"What surprises me," said Carthew, "is that Sir John hasn't brought you here already. I know he simply loves it." "I am usually taken to places like the Gaiety," confessed Lady Carr. "Probably Jack considers them more suited to my intellect. Hallo, here are the orchestra-men crawling out of their holes again! Good!" Presently the curtain went up on the last act, and Jack Point introduced a selection of the Merry Jests of Hugh Ambrose, to the audible joy of the fourth row of stalls. The Assistant Tormentor and his beloved were likewise warmly received; but presently Daphne's smiles faded. Poor Jack Point's tribulations were too much for her: during the final recurrence of _I Have a Song to Sing, O!_ tears came, and as the curtain fell she dabbed her eyes hurriedly with an inadequate handkerchief. "Awfully sorry!" she murmured apologetically. "Luckily you are not the sort to laugh at me." Carthew silently placed her wrap round her shoulders. "Mr Carthew," said Daphne suddenly, "will you take me somewhere gay for supper? It wouldn't be awfully improper, would it? I can't go home feeling as sad as this." "Come along!" said Carthew. He escorted her to an establishment where the electric lights blazed bravely, a band blared forth a cacophonous cake-walk entitled (apparently) "By Request," and the brightest and best of the _jeunesse dorée_ of London mingled in sweet companionship with the haughty but hungry divinities of the musical comedy stage. Carthew secured a table in a secluded corner, as far as possible from the band. "Sorry to have given you the hump," he said, with his boyish smile. "Next week I will take you to _The Mikado_. No tears there! You will laugh till you cry. Rather a bull that--what?" He persevered manfully in this strain in his endeavour to drive away impressionable Daphne's distress on Jack Point's behalf, and ultimately succeeded. "I hope he was _dead_, not simply in a faint," was her final reference to the subject. Then she continued: "I shall take them _all_ to see that lovely piece--separately. I am not sure about Nicky, though. She is just at the scoffing age just now, and I don't think I could bear it, if she----" "Not long ago," said Carthew, "I took a girl--that sort of girl--to see _The Yeomen_." Daphne regarded him covertly. She knew the girl. "Well?" she said. "I took her on purpose," continued Carthew--"to see how she----" Daphne, deeply interested, nodded comprehendingly. "I know," she said. "How did she take it?" "She never stirred," said Carthew, "all through the last act. When the curtain fell, she sat on for a few moments without saying a word, and she never spoke all the time I was taking her home. When I said good-night to her, she--she said something to me. It was not much, but it showed me that she _was_ the right sort after all, in spite of what people said----"