on her cheeks.  Her lips quivered a little, but her voice was clear and sweet and passionate.

“Philip,” she cried, “it’s all over—­it’s all finished with—­the dread, the awful days!  I am not going to be hysterical any more, and you—­you are just going to remember that we have everything we want in the world.  Sit down opposite to me, if you please, and fill my glass.  I have only one emotion left.  I am hungry—­desperately hungry.  Move your chair nearer so that I can reach your hand.  There!  Now you and I will drink our little toast.”

It was an hour before they thought of leaving the table.  A very perplexed waiter brought them coffee and watched them light cigarettes.  Then the telephone bell rang.  They both stared at the instrument.  Philip would have taken off the receiver, but Elizabeth held out her hand.

“I have an idea,” she said.  “I believe it is from Sylvanus Power.  Let me answer it.”

She held the receiver to her ear and listened.

“Yes?” she murmured.  “Yes?...  At what time?”

Her face grew more puzzled.  She listened for a moment longer.

“But, Sylvanus,” she expostulated, “what do you mean?...  Sylvanus?...  Mr. Power?”

The telephone had become a dumb thing.  She replaced the receiver.

“I don’t understand,” she told Philip.  “All that he said was—­’You will receive my present at five o’clock this morning!’”

“Does he think we are going to sit up for it?” Philip asked.

“He is the strangest man,” she sighed....

* * * * *

After all, some queer fancy awoke Philip at a little before five that morning and drew him to the window.  He sat looking out over the still sleeping city.  All sound now was hushed.  It was the brief breathing space before the dawn.  In the clear morning spring light, the buildings of the city seemed to stand out with a new and marvellous distinctness.  Now and then from the harbour came the shriek of a siren.  A few pale lights were still burning along the river