and this wonderful
conjurer."

"The place is full every night," the girl answered listlessly. "La
Guerrero comes on at ten o'clock, you can see her from the front of the
promenade easily. You don't often come here, do you?"

"Not very often," Holderness answered. "And you?"

"Every night," the girl answered in a dull tone.

"That must be monotonous," he said kindly.

"It is," she admitted.

They talked for a few minutes longer, or rather it was Holderness who
mostly talked, and the others who listened. It struck Macheson as
curious that his friend should find it so easy to strike the note of
their conversation and keep it there, as though without any definite
effort he could assume control over even the thoughts of these girls, to
whom he talked with such easy courtesy. He told a funny story and they
all laughed naturally and heartily. Macheson had an idea that the girls
had forgotten for the moment exactly where they were. Something in their
faces, something which had almost terrified him at their first coming,
had relaxed, if it had not passed wholly away. At the sound of a few
bars of music one of them leaned almost eagerly forward.

"There," she said, "if you want to see La Guerrero you must hurry. She
is coming on now."

The two young men rose to their feet. One of the girls looked wistfully
at Holderness, but nothing was said beyond the ordinary farewells.

"Thank you so much for telling us," Holderness said. "Come along,
Victor. It is La Guerrero."

Macheson breathed more freely when once they were in the throng. They
watched the Spanish dancer with her exquisite movements, sinuous, full
of grace. Holderness especially applauded loudly. Afterwards they found
seats in the front and remained there for the rest of the performance.

Out in the street they hesitated. Holderness passed his arm through his
companion's.

"Supper!" he declared. "This way! Did you know what a man about town I
was, Victor? Ah! but one must learn, and life isn't all roses and honey.
One must learn!"

They threaded their way through the streets, crowded with hansoms,
electric broughams, and streams of foot passengers. Holderness led the
way to a sombre-looking building, and into a room barely lit save for
the rose-shaded lamps upon the tables. Macheson gasped as he entered.
Nearly every table was occupied by women in evening dress, women
alone--waiting. Holderness glanced around quite unconcernedly as he gave
up his coat and