By the time that Traill was ready, Sally came down prepared to go out. They all descended the stairs together, parting in the street, where Traill held Sally's hand affectionately, then called a hansom and drove away. With apparently casual glances, Devenish watched Sally's face as she looked after the departing cab. She followed it with her eyes as they walked up into the Circus; followed it until it welded into the mass of traffic and was lost from sight. "Where shall we go?" he asked, when her features relaxed from their strain of momentary interest. "Really, I don't mind," she replied indifferently. He mentioned the restaurant in Soho. She shook her head definitely. "Not there?" "No, anywhere but there. I don't--" she hesitated. "You don't care for the place?" "Oh yes, I do. But--" "Well, then--" He mentioned another and she agreed to anything rather than that which held so many happy associations. When they were seated at their table, he leant back in his chair and looked at her pleasurably. "You know, it's mighty good of you," he said, "to keep me company like this." She was too impervious to outer sensation then to find repugnance at the tone of his voice; at another time she might have resented it. Now, scarcely the sense of the words reached her. "Which would you prefer, a theatre or a music hall afterwards?" "Whichever you like." "Oh, we'll say a music hall, then. In a theatre, you're so bound to listen for the sake of the other people who want to hear. We'll go to the Palace." She nodded her head in assent. There was no concealment of her mood, no hiding of her unhappiness. Even with this man above all others, whom she well knew was thoroughly aware of the relationship that existed between Traill and herself, she could not shake off the entangling folds of her depression, lift eyes that were laughing, throw head back and face it out until the ordeal of being in his company was over. At moments she tried--drove a smile to her lips for him to see; but she felt that it did not convince him; knew that it utterly failed to convince herself. When he began to speak about Traill, it faded completely from her expression. "Jack's gone to a theatre to-night, hasn't he?" he asked ingenuously, when they had half struggled through the courses. "Yes--" "Duke of York's, isn't it?" "Yes--I think it is." He watched her closely, but her eyes were lowered persistently to her plate, or wandering aimlessly from table to table, never meeting his. The thought that this man might guess the running of the current of events, stung her to some show of pride that yet was not keen enough, not great enough in itself to master, even for the moment, the despair within. All the making up for the part it lent; but the acting of it was beyond her. "You've met his sister, Mrs. Durlacher--haven't you?" he asked presently. She saw no motive in this. She felt thankful for it--glad to be able to say that she had.