“Is it?”

“If it isn’t, it ought to be.  Do change your mind.”

“Nothing will make me,” she replied icily.

He signalled to the waiters to remove the food.

“What a jolly night we’re having!” he genially remarked, when the men were well out of hearing.

“I’m afraid I’ve spoiled your evening.”

“Not at all.  I like a good feed.  It does one good.”

Mavis would have been hard put to it to repress a smile at this remark, had she not suddenly remembered how she had left her purse in the pocket of the frock that she had left behind her at Mrs Hamilton’s; she realised that she would have to walk to Mrs Bilkins’s.  The fact of having no money to pay a ’bus fare reminded her how the cab was waiting outside.

“You’ve forgotten your cab,” she remarked.

“What cab?”

“The one you told to wait outside.”

“What of it?”

“Won’t he charge?”

“Of course.  What of it?”

“What an extravagance!” she commented.

She could say no more; a procession of dishes commenced:  meats, ices, sweetmeats, fruit, wines, coffee, liqueurs; all of which were refused, first by Mavis, then by Windebank.

Mavis, who had been accustomed to consider carefully the spending of a penny, was appalled at the waste.  She had hoped that Windebank, after seeing how she was resolved to keep her word, would have countermanded the expensive supper he had ordered; failing this, that the management of the restaurant would not charge for the unconsumed meats and wine.  Windebank would have been flattered could he have known of Mavis’s consideration for his pocket.

He and the girl talked when the attendants were out of the way, to stop conversing when they were immediately about them; the two would resume where they had left off, directly they were sure of not being overheard.

“Just imagine, if you were little Mavis Keeves grown up,” began Windebank.

“Never mind about her,” replied Mavis uneasily.

“But I do.  I loved her, the cheeky little wretch.”

“Was she?”

“A little flirt, too.”

“Oh no.”

“Fact.  I think it made me love her all the more.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” she asked, making a sad little effort to be light-hearted.

“I wish I could.  There was a chap named Perigal, whom the little flirt preferred to me.”

“Perigal?”

“Charlie Perigal.  We were laughing about it only the week before last.”

“He loved her too?”

“Rather.  I remember we both subscribed to buy her a birthday present.  Anyway, the week before last, we both asked each other what had become of her, and promised to let each other know if we heard anything of her.”

“If I were Mavis Keeves, would you let him know?”

“No fear.”

Mavis smiled at the reply.