One says that Mr. Carmyle was annoyed. The word is weak. The interruption coming at such a moment jarred every ganglion in his body. The clicking noise of the drumsticks maddened him. And the gleaming whiteness of Mr. Williams' friendly and benignant smile was the last straw. His dignity writhed beneath this abominable infliction. People at other tables were laughing. At him. A loathing for the Flower Garden flowed over Bruce Carmyle, and with it a feeling of suspicion and disapproval of everyone connected with the establishment. He sprang to his feet. “I think I will be going,” he said. Sally did not reply. She was watching Ginger, who still stood beside the table recently vacated by Reginald Cracknell. “Good night,” said Mr. Carmyle between his teeth. “Oh, are you going?” said Sally with a start. She felt embarrassed. Try as she would, she was unable to find words of any intimacy. She tried to realize that she had promised to marry this man, but never before had he seemed so much a stranger to her, so little a part of her life. It came to her with a sensation of the incredible that she had done this thing, taken this irrevocable step. The sudden sight of Ginger had shaken her. It was as though in the last half-hour she had forgotten him and only now realized what marriage with Bruce Carmyle would mean to their comradeship. From now on he was dead to her. If anything in this world was certain that was. Sally Nicholas was Ginger's pal, but Mrs. Carmyle, she realized, would never be allowed to see him again. A devastating feeling of loss smote her like a blow. “Yes, I've had enough of this place,” Bruce Carmyle was saying. “Good night,” said Sally. She hesitated. “When shall I see you?” she asked awkwardly. It occurred to Bruce Carmyle that he was not showing himself at his best. He had, he perceived, allowed his nerves to run away with him. “You don't mind if I go?” he said more amiably. “The fact is, I can't stand this place any longer. I'll tell you one thing, I'm going to take you out of here quick.” “I'm afraid I can't leave at a moment's notice,” said Sally, loyal to her obligations. “We'll talk over that to-morrow. I'll call for you in the morning and take you for a drive somewhere in a car. You want some fresh air after this.” Mr. Carmyle looked about him in stiff disgust, and expressed his unalterable sentiments concerning the Flower Garden, that apple of Isadore Abrahams' eye, in a snort of loathing. “My God! What a place!” He walked quickly away and disappeared. And Ginger, beaming happily, swooped on Sally's table like a homing pigeon. 4 “Good Lord, I say, what ho!” cried Ginger. “Fancy meeting you here. What a bit of luck!” He glanced over his shoulder warily. “Has that blighter pipped?” “Pipped?” “Popped,” explained Ginger. “I mean to say, he isn't coming back or any rot like that, is he?” “Mr. Carmyle? No, he has gone.”