The long interval enabled John to explore the promenade at the back. He stood in a corner and watched the parade, and wondered if it was always the same, night after night--what kind of lives these people lived, where their money came from, their nationality, for there were overdressed young Jews with patent-button boots and silver-topped canes, elegant dandies with waisted coats, girlish-looking youths that smirked and simpered, heavy-jowled men with pendulous stomachs and evil gloating eyes under bald, shiny heads. The women too, French, German and Russian, dark, fair, loud-voiced, high-heeled, arrayed in furs, small-footed and mincing, they passed, with quick eyes and mechanical smiles, or sulky stare and-- "Penny for your thoughts, dearie," said a girl in a large white stole, as she laid a kid-gloved hand on John's arm. He started more in fear than surprise. "Lord love us--I shan't bite yer!" she laughed. "So shy! and a pretty boy too," she added, giving her fur a twitch while she looked audaciously into his eyes with a frank stare. "How do you keep your complexion, lovey? That ain't Ligett's one and six in cardboard boxes, I know." John smiled, almost unintentionally. She could only be about eighteen, and despite the hard mouth, she had innocent, kind eyes. "That's right--you're a regular Adonis with that showcase smile," she exclaimed. Several persons were watching them. John coloured with self-consciousness. "Gawd! I wish I could do that--an' I did once, dearie, before the dirty work on the cross roads. But I don't mind a Martini before Strumitovski waves his stick again." What could he do? To say "No" might provoke an outburst. He moved towards the bar, her hand still on his arm. He felt a thousand eyes turn on them, heard a thousand whispers. He was sure the bar-maid smirked satirically when he ordered two Martinis. He had never had a cocktail in his life, and didn't know whether to drink or eat the red cherry in the amber liquid. His companion led the way and he saw she expected another, although he had not swallowed half of the bitter stuff. He ordered two more, and while they talked a warm glow crept over him, and with it a feeling of distance. He seemed to be talking to her down a corridor. There was a loud ringing of a bell above the babel. "Where are you sitting?" she said, propelling him out. Before he could answer some one called "Dean!" rather excitedly. The voice was familiar, and turning, in the crush at the door, he saw Lindon. "What on earth are you--?" began Lindon joyously. Then, suddenly he saw the gloved hand on John's arm and swiftly glanced at his companion. Lindon winked expressively. "See you later, Scissors," he called. "I'm at Jules, Jermyn Street," and then disappeared. Utter confusion fell upon John. He strode fiercely along. "Lord! do you owe him a fiver?" simpered the girl. "No--certainly not, it's you!" he returned fiercely.