e customers, or rather clients, lapse with a sigh into
the comfortable armchairs they look round with the covert elegance that
says, 'And who the devil are you?'

Victoria was in her element. She had had tea at Miss Fortesque's some
dozen years before when up for the week from Lympton; thus she felt she
had the freedom of the house. She sipped her tea and dropped crumbs with
unconcern. She looked at the dowager without curiosity. The dowager
speculated as to the maker of her coat and skirt. Victoria's eyes fixed
again on the girl who was passing her with a laden tray. The effort was
bringing out the beautiful lines of the slender arms, drooping
shoulders, round bust. Her fair hair clustered low over the creamy nape.

'Slave, slave,' thought Victoria again. 'What are you doing, you fool?
Roughening your hands, losing flesh, growing old. And there's nothing
for a girl to do but serve on, serve, always serve. Until you get too
old. And then, scrapped. Or you marry . . . anything that comes along.
Good luck to you, paragon, on your eight bob a week.'

Victoria went downstairs and got into the cab which had been waiting for
her with the servants' presents. It was no longer cold, but foggy and
warm. She undid her white fox stole, dropping on the seat her crocodile
skin bag, whence escaped a swollen purse of gold mesh.

Upstairs the girl cleared away. Under the butter-smeared plate which
slipped through her fingers she found half-a-crown. Her heart bounded
with joy.

CHAPTER II

'TOM, you know how I hate _tournedos_,' said Victoria petulantly.

'Sorry, old girl.' Cairns turned and motioned to the waiter. While he
was exchanging murmurs with the man Victoria observed him. Cairns was
not bad looking, redder and stouter than ever. He was turning into the
'jolly old Major' type, short, broad, strangled in cross barred cravats
and tight frock-coats. In evening dress, his face and hands emerging
from his shirt and collar, he looked like an enormous dish of
strawberries and cream.

'I've ordered quails for you? Will that do, Miss Dainty?'

'Yes, that's better.'

She smiled at him and he smiled back.

'By jove, Vic,' he whispered, 'you look fine. Nothing like pink shades
for the complexion.'

'I think you're very rude,' said Victoria smiling.

'Honest,' said Cairns. 'And why not? No harm in looking your best is
there? Now my light's yellow. Brings me down from tomato to carrot.'

'Fishing again. No good, Tommy