e said.

"Don't you? I do," Micky declared. He hated the despondency in her
face; he felt a strong desire to see her smiling and happy. He rattled
on, talking any nonsense that came into his head.

The waiter came down the room and set the dishes on the table. He gave
a sort of supercilious sniff when Micky asked for a saucer of milk for
the cat. He looked at Charlie with scorn--Charlie, curled up on the
girl's lap now and purring lustily.

"Of course, you know, we really ought to have a bottle of wine," Micky
said dubiously. "Just something cheap, as it's New Year's Eve."

He would like to have given her champagne, but dared not suggest it.
He was quite sure that if she knew he was a rich man she would fly off
at a tangent. He ordered an inexpensive bottle of red wine and filled
her glass.

"Well, here's luck to the New Year," he said sententiously. "And to
our delightfully unexpected meeting," he added.

She flushed up to her eyes.

"Are you always as kind to people as you have been to me?" she asked
tensely.

Micky blushed.

"Oh, I say!" he protested. "You don't call this being kind, do you? I
assure you it's just pure selfishness. I should have spent my evening
alone if we hadn't met--and I hate being alone; I bore myself stiff in
five minutes. I'm just--honoured that you should have allowed me to
eat my supper with you. If you knew how beastly fed-up I was feeling
... the world seemed a positively loathsome place."

She laughed; she leaned her elbows on the table and her chin in her
hands, looking at him with thoughtful eyes.

"Are you poor?" she asked with disarming frankness.

"Poor as a church mouse," said Micky promptly. "At least"--he hastened
to amend his words--"I'm one of those unfortunate beggars who spend
money as fast as they get it. I've never saved a halfpenny in my
life."

This at least was the truth.

She nodded.

"Neither have I--I've never had one to save...."

The despondency was back again in her voice; Micky broke in hastily--

"Before we go any further I think we ought to know one another's
names." He fumbled in a pocket for a card, but changed his mind
quickly, remembering that his cards bore the address of the expensive
flat which he honoured with his presence. "My name is Mellowes," he
said. "I've got several Christian names as well, but people call me
Micky...." He waited, looking at her expectantly. "Won't you tell me
yours?" he asked.

She was staring down at her