A girl with a tiny electric torch indicated to them a row of seats, and Elsie pushed her way along until the two empty places at the very end of the row were reached. It added the last drop to her cup of satisfaction that she should have only the wall on one side of her. Human proximity almost always roused her to a vague curiosity and consciousness, that would have interfered with her full enjoyment of the evening. She settled herself in the soft, comfortable seat, slipping her arms from the sleeves of her coat, and leaning back against it. Roberts dropped a small box into her lap as he sat down beside her. “Thanks awfully,” she whispered. A film was showing, and Elsie became absorbed at once in the presentment of it, although she had no idea of the story. It came to an end very soon, and a Topical Budget was shown. Elsie was less interested, and pulled the string off her box of chocolates. “Have one?” “I don’t mind. Thanks.” “They’re awfully good.” She chewed and sucked blissfully. “Ooh! Look at that ship! Isn’t it funny?” “Makes you feel seasick to look at it, doesn’t it?” whispered Roberts, and she giggled ecstatically. Words appeared on the screen. “‘Hearts and Crowns,’ featuring Lallie Carmichael.” “How lovely!” said Elsie. The story was complicated, and as most of the characters were Russian, Elsie did not always remember whether Sergius was the villain or the lawyer, and if Olga was the name of the “vampire” or of the soubrette. But the beautiful Lallie Carmichael was the heroine, and a clean-shaven American the hero. Elsie watched them almost breathlessly, and after a time it was she herself who was leaning back in the crowded restaurant, in a very low dress, and waving an ostrich-feather fan, torn between passion and loyalty. The American hero assumed no definite personality, other than that which his creator had endowed him. The scenes that she liked best were those between the two lovers, when they were shown alone together, and the American made passionate love to the princess. At the end of the First Part, the lights went up. Elsie turned her shining eyes and rumpled curls towards her escort. “It is good, isn’t it?” he said, with a critical air. “Isn’t it good? Have another sweet?” “Well, thanks, I don’t mind. Are you enjoying yourself, kiddie?” “Awfully. I like pictures.” “What about me? Don’t you like me a little bit too, Elsie, for bringing you?” His voice had become low and husky. Still under the emotional influence of the story, the music, and the relaxation produced by bodily warmth and comfort, she looked at him, and saw, not the common, rather negligible features of sandy-haired Mr. Roberts, but the bold, handsome American hero of the film. “Of course I like you,” she said softly. “You won’t forget me when I’ve gone?” “No.” “You will, Elsie! You’ll let some other fellow take you to the pictures, and you won’t give me another thought.”