ent.
The door was opened at once, and John was relieved of his hat and stick
by a cloak-room attendant. Sophy wrote his name in a book, and they were
ushered by the manager, who had come forward to greet them, into a long
room, brilliantly lit, and filled, except in the center, with
supper-tables.

They selected one near the wall and close to the open space in which, at
the present moment, a man and a woman were dancing. The floor was of
hardwood, and there was a little raised platform for the orchestra. John
looked around him wonderingly. The popping of champagne corks was almost
incessant. A slightly voluptuous atmosphere of cigarette-smoke, mingled
with the perfumes shaken from the clothes and hair of the women, several
more of whom were now dancing, hung about the place. A girl in fancy
dress was passing a great basket of flowers from table to table.

Sophy sat with her head resting upon her hands and her face very close
to her companion's, keeping time with her feet to the music.

"Isn't this rather nice?" she whispered. "Do you like being here with
me, Mr. John Strangewey?"

"Of course I do," he answered heartily. "Is this a restaurant?"

She shook her head.

"No, it's a club. We can sit here all night, if you like."

"Can I join?" he asked.

She laughed as she bent for a form and made him fill it in.

"Tell me," he begged, as he looked around him, "who are these girls?
They look so pretty and well dressed, and yet so amazingly young to be
out at this time of night."

"Mostly actresses," she replied, "and musical-comedy girls. I was in
musical comedy myself before Louise rescued me."

"Did you like it?"

"I liked it all right," she admitted, "but I left it because I wasn't
doing any good. I can dance pretty well, but I have no voice, so there
didn't seem to be any chance of my getting out of the chorus; and one
can't even pretend to live on the salary they pay you, unless one has a
part."

"But these girls who are here to-night?"

"They are with their friends, of course," she told him. "I suppose, if
it hadn't been for Louise, I should have been here, too--with a friend."

"I should like to see you dance," he remarked, in a hurry to change the
conversation.

"I'll dance to you some day in your rooms, if you like," she promised.
"Or would you like me to dance here? There is a man opposite who wants
me to. Would you rather I didn't? I want to do just which would please
you most."

"Dance, by a