“How nice to be so reckless!”

“I’m a lot in town for the next three months.  I want to get as much out of life as I can.”

“From school?”

“Aldershot.”

“Are you in the service?”

“Eh!”

“If you are, haven’t you any rank at your age?” asked Mavis.

“How do you know I’m not a Tommy?” he asked.

“That’s what I thought you were,” she retorted.

Mavis and Mrs Hamilton faced each other at table; Williams sat on her right, Ellis on her left.  The conversation at the dinner-table was, almost exclusively, between the soldier and Mavis.  Ellis scarcely spoke to his hostess, and then only when compelled.

“What will you drink?” asked Mrs Hamilton of Mavis.

“Water, please.”

“Water?” echoed Mrs Hamilton.

Mr Ellis looked keenly at Mavis.

“Have some champagne,” continued Mrs Hamilton.

“I’d fall under the table if I did.  I’ll have water.  I never drink anything else,” said Mavis.

“I never drink anything else except champagne,” retorted Mrs Hamilton.  “Look here, if Miss Devereux drinks water I shall,” declared Williams.

“Do.  The change will do you good,” replied Mavis.

“See what I’ve let myself in for,” said Williams, as he kept his word.

As the servant was about to pour out champagne for Mr Ellis, Mrs Hamilton said: 

“Stop!  I’ve something special for you.”

She then whispered to the servant, who left the room to bring back a curious, old bottle.  When this was opened, a golden wine poured into Mr Ellis’s glass, where it bubbled joyously, as if rejoicing at being set free from its long imprisonment.

As the wine was poured out, Mavis noticed how Mr Ellis’s eye caught Mrs Hamilton’s.

The meal was long, elaborate, sumptuous.  Mavis wondered when the procession of toothsome delicacies would stop.  She enjoyed herself immensely; her unaccustomed personal adornment, the cosy room, the shaded lights, the lace table-cloth, the manner in which the food was served, above all, the manly, admiring personality of Mr Williams, all irresistibly appealed to her, largely because the many joyous instincts of her being had been starved for so long.

She surrendered herself body and soul to the exhilaration of the moment, as if conscious that it was all too good to be true; that her surroundings might any moment fade; that her gay clothes would disappear, and that she would again find herself, heartsick and weary, in her comfortless little combined room at Mrs Bilkins’s.  At the same time, her natural alertness took in everything going on about her.