aded 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.

As the dinner progressed, she could not help seeing how Mr Ellis's eyes
seemed to awaken from their torpor; but the life that came into them
was such that Mavis much preferred them as they originally were. They
sparkled hungrily; it seemed to the girl as if they had a fearful,
hunted, and, at the same time, eager, unholy look, as if they sought
refuge in some deadly sin in order to escape a far worse fate. Mavis's
and Williams's gaiety was infectious. Ellis frequently joined in the
raillery proceeding between the pair; it was as if Mavis's youth,
comeliness, and charm compelled homage from the pleasure-worn man of
the world. Mrs Hamilton, all this while, said little; she left the
entertaining to Mavis, who was more than equal to the effort; it seemed
to the joy-intoxicated girl as if she were the bountiful hostess, Mrs
Hamilton a chance guest at her table. The appearance of strawberries at
dessert (it was January) made a lull in Mavis's enjoyment: the
out-of-season fruit reminded her of the misery which could be
alleviated with the expenditure of its cost. She was silent for a few
moments, which caused Ellis to ask:

"I say, Windebank, what have you said to our friend?"

Mavis looked up quickly, to see a look of annoyance on Mrs Hamilton's
face.

"Williams, I should have said," corrected Ellis. "I muddled the two
names. What have you said to our friend that she should be so quiet all
at once?"

"Give it up," replied Williams. "Perhaps she's offended at our
childishness."

The men talked. Mrs Hamilton, with something of an effort, joined in
the conversation. Mavis was silent; she wondered how Mr Ellis came to
address Mr Williams as "Windebank," which was also the name of the
friend of the far-away days when her father was alive. She reflected
how Archie Windebank