on purpose to find her, he could scarcely have
accompanied her to the doors of the theatre and there left her to the
night's routine. They both hesitated, and then, without a word, he
turned aside and she followed close, acquiescent by training and by
instinct. Knowing his sure instinct for what was proper, she knew at
once that hazard had saved her from the night's routine, and she was
full of quiet triumph. He, of course, though absolutely loyal to her,
had for dignity's sake to practise the duplicity of pretending to make
up his mind what he should do.

They went through the Tube station and were soon in one of the
withdrawn streets between Coventry Street and Pall Mall East. The
episode had somehow the air of an adventure. He looked at her; the
hat was possibly rather large, but, in truth, she was the image of
refinement, delicacy, virtue, virtuous surrender. He thought it was
marvellous that there should exist such a woman as she. And he thought
how marvellous was the protective vastness of the town, beneath whose
shield he was free--free to live different lives simultaneously, to
make his own laws, to maintain indefinitely exciting and delicious
secrecies. Not half a mile off were Concepcion and Queen, and his
amour was as safe from them as if he had hidden it in the depths of
some hareemed Asiatic city.

Christine said politely:

"But I detain thee?"

"As for that," he replied, "what does that matter, after all?"

"Thou knowest," she said in a new tone, "I am all that is most
worried. In this London they are never willing to leave you in peace."

"What is it, my poor child?" he asked benevolently.

"They talk of closing the Promenade," she answered.

"Never!" he murmured easily, reassuringly.

He remembered the night years earlier when, as a protest against some
restrictive action of a County Council, the theatre of varieties whose
Promenade rivalled throughout the whole world even the Promenade of
the Folies-Bergere, shut its doors and darkened its blazing facade,
and the entire West End seemed to go into a kind of shocked mourning.
But the next night the theatre had reopened as usual and the Promenade
had been packed. Close the Promenades! Absurd! Not the full bench
of archbishops and bishops could close the Promenades! The thing was
inconceivable, especially in war-time, when human nature was so human.

"But it is quite serious!" she cried. "Everyone speaks of it.... What
idiots! What frightful lac