The Governor’s “Good!” when he heard that I was going to spend the summer holidays with them at that curiously-named place in Anglesey was quite as sincere in its way, I do believe, as Theo’s “_Joy!_ Oh, it will be twice as lovely as usual with Nancy there to show everything to!” He wasn’t the least bored, either, when Mrs. Waters put forward the plan of his motoring me up to town. “Rather! A good idea,” he said briskly. “What about starting earlier after lunch, and doing a matinée this afternoon? You’ve never been to the theatre with me yet, Nancy, and—we talked about that one day.” “So we did,” said I demurely, remembering that grisly occasion at the Carlton. “Well, would you care about it?” “I should! Why! I haven’t been to the theatre for ages. I haven’t seen anything; not even _Milestones_!” “Care for that?” “Anything, so long as it’s a play!” “Then I’ll ’phone up now for seats.” And as he spoke through the telephone that is fixed up in the den, I had almost a start at what seemed to me the strangeness of my employer’s voice. Yet that curt, metallic “_Hullo!_” used to be familiar enough to me—the only tone of his voice, indeed, that I’d ever heard! * * * * * Passing the long waiting queue at the gallery entrance to the Royalty this afternoon, I glanced idly towards all those people who had stood for over an hour, probably, to get a shilling seat; the playgoers to whom I myself belonged a couple of months ago. Yet I never felt I’d belonged to them.... I suppose no woman, from a factory-hand to a viscountess, feels that she really “belongs” to any but the life of luxury. I don’t believe men feel that as strongly—and yet it’s they who are supposed to be the more finished and civilized sex. I must ask Mr. Waters, now that I know him well enough, what he thinks about this? I was just wondering, when, out of that mosaic of black and coloured pattern formed by the crowd, there turned with one movement three dabs of colour, three cheap, effective little hats; and three girlish faces, alight with amusement and recognition, were lifted towards us. They nodded and smiled; and I, leaning forward out of the car, was just in time to wave my hand to them. “Friends of yours?” said my employer, glancing back as he raised his hat! “Why, yes! Didn’t you know them?” “No! Why should I?” “Because you see them every day,” I laughed. “They were Miss Robinson, Miss Holt and Miss Smith from your office.” “No? By Jove,” said Mr. Waters, rather blankly. Which surprised me rather, as I remembered his care that “the other typists should know for a fact” with whom I was going out, that first time of all.