her stiff peg.

"Well," he said, "since you will have it so--to the old days."

"To the old days," said Romarin, watching him gulp it down.

"Queer, looking back across all that time at 'em, isn't it? How do you
feel about it?"

"In a mixed kind of way, I think; the usual thing: pleasure and regret
mingled."

"Oh, you have regrets, have you?"

"For certain things, yes. Not, let me say, my turn-up with you, Marsden,"
he laughed. "That's why I chose the old place--" he gave a glance
round at its glittering newness. "Do you happen to remember what all that
was about? I've only the vaguest idea."

Marsden gave him a long look. "That all?" he asked.

"Oh, I remember in a sort of way. That 'Romantic' soap-bubble of yours
was really at the bottom of it, I suspect. Tell me," he smiled, "did you
really suppose Life could be lived on those mad lines you used to lay
down?"

"My life," said Marsden calmly, "has been."

"Not literally."

"Literally."

"You mean to say that you haven't outgrown _that_?"

"I hope not."

Romarin had thrown up his handsome head. "Well, well!" he murmured
incredulously.

"Why 'well, well'?" Marsden demanded.... "But, of course, you never did
and never will know what I meant."

"By Romance? ... No, I can't say that I did; but as I conceived it, it
was something that began in appetite and ended in diabetes."

"Not philosophic, eh?" Marsden inquired, picking up a chicken bone.

"Highly unphilosophic," said Romarin, shaking his head.

"Hm!" grunted Marsden, stripping the bone... "Well, I grant it pays in a
different way."

"It does pay, then?" Romarin asked.

"Oh yes, it pays."

The restaurant had filled up. It was one frequented by young artists,
musicians, journalists and the clingers to the rather frayed fringes of
the Arts. From time to time heads were turned to look at Romarin's portly
and handsome figure, which the Press, the Regent Street photographic
establishments, and the Academy Supplements had made well known. The
plump young Frenchwoman within the glazed cash office near the door,
at whom Marsden had several times glanced in a way at which Romarin had
frowned, was aware of the honour done the restaurant; and several times
the blond-bearded proprietor had advanced and inquired with concern
whether the dinner and the service was to the liking of M'sieu.

And the eyes that were turned to Romarin plainly wondered who the
scallawag dining with him might be.

Since Rom