“Brayvo!  Brayvo!  By Jupiter—­wouldn’t ‘a’ credited it without the evidence of my own eyes.”  The gorgeous curtains had just descended upon a narrow parlor, which a Japanese necromancer had literally filled to overflowing with colored cardboard boxes produced from the interior of one single top hat.  “See!  Watch ’em, Mav.”  Footmen were coming in front of the curtains to remove the plethora of cardboard boxes.  “They’re real boxes, Mav.”

Sweet music, happy laughter, brilliant light—­the evening glided entrancingly, like a dream in which neither Greenwich nor any other time is kept.

During the interval before the ballet he took her out of the circle, strolled with her up and down the promenade, and gave her an American drink in a refreshment saloon.  It was appallingly hot, and they were both longing to quench their thirst with something big and cold.  A magnificent waiter brought them bigness and coldness in tall tumblers with straws, and they sat on a velvet divan and sucked rapturously.

Standing or seated at tables, there were young bloods with white waistcoats and cigarettes, and young ladies with rich gowns and made-up faces; through a gilded doorway one had a vista of the thronged promenade; the air was hot, exhausted, pungent with tobacco smoke; and amid the chatter of voices, the clink of glasses, the rustle of petticoats, one could only just hear the great orchestra playing chords of some fantastic march.

Suddenly Mavis felt a vaguely pleasant confusion of mind, as though the icily cold liquid, as she slowly absorbed it through the straw, was freezing her intelligence.  She could not for a few moments understand what Dale was whispering at her ear.

“Between you and me and the post, Mav”—­And he told her that, according to his opinion, all these women parading up and down were no better than they ought to be.  They were of course, socially, much higher than the common women of the streets, but he considered them to be, morally, on the same level:  although they did not accost strangers, they were all willing to scrape acquaintance with any one who looked as if he had money in his pocket.  “Yes, London’s a bit of an eye-opener, old girl.”  Then he laughed behind his hand, and said that she was probably the only respectable woman and virtuous wife in the whole of the theater.

Mavis, although trying to listen, answered at random.

“Will, I do believe there’s spirits in this stuff—­yes, and strong spirits too.”

“Oh, bosh.  It’s just a refresher.  Mostly crushed ice, and a few drops of sirup.”

Mavis, however, was quite correct.  At the bottom of the glass, and below the light sirupy mixture, there lurked liqueurs of which the potency was only rendered doubtful because of their low temperature.  The beginning of the long drink was absolutely delicious, so soothing and so cooling; but at the end of it was as if one had filled one’s self with insidious quick-running flame.