"Odd you should ask that," he remarked. "I do feel sort of queer to-night--as though I'd been ill, or something of the sort. There are so many things I can only half remember--at least I remember the things themselves, but the part I took in them seems so odd. Kind of feeling as though I'd been masquerading in another chap's clothes," he added, with an uneasy little laugh. "I don't half like it." "Tell me," she persisted, "did you really find the music tiresome?" He nodded. "Rather," he confessed. "The Chocolate Soldier is my idea of music. I like something with a tune in it. There's been no one to beat Gilbert and Sullivan. I don't know who wrote this Samson and Delilah, but he was a dismal sort of beggar, wasn't he? I like something cheerful. Don't you want to come and have some supper, Edith? I know a place where they play all the popular music." "No, thank you," she told him gravely. "You seem so cold and sort of stand-offish to-night," he complained, coming a little closer to her. "Some of those nights down at your place--can't remember 'em very well but I am jolly sure you were different. What's happened? Mayn't I hold your fingers, even?" His arm would have been around her waist, but she evaded it firmly. "Don't you know what has happened?" she demanded, earnestly. "Don't you really know?" "Can't say that I do," he admitted. "I've got a sort of feeling as though I'd been all tied-up like, lately. Haven't been able to enjoy myself properly, and gone mooning about after shadows. To-night I feel just as though I were coming into my own again a bit. I say," he added, admiringly, "you do look stunning! Come and have some supper--no one will know--and let me drive you home afterwards. Do!" She shook her head. "I don't think you must talk to me quite like this," she said kindly. "You have a wife, you know, and I am engaged to be married." He laughed, quite easily. "Never seen Ellen, have you?" he remarked. "She's a fine woman, you know, although she isn't quite your style. She'd think you sort of pale and colorless, I expect--no kind of go or dash about you." "Is that what you think?" Edith asked him, smiling. "You aren't exactly the style I've always admired," he confessed, "but there's something about you," he added, in a puzzled manner,--"I don't know what it is but I remember it from a year ago--something that seemed to catch hold of me. I expect I must be a sentimental sort of Johnny underneath. However, I do admire you, Edith, immensely. I only wish--" Again she evaded him. "Please do not forget Mr. Bomford," she begged. "That silly old ass!" Burton exclaimed. "Looks as though he'd swallowed a poker! You're never going to marry him!" "I think that I shall," she replied. "At any rate, at present I am engaged to him. Therefore, if you please, you must keep just a little further away. I don't like to mention it, but I think--haven't you been smoking rather too much?"