Mike and Frank turned shoulder against shoulder across the room, four legs following in intricate unison to the opulent rhythm of the ’Blue Danube’; and when beneath ruche-rose feet died away in little exhausted steps, the men sprang from each other, and the rhythm of sex was restored—­Mike with Lily, and Frank with Helen, yielding hearts, hands, and feet in the garden enchantment of Gounod’s waltz.

* * * * * *

The smell of burnt-out and quenched candle-ends pervaded the apartment, and slips of gray light appeared between the curtains.  The day, alas! had come upon them.  Frank yawned; and pale with weariness he longed that his guests might leave him.  Chairs had been brought out on the balcony.  Muchross and his friends had adjourned from the supper-room, bringing champagne and an hysterical lady with them.  Snowdown and Platt were with difficulty dissuaded from attempting acrobatic feats on the parapet; and the city faded from deep purple into a vast grayness.  Strange was the little party ensconced in the stone balcony high above the monotone of the river.

Harding and Thompson, for pity of Frank, had spoken of leaving, but the lords and the lady were obdurate.  Her husband had left in despair, leaving Muchross to bring her home safely to Notting Hill.  As the day broke even the “bluest” stories failed to raise a laugh.  At last some left, then the lords left; ten minutes after Mike, Frank, Harding, and Thompson were alone.

“Those infernal fellows wouldn’t go, and now I’m not a bit sleepy.”

“I am,” said Thompson.  “Come on, Harding; you are going my way.”

“Going your way!”

“Yes; you can go through the Park.  The walk will do you good.”

“I should like a walk,” said Escott, “I’m not a bit sleepy now.”

“Come on then; walk with me as far as Hyde Park Corner.”

“And come home alone!  Not if I know it—­I’ll go if Mike will come.”

“I’ll go,” said Mike.  “You’ll come with us, Harding?”

“It is out of my way, but if you are all going ...  Where’s John Norton?”

“He left about an hour ago.”

“Let’s wake him up.”

As they passed up the Temple towards the Strand entrance, they turned into Pump Court, intending to shout.  But John’s window was open, and he stood, his head out, taking the air.

“What!—­not gone to bed yet?”

“No; I have bad indigestion, and cannot sleep.”

“We are going to walk as far as Hyde Park Corner with Thompson.  Just the thing for you; you’ll walk off your indigestion.”

“All right.  Wait a moment; I’ll put my coat on....”

“I never pass a set of street-sweepers without buttoning up,” said Harding, as they went out of the Temple into the Strand.  “The glazed shoes I don’t mind, but the tie is too painfully significant.”

“The old signs of City,” said Thompson, as a begging woman rose from a doorstep, and stretched forth a miserable arm and hand.