The girl with the ringlets snuggled near Mr. Spokesly and began to
project one of those appalling intimacies which are based on the
insignificance of personality. To him, at that moment almost entirely
dominated by a vivid and delicious character, the bizarre efforts of
this unwashed painted _gamine_ to assume the pose of sweetheart was
almost terrifying, and he avoided her rolling eyes and predatory claws
with a sense of profound shame. His elderly friend, however, was
thoroughly enjoying himself. He had reached that period of life, perhaps
the best of all for a seafaring man, when he is happily married and
comfortably situated, and he can now give his mind to those sentimental
fancies which he had to pass up earlier in life owing to economic
stress. A seaman's mind is an involved affair in which thoughts and
emotions and desires are stowed entirely without reference to academic
order. So the old lieutenant, who had had a son killed at Mons and who
truly loved his wife, and who was looking forward to loving his
grandchildren, was now having a little time off from his elderly duties,
and enjoying the unaccustomed pleasure of being a bit of a dog. This was
his little friend, this oleaginous vampire who received a percentage of
the price of the drinks ordered and all she could wheedle out of drunken
customers. There is nothing incomprehensible in this. One is permitted
to marvel at these modern Circes, however, who turn men into swine by
transforming themselves.

"If you don't mind," said Mr. Spokesly after trying the champagne, "I
think I'll have some more beer."

His friend smiled happily and pinched the cheek of his little friend who
was now on his knee with a fat arm over his shoulder.

"This is something like, eh!" A young man was playing the piano noisily.

"How's things at the office?" said Mr. Spokesly.

The old fellow chuckled.

"Oh, what do you think is the latest? My young lordship told me in
future I was to run round and round the White Tower from nine to five.
For the duration of the war, he says. What do you think of that? That's
what we get for joining up. Serving our country. Why, it's a joke. What
is it, dear?" He listened attentively to his little friend's whisper.
"She wants to know if you are going to stand treat to your little
friend," he said to Mr. Spokesly.

Mr. Spokesly's little friend, with her emaciated limbs, lemon-coloured
French boots, and infuriating ringlets, was smiling in what wa