A conspicuous evening for Erb, by reason of the circumstance that he had the honour of conveying Rosalind to the theatre; this because her father, having borrowed individual shillings on individual days from her on the promise of accompanying her had, at the last moment, come into a windfall of two and threepence, and had thereupon remembered an urgent appointment with a dramatist of note at a public-house just off the Strand. “Should the fates be kind,” said Rosalind’s father, “I shall endeavour to honour the performance with my presence later on.” Louisa, interested in everything that interested Erb, had organised a raffle at her factory for a circle ticket, and a chapel-going girl, who had picked the highest number out of a straw hat accompanied her, with the full anticipation—this being her first visit to the play—that she was about to witness scenes that might well imperil her future existence; unwilling, all the same, to give her prize away or to sell. Erb, confronted with the responsibility of transporting three ladies, had vague ideas of a four-wheeler, but remembered in time that this would excite criticism from members ever anxious to detect and crush any effort he might make to commit the unpardonable sin of “putting on side;” compensation came in being allowed to walk by the side of Rosalind, who, near Camberwell Gate, seemed to be dressed prettily but with restraint, but who, as they approached the Elephant and Castle, increased in smartness by contrast with the surroundings of Walworth Road. There were crossings to be managed, and Erb, in the most artful way, assisted her here by insinuating his arm underneath her cape, wondering at his own courage, and rather astonished to find that he was not reproved. Rosalind’s manner differed from that of other young women of the district in that she dispensed with the defiant attitude which they assumed, never to be varied from the first introduction to the last farewell. “And now the question is,” said Louisa’s colleague, “ought I to go in or ought I to stay outside?” “Considering you’ve got a ticket,” replied little Louisa satirically, “it seems a pity to go in. Why not stay outside and ’ave an orange instead?” “Oh,” said the chapel-goer recklessly, “now I’m here I may jest as well go on with it. In for a penny in for a pound. If the worst comes to the worst, I can shut me eyes and— Who’s that lifting his cap to you?” “’Ullo,” remarked Louisa, “you alive still?” The lad threw away the end of his cigarette, and, advancing, remarked in a bass voice that he had thought it as well to come up on the off chance of meeting Louisa. “My present young man,” said Louisa, introducing the lad. “Well,” said the chapel young woman resignedly, “this is the beginning of it.”