“I’m not in need of help:  besides, I can take care of myself.”

“H’m!  Where were you going when I met you?”

“Shopping.”

“May I come too?”

“It wouldn’t interest you.”

“How long can you spare?”

“Not long.  Why?”

They had now reached the Wilton Road.  By way of reply to her question, he elbowed her into one of the pretentious restaurants which lined the side of the thoroughfare on which they walked.

“I’m not hungry,” she protested.

“Do as you’re told,” he replied, urging her to a table.

He called the waiter and ordered an elaborate meal to be brought with all dispatch.  He then took off the light overcoat covering his evening clothes before joining Mavis, who was surprised to see how much older he was looking.

“What are you staring at?” he asked.

“You.  Have you had trouble?”

“Yes,” he replied, looking her hard in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she remarked, dropping hers.

As if to leaven her previous ungraciousness, Mavis ate as much of the food as she could.  She noticed, however, that, beyond sipping his wine, Windebank merely made pretence of eating:  but for all his remissness with regard to his own needs, he was full of tender concern for her comfort.

“You’re eating nothing,” she presently remarked.

“Like our other meal in Regent Street.”

She nodded reminiscently.

“You hadn’t forgotten?”

“It was the night I left you in the fog.”

“Like the little fool you were!”

She did not make any reply.  He seemed preoccupied for the remainder of the meal, an absent-mindedness which was now and again interrupted by sparks of forced gaiety.

She wondered if he had anything on his mind.  She had previously resolved to wish him good-bye when they left the restaurant; but, somehow, when they went out together, she made no objection to his accompanying her in the direction of Halverton Street, the reason being that she felt wholly at home with him; he seemed so potent to protect her; he was so concerned for her happiness and well-being.  She revelled in the unaccustomed security which his presence inspired.

“What are you going to buy?” he asked, as they again approached Lupus Street.

“Odds and ends.”

“You must let me carry them.”

She smiled a little sadly, but otherwise made no reply to Windebank’s suggestion.  She was bent on enjoying to the full her new-found sensation of security.  When they reached Lupus Street, she went into the mean shops to order or get (in either case to pay for) the simple things she needed.  These comprised bovril, tea, bacon, sugar, methylated spirit, bread, milk, a chop, a cauliflower, six bottles of stout, and three pounds of potatoes.  Whatever shop she entered, Windebank insisted on accompanying her, and, in most cases, quadrupled her order; in others, bought all kinds of things which he thought she might want.  In any other locality, the sight of a man in evening dress, with prosperity written all over him, accompanying a shabbily-dressed girl, as Mavis then was, in her shopping, would have excited comment; but in Pimlico, anything of this nature was not considered at all out of the way.