They drove off--to a restaurant which Gerald, boylike, had chosen, because common report pronounced it the dearest in London. Bertha was much amused by the bustle, the glitter of women in diamonds, the busy waiters gliding to and fro, the glare of the electric light: and her eyes rested with approval on the handsome boy in front of her. She could not keep in check the recklessness with which he insisted on ordering the most expensive things; and when they arrived at the opera, she found he had a box. “Oh, you wretch,” she cried. “You must be utterly ruined.” “Oh, I’ve got five hundred quid,” he replied, laughing. “I must blue some of it.” “But why on earth did you get a box?” “I remembered that you hated any other part of the theatre.” “But you promised to get cheap seats.” “And I wanted to be alone with you.” He was by nature a flatterer; and few women could withstand the cajolery of his green eyes, and of his charming smile. “He must be very fond of me,” thought Bertha, as they drove home, and she put her arm in his to express her thanks and her appreciation. “It’s very nice of you to have been so good to me. I always thought you were a nice boy.” “I’d do more than that for you.” He would have given the rest of his five hundred pounds for one kiss. She knew it, and was pleased, but gave him no encouragement, and for once he was bashful. They separated at her doorstep with the quietest handshake. “It’s awfully kind of you to have come.” He appeared immensely grateful to her. Her conscience pricked her now that he had spent so much money; but she liked him all the more. * * * * * Gerald’s month was nearly over, and Bertha was astonished that he occupied her thoughts so much. She did not know that she was so fond of him. “I wish he weren’t going,” she said, and then quickly: “but of course it’s much better that he should!” At that moment the boy appeared. “This day week you’ll be on the sea, Gerald,” she said. “Then you’ll be sorry for all your iniquities.” “No!” he answered, sitting in the position he most affected, at Bertha’s feet. “No--which?” “I shan’t be sorry,” he replied, with a smile, “and I’m not going away.” “What d’you mean?” “I’ve altered my plans. The man I’m going to said I could start at the beginning of the month or a fortnight later.” “But why?” It was a foolish question, because she knew. “I had nothing to stay for. Now I have, that’s all.” Bertha looked at him, and caught his shining eyes fixed intently upon her. She became grave. “You’re not angry?” he asked, changing his tone. “I thought you wouldn’t mind. I don’t want to leave you.” He looked at her so earnestly and tears came to his eyes, Bertha could not help being touched. “I’m very glad that you should stay, dear. I didn’t want you to go so soon. We’ve been such good friends.” She passed her fingers through his curly hair and over his ears; but he started, and shivered.