Her legs literally shook as she entered the restaurant, exactly as once they had shaken in an air-raid. Within was a rich, tiny little waiting-room with a view of the dining-room beyond. She hesitated awkwardly, for owing to the taxi she was nearly a quarter of an hour too early. A respectful attendant said: "Are you expecting anyone, madam?" "Yes." "What name, madam?" "Mr. Grig." "Oh yes, madam. His table is booked." She had sat down. She could now inspect herself in half a dozen large mirrors, and she almost ceased to fear for her appearance. It was her deportment and demeanour that now troubled her. In this matter she was disturbingly aware that she had both to unlearn and to learn. She looked through the glass partition into the restaurant. It was small but sumptuous; and empty of diners save for a couple of women who were smoking and eating simultaneously. People, chiefly in couples, kept arriving and passing through the antechamber. She picked up a copy of _What’s On_, pretending to study it but studying the arrivals. Then she felt a man come in and glimpsed the attendant pointing to herself. Mr. Grig could not entirely conceal his astonishment at the smartness of her appearance. He had in fact not immediately recognized her. His surprised pleasure and appreciation gave her both pleasure and confidence. "I’m not late," he said, resuming rapidly his rather quizzical matter-of-factness. "No. I was too early." The attendant took Mr. Grig’s overcoat like a sacred treasure; he was shown to be in a dark blue suit; and they passed to the restaurant. Lilian thought: "Anyway, he can’t think I’ve bought these clothes specially for this affair, because he only asked me this afternoon." The table reserved was in a corner. Lilian had a full view of the whole restaurant, while Mr. Grig had a full view of nothing but Lilian. For a girl in Lilian’s situation he was an ideal host, for the reason that he talked just as naturally--and in particular curtly--as if they had been at the office together. When a waiter shackled in silver approached with the wine list, he asked: "What wine do you prefer?" "Whatever you prefer," she replied, with a prompt and delicious smile. "Oh, no!" he protested. "That won’t do at all. If a woman’s given the choice she ought to choose. She must submit ideas, at any rate. Otherwise we shall go wandering all through the wine list and finally settle on something neither of us wants." Lilian had learnt a little about wines (she had sipped often from the paternal glass), and also about good plain cooking. "Burgundy," she said.