n open rebellion. Then she laughed, curiously enough without
any note of bitterness.

"Seems queer, doesn't it, even to think of such a thing! I've been up
against it pretty hard, though. A man who gives a meal to a girl, even if
she is as plain as I am, generally seems to think he's bought her, in
this city. Even the men who are earning money don't give much for
nothing. But you are different," she admitted. "I'll be fair about
it--you're different."

"You'll be waiting for the work at nine o'clock to-morrow morning?" he
asked, as indifferently as possible.

"I will," she promised.

He leaned back and told her little anecdotes about the play, things that
had happened to him during the last few weeks, speaking often of
Elizabeth Dalstan. By degrees the nervous unrest seemed to pass away from
her. When they had finished their meal and drunk their coffee, she was
almost normal. She smoked a cigarette and even accepted the box which he
thrust into her hand. When he had paid the bill, she rose a little
abruptly.

"Well," she said, "you've had your way, and a kind, nice way it was. Now
I'll have mine. I don't want any politeness. When we leave this place I
am going to walk home, and I am going to walk home alone."

"That's lucky," he replied, "because I have to be at the theatre in ten
minutes to meet a cinema man. Button up your coat and have a good night's
sleep."

They left the place together. She turned away with a farewell nod and
walked rapidly eastwards. He watched her cross the road. A poor little
waif, she seemed, except that something had gone from her face which had
almost terrified him. She carried herself, he fancied, with more
buoyancy, with infinitely more confidence, and he drew a sigh of relief
as he called for a taxi.

CHAPTER IV

Elizabeth paused for breath at the top of the third flight of stairs. She
leaned against the iron balustrade.

"You poor dear!" she exclaimed. "How many times a day did you have to do
this?"

"I didn't go out very often," he reminded her, "and it wasn't every day
that the lift was out of order. It's only one more flight."

She looked up the stairs, sighed, and raised her smart, grey, tailor-made
skirt a little higher over her shoes.

"Well," she announced heroically, "lead on. If they would sometimes dust
these steps--but, after all, it doesn't matter to you now, does it? Fancy
that poor girl, though."

He smiled a little grimly.

"A few flights of stairs