“We’re going to dinner and then we’ll go on and see ‘The Boys and the Girls’ at the Winter Palace,” he said, “and then,” he hesitated, “what do you say to a little supper?” he asked. “A little supper? I don’t take supper,” said the girl. “Well, you can peck a bit of fruit, I suppose?” suggested Mr. Marl. “Where?” asked the girl steadily. “Most of the restaurants are closed before the theatres are out, aren’t they?” “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t come back here? You’re not a prude, my dear, are you?” “Not much,” she confessed. “I can see you home in my car,” he said. “I’ve got my own car, thank you,” said the girl, and Mr. Marl’s eyes opened. Then he began to laugh steadily at first, and his laughter ended in an asthmatical paroxysm. Presently he gasped: “Oh, you wicked little devil!” The evening was an interesting one for Thalia, more interesting by reason of the fact that she caught a glimpse of Mr. “Flush” Barnet in the hall of the hotel as she passed through. It was after the theatre was over and they were standing in the vestibule, waiting for the lift-man to call their car, that Thalia showed some symptom of hesitation, but the eloquent Mr. Felix Marl overcame whatever reluctance she felt, and as the clock was striking the half hour after eleven she passed into the hall, not failing to notice that Mr. Marl did not ring for his servants, but let himself in with his own latchkey. The supper was laid in a rose-panelled dining-room. “I will help you, my dear,” said Mr. Marl. “We won’t bother about the servants.” But she shook her head. “I can eat nothing, and I think I’ll go home now,” she said. “Wait, wait,” he begged. “I want to have a little talk with you about your boss. I can do you a lot of good in that firm--at the bank, Thalia. Who called you Thalia?” “My godfathers and godmothers, M. or N.” said Thalia solemnly, and Mr. Marl squeaked his delight at her humour. He was passing behind her, ostensibly to reach one of the dishes which were set on the table, when he stooped and, had she not slipped from his grasp, would have kissed her. “I think I’ll go home,” said Thalia. “Rubbish!” Mr. Marl was annoyed, and when Mr. Marl was annoyed he forgot that he made any pretensions to gentle birth. “Come and sit down.” She looked at him long and thoughtfully, and then, turning suddenly, went to the door, and turned the handle. It was locked. “I think you had better open this door, Mr. Marl,” she said quietly. “I think not,” chuckled Mr. Marl. “Now, Thalia, be the dear, good little girl I thought you were.” “I should hate to dissipate any illusions you may have about my character,” said Thalia coolly. “You’ll open that door, please.” “Certainly.” He ambled toward the door, feeling in his pocket, then before she could realise his intention he had seized her in his arms. He was a powerful man, a head taller than she, and his big hands gripped her arms like steel clamps.