a
new phase of it was offered him. He reached out for it eagerly.

Julie leaned back and blew out a thin stream of smoke, her eyes daring
him, picking up the little glass as she did so.

_"Here's to the girl with the little grey shoes,"_ she chanted merrily.

"Don't Julie, for Heaven's sake!" pleaded Tommy. "He'll be shocked."

"Oh, go on," said Peter; "what is it?"

"Captain Donovan will finish," laughed Julie.

"'Deed I can't, for I don't know it," he said. "Let's have it, little
girl; I'm sure it's a sporting toast."

"_Who eats your grub and drinks your booze_," continued she.

"Shut up, Julie," said Tommy, leaning over as if to snatch her glass.

"_And then goes home to her mother to snooze_," called Julie
breathlessly, leaning back.

"_I don't think_," ejaculated Donovan.

Julie tipped down the drink. "You knew it all the time," she said. And
they all burst out laughing.

Peter drank, and called for another, his eyes on Julie. He knew that he
could not sum her up, but he refused to believe that this was the secret
behind the eyes. She was too gay, too insolent. What Donovan thought he
could not say, but he almost hated him for the ease with which he kept
pace with their companions.

They ordered dinner, and the great dish of _hors d'oeuvres_ was brought
round by a waiter who seemed to preside over it with a fatherly
solicitude. Julie picked up an olive in her fingers, and found it so good
that she grumbled at only having taken one.

"Have mine," said Donovan, shooting one on to her plate.

"Thanks," she said. "Oh, heavens! I forgot that patch on my left
cheek--or was it my right, Solomon? Let's see."

She dived into her pocket, and produced a tiny satin beaded box, "Isn't
it chic?" she demanded, leaning over to show Donovan. "I got it in the
Nouvelles Galleries the other day." She took off the lid, which revealed
its reverse as a tiny mirror, and scrutinised herself, patting back a
stray lock on her forehead.

"Oh, don't," said Donovan, and he slipped the hair out again with his
finger.

"Be quiet; but I'll concede that. This won't do, though." Out came a tiny
powder-puff. "How's that?" she demanded, smiling up at him.

"Perfect," he said. "But it's not fair to do that here."

"Wait for the taxi then," she said. "Besides, it won't matter so much
then."

"What won't matter?" demanded Peter.

"Solomon, dear, you're as innocent as a new-born babe. Isn't he?" she
demanded of his friend.