The young man hesitated. He looked for a moment deep into Jenny's eyes: perceived, it may be, her honesty, and said: "Well, as a matter of fact, my real name is Maurice--Maurice Avery." "Oh, and he wasn't going to tell us," cried Jenny, clapping her hands. "We shall have to call him careful Willie." "No, I say, really, do forgive me for being a silly ass." "Now he's being rude to himself." Here a fat waiter interposed with a dish, and Avery had time to recover himself. Meanwhile, Jenny regarded him. She liked his fresh complexion and deep-blue eyes. She liked better still his weak, girlish mouth and white teeth. She liked best of all his manner, which was not too easy, although it carried some of the confidence of popularity. "Whatever made you come on the first night? I think the ballet's rotten on the first night," said Jenny. "I'm awfully glad I did. But, as a matter of fact, I had to. I'm a critic. I'm going to write a notice of the ballet for the _Point of View_." Something in the intonation of this announcement would have warned anybody of the world that Avery's judgment had not long ago been demanded for the first time. "A reporter?" asked Jenny. "Well, a sort of reporter." "You don't look much like a reporter. I knew a reporter once who was going to photograph me in a bathing-dress for _Fluffy Bits_. But his flat was too high up for this little girl." Maurice Avery wished that Jenny were alone. He would in that case have attempted to explain the difference between a reporter and a dramatic critic. Under the circumstances, however, he felt that the subject should be dropped, and turned politely to Irene. "You're not talking much." "Ah, but I think the more." The conversation became difficult, almost as difficult as the _macaroni au gratin_ which the three of them were eating. Maurice wished more than ever that Irene was out of the way. He possessed a great sense of justice which compelled him to be particularly polite to her, although his eyes were all for Jenny. The unsatisfactory meal evaporated in coffee, and presently they stood on the pavement. "I say, I ought to drive you girls home," said Maurice. "But to-night I absolutely must get back and finish this notice in time to catch the three o'clock post. Couldn't we all three meet to-morrow?" Inwardly he lamented the politeness which led him to include Irene in the suggested reunion. "All right, Willie Brains," said Jenny. "Where?" "Oh, I don't know. Outside the Palace. Good night." They shook hands discreetly, and though Maurice held Jenny's hand longer than was necessary, he held Irene's just as long in case she might have noticed and felt hurt by the greater attention paid to her friend. Jenny and Irene turned in the direction of the Tube station by Leicester Square. "He might have stood us a cab home," complained the latter. "Why should he?" said Jenny. Irene looked at her in perplexity.