"Oh damn!" He wished she hadn't said it. Perhaps he was old-fashioned, but somehow, a girl who used that word was a little--er? That was what John could not precisely say; he had been trying to since their first meeting. He did not want to appear a prig, and yet--. He knew Muriel would not approve, but he laughed at the thought. A speaker had been attacking the Victorians for their smugness--well, he was being very early Victorian. "Come on, kid," cried the young lady in the kimono. He stood between Scylla and Charybdis. A vision of Merritt nerved him to resistance. "Then come after, we'll go on till three or four." Weakly he declined and weakly he surrendered. He took the address and promised to return as soon as he could. It was half-past one when his work was done, and he knocked at the door of Birch Lodge Studios, No. 4, off the King's Road. There was a great noise of revelry within. When the door opened, he found himself in a large room, with a half-roof of sloping glass through which the moon peered down. A dozen Chinese lanterns illuminated the room and were reflected in the polished floor whereon about twenty couples were dancing to the music of a gramophone. "Scissors, you dear!" cried Tilly, as he entered. "I didn't think you'd come." "But I promised," he said, as she took his overcoat. The next moment she had taken him in her arms and they were whirling through the maze of the dance. She was hot and the studio was stuffy, and there was a languor in the manner in which she hung in his arms that was half-trustful and half-seductive. At the far end of the room, where the candle of the lantern was guttering, it was almost dark as they danced round. She gave a little laugh as the candle went out, her mouth provokingly near to his, her eyes softly luminous in the moonlight falling through the glass. The rhythm, the warmth, the music worked upon him; he was whirling, he knew not where. For a moment he hesitated, then laughed as she laughed, and the next moment quenched his boyish thirst on her lips. Convulsively she clung a moment, then collapsed softly in his arms, and he experienced a strength that was weakness, a tenderness that was cruelty. He paused, floundering in a sea of the senses. "Go on," she whispered, for the other couples in rotation were crowding upon them. She pushed him round, but not before the girl in the kimono swirled by and laughed out. "Caught you that time!" The tone was vile, the accent inexpressibly vulgar; it jarred on the excited youth who danced dizzily. Tilly, more acutely alive and now self-possessed, felt her partner give a shiver of disgust. "Let's sit this out--I don't want to dance any more--please." They sat on a camp bed along the main wall, in silence. "You're angry," she whispered looking at him coyly. "I'm not." "Oh, yes you are--look at me, you sulky boy." He looked into her mischievous eyes, and he had to laugh. She twined her fingers with his.