Shiel thoroughly enjoyed that journey up to town.  He knew it was wrong of him to think of his own pleasure, when the affairs of his companion were in such a critical condition.  He knew he ought not to look at her in the way he did—­as if she was the most precious thing in the world, and he would give her his soul if she wanted it—­he knew that he—­a penniless artist without any prospects—­had no right to behave thus.  But her beauty appealed to him with a force he was entirely incapable of resisting, and he went on looking at her in the way he knew he ought not to look at her, simply because he couldn’t help it.

He lunched with her at her club in Dover Street, and then they taxied to the Kingsway.

The door-keeper, the only living creature in the building, saving themselves, seemed to share in the general depression hanging over everything—­the great, empty front of the house with its gloomy, cavernous boxes and grim, grey gallery—­the dark, dismal flies—­the chilly wings—­all hushed and still, and impregnated with the sense of desertion.  But with this man beside her, who, she knew, would do anything he could to help, the place did not look quite so bad to Gladys as it had done the day before.  There was a ray of light now where, before, ebon blackness had prevailed.

Without delay Gladys rang up the Indian attendants on the telephone, and occupied the time prior to their arrival by describing to Shiel how each of the tricks was done.

Her pupil proved far more able than she had anticipated.  After several rehearsals he was able to go through the whole performance without a hitch.

When they had finished, Gladys stretched out her hand impulsively.  “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” she said.  “You are a brick, and if only you do half as well this evening as you have done now, we shall get on swimmingly—­that is to say, as well as we can expect, until we can arrange a fresh programme.  If only you were an inventor!”

“If only I were.  If only I had money!”

“Why, what would you do?” Gladys asked curiously.

“Give it to you!  Give you every halfpenny of it!—­But as I haven’t any, I mean to give you all the energy I possess instead.”

“Why me?  My father you mean!”

“No, you!” Shiel said impulsively, “both of you if you prefer it, but you first.”

“Me first!  That doesn’t seem very lucid—­but I can’t stay to hear an explanation now, for if I miss the four-thirty train I shall miss my dinner, which would indeed be a calamity!” And slipping on her gloves, she hurried off, forbidding Shiel to escort her further.

Left to himself, Shiel strolled along the Strand into the Victoria Gardens, where he bought an evening paper, and sat down to read it.  The first thing that caught his eye was—­

    “MAGIC IN LONDON”