The coin spun while the little crowd looked on in amusement, and tails it was. "Damn!" said the other, and turned away. "A bad loser, Peter," said Julie; "and he's just been seeing _Carminetta_, too! But am I not lucky! I almost always win." In the palm lounge Julie was very cheerful. "Coffee, Peter," she said, "and liqueurs." "No drinks after nine-thirty," said the waiter. "Sorry, sir." Julie laughed. "I nearly swore, Peter," she said, "but I remembered in time. If one can't get what one wants, one has to go without singing. But I'll have a cigarette, not to say two, before we've finished. And I'm in no hurry; I want to sit on here and pretend it's not Saturday night. And I want to go very slowly to bed, and I don't want to sleep." "Is that the effect of the theatre?" asked Peter. "And why so different from last night?" Julie evaded. "Don't you feel really different?" she demanded. "Yes," he said. "How?" "Well, I don't want to preach any sermon to-night. It's been preached." Julie drew hard on her cigarette, and blew out a cloud of smoke. "It has, Peter," she said merrily, "and thank the Lord I am therefore spared another." "You're very gay about it now, Julie, but you weren't at first. That play made me feel rather miserable too. No, I think it made me feel small. Carminetta was great, wasn't she? I don't know that there is anything greater than that sort of sacrifice. And it's far beyond me," said Peter. Julie leaned back and hummed a bar or two that Peter recognised from the last great song of the dancer. "Well, my dear, I was sad, wasn't I?" she said. "But it's over. There's no use in sadness, is there?" Peter did not reply, and started as Julie suddenly laughed. "Oh, good Lord, Peter!" she exclaimed, "to what _are_ you bringing me? Do you know that I'm about to quote Scripture? And I damn-well shall if we sit on here! Let's walk up Regent Street; I can't sit still. Come on." She jumped up. "Just now," he said, "you wanted to sit still for ages, and now you want to walk. What is the matter with you, Julie? And what was the text?" "That would be telling!" she laughed. "But can't I do anything I like, Peter?" she demanded. "Can't I go and get drunk if I like, Peter, or sit still, or dance down Regent Street, or send you off to bed and pick up a nice boy? It would be easy enough here. Can't I, Peter?" Her mood bewildered him, and, without in the least understanding why, he resented her levity. But he tried to hide it. "Of course you can," he said lightly; "but you don't really want to do those things, do you--especially the last, Julie?" She stood there looking at him, and then, in a moment, the excitement died out of her voice and eyes. She dropped into a chair again. "No, Peter," she said, "I don't. That's the marvel of it. I expect I shall, one of these days, do most of those things, and the last as well, but I don't think I'll ever _want_ to do them again. And that's what you've done to me, my dear."