t hats; and swarthy men, rolling cigarettes, lounged
against doorways. The place had a quaint foreign flavour. Tiny cafes,
filled with smoke and noise, and clean, inviting restaurants abounded.
She was feeling hungry, and, choosing one the door of which stood open,
revealing white tablecloths and a pleasant air of cheerfulness, she
entered. It was late and the tables were crowded. Only at one, in a far
corner, could she detect a vacant place, opposite to a slight, pretty-
looking girl very quietly dressed. She made her way across and the girl,
anticipating her request, welcomed her with a smile. They ate for a
while in silence, divided only by the narrow table, their heads, when
they leant forward, almost touching. Joan noticed the short, white
hands, the fragrance of some delicate scent. There was something odd
about her. She seemed to be unnecessarily conscious of being alone.
Suddenly she spoke.

"Nice little restaurant, this," she said. "One of the few places where
you can depend upon not being annoyed."

Joan did not understand. "In what way?" she asked.

"Oh, you know, men," answered the girl. "They come and sit down opposite
to you, and won't leave you alone. At most of the places, you've got to
put up with it or go outside. Here, old Gustav never permits it."

Joan was troubled. She was rather looking forward to occasional
restaurant dinners, where she would be able to study London's Bohemia.

"You mean," she asked, "that they force themselves upon you, even if you
make it plain--"

"Oh, the plainer you make it that you don't want them, the more sport
they think it," interrupted the girl with a laugh.

Joan hoped she was exaggerating. "I must try and select a table where
there is some good-natured girl to keep me in countenance," she said with
a smile.

"Yes, I was glad to see you," answered the girl. "It's hateful, dining
by oneself. Are you living alone?"

"Yes," answered Joan. "I'm a journalist."

"I thought you were something," answered the girl. "I'm an artist. Or,
rather, was," she added after a pause.

"Why did you give it up?" asked Joan.

"Oh, I haven't given it up, not entirely," the girl answered. "I can
always get a couple of sovereigns for a sketch, if I want it, from one or
another of the frame-makers. And they can generally sell them for a
fiver. I've seen them marked up. Have you been long in London?"

"No," answered Joan. "I'm a Lancashire lass."

"Curi