He kissed her cheek, laughing. "_Au revoir!_ I shan't be disgusted with you anyhow. Good-night." He walked to the door, and was just going to open it when she spoke again. "Mr. Lisle!" "Yes." He turned round. She was standing by the table now; her face was very bright; she seemed to struggle against another spasm of laughter. "In the stress of business you've forgotten your telegram from--Bernadette!" She waved the missive in her hand, holding her mutinous lips closely together. Arthur stood for a moment, looking at the lady and the missive. Then he broke into a hearty roar; she let herself go too; their laughter rang through the little room. The door was flung open, and Joe Halliday appeared on the threshold in a state of some indignation. "Pretty good to keep me waiting out in the cold while you--what have you been up to, Ayesha?" "Nothing that concerns you, Joe. I've been giving Mr. Lisle some medicine." "I should have thought we'd all had enough of that to-night!" "It's a different sort--and different from any I shall give you. But I think it did him good, from the symptoms. Oh, here's your wire, Mr. Lisle!" She seemed to sparkle with mischief as she gave it to him. "Now mind you don't give Joe any medicine!" he said. "The bottle's finished, for to-night at all events." With this gay promise and a gay nod she let him go. Pleased at the promise--quite absurdly pleased at it, in spite of its strict time-limit--and amused with the whole episode, he put Bernadette's telegram in his pocket, and walked along towards the stage-door, smiling happily. He was not thinking about the telegram, nor about the fiasco of the evening, nor of his thousand pounds, very little or none of which would ever find its way back into his pocket. The emotions which each and all of these subjects for contemplation might have been expected to raise had been put to rout. A very fine medicine, that of Miss Ayesha Layard's! He said good-night to the doorkeeper and gave him a sovereign; he said good-night to the fireman and gave him ten shillings; it was no moment for small economies, and he was minded to march out with colours flying. But he was not quite done with the Burlington Theatre yet. Outside was a tall figure which moved to his side directly he appeared. It was Mr. Claud Beverley, carrying his play in a large square envelope. "Are you going anywhere, Lisle?" he asked. "Only home--up Bloomsbury way." "May I walk with you! The tube at Tottenham Court Road suits me to get home." "Why, of course! Come along, old chap." They started off together up Shaftesbury Avenue. Mr. Beverley said nothing till they had got as far as the Palace Theatre. Then he managed to unburden his heart. "I want to tell you how sorry I am to--to have let you in like this, Lisle. I feel pretty badly about it, I can tell you, for all their sakes. But you've been specially--well, you took me on trust, and I've let you in."