“What for?”

“Grub.  Hi, stop!”

Obedient to his summons, the cabman stopped.  Mavis got out on the pavement, where she stood irresolute.

“You’ll come in?”

Mavis did not reply.

“We must have a talk.  Please, please don’t refuse me this.”

“I shan’t eat anything.”

“If you don’t, I shan’t.”

“I won’t—­I swear I won’t accept the least favour from you.”

She looked at him resentfully:  she would go any lengths to conceal her lessening dislike for him.

“You’d better wait,” he called to the cabman, as he led the way to a restaurant.

Two attendants, in gold-laced coats, opened double folding doors at the approach of the man and the girl.

Mavis found herself in a large hall, elaborately decorated with red and gold, upon the floor of which were many tables, that just now were sparsely occupied.

Windebank looked from table to table, as if in search of something.  His eye, presently, rested on one, at which an elderly matron was supping with a parson, presumably her husband.

“Good luck!” Windebank murmured, adding to the girl, “This way.”

Mavis followed him up the hall to the table next the one where the elderly couple were sitting.

“This is about our mark,” he said.

“Why specially here?” she asked.

“Those elderly geesers are a sort of chaperone for unprotected innocence; a parson and all that,” he remarked.

She could hardly forbear smiling at his conception of protection.

A waiter assisted her with her cloak.  When she took a seat opposite to Windebank, he said: 

“I like this place; there’s no confounded music to interfere with what one’s got to say.”

“I like music,” Mavis remarked.

“Then let’s go where they have it,” he suggested, half rising.

“I want to go straight home, if you’ll let me.”

“Then we’ll stay here.  What are you going to eat?”

“Nothing.”

“Rot!  Here’s the waiter chaps.  Tell ’em what you want.”

Two waiters approached the table, one with a list of food, the other with like information concerning wines, which, at a nod from Windebank, they put before Mavis.

She glanced over these; beyond noticing the high prices charged, she gave no attention to the lists’ contents.

“Well?” said Windebank.

“I’m not hungry and I’m not thirsty,” remarked Mavis.

“You heard what I said, and I’m awfully hungry!”

“That’s your affair.”

“If you won’t decide, I’ll decide for you.”

The waiters handed him the menus, from which, after much thought, he ordered an elaborate meal.  When the waiters hastened to execute his orders, he found Mavis staring at him wide-eyed.

“Are you entertaining your regiment?” she asked.

“You,” he replied.