She suffered him to raise her face, his finger under her chin, and she made a brave effort to smile hack at the glance he bent upon her. “If it is truly--oh, ever so truly--still our birthday--the same as it was before,” she made wistful answer. “It is a hundred times more our birthday than ever!” he protested stoutly. An elderly keeper in uniform shuffled his way into the room. “Well then,” whispered Vestalia, “let’s go somewhere else to celebrate the rest of it. All these stone animals and images and mummies--I don’t feel as if they brought me luck on my birthday.” So they wandered forth into the sunshine again, and Mosscrop confessed himself glad of the change. Where should they go? He found himself empty of suggestion. Responsibility for the decorous entertainment of a young lady in the daytime was a novel experience, and he said so. “Oh, let us just stroll about,” she urged. “I love these old Bloomsbury Squares. They are so stupid.” Luncheon hour came, and presented itself to Mosscrop as a welcome pretext to take a hansom. A certain formless apprehension of meeting some one he knew--though why this should be dreaded he could not for the life of him have told--had alloyed the pleasure of his ramble. They drove to another restaurant, this time a larger place in a more pretentious quarter--and though they had a little table to themselves, the room was full of others. David knew about luncheons as well as breakfasts. He gave the waiter very minute instructions about having a grouse split and grilled, and he ran his eye over the list of champagnes with the confident discrimination of an expert. “I will give that number 34a one more trial,” he said to the butler. “Cool it to 48, and we will see what it is like then.” Vestalia noted that he spoke to waiters in a soft, grave tone, with shades of gentle melancholy and of affectionate authority subtly blended in it, which he used to no one else. He produced the impression upon her of being at his very best at a table. She particularly liked him when he took the cork from the butler, and tenderly pinched with thumb and finger as he scrutinised it, and then smiled courteous approbation to the servant. This person wore a chain round his neck, and the bottle he brought was swathed in starched napery--and the girl observed both with the interest that attaches to novelty. But it was even more interesting to see how perfectly her companion presided over everything.