Gilbert began to tell her about the dancers and to explain the ballet. She had never seen anything like it before, and he pointed out its beauty, what a marvellous poem it really was; music, movement, and colour built up by almost incredible labour into one stupendous whole. A dozen minor geniuses, each one a poet in his or her way, had been at work upon this triumphant shifting beauty, evanescent and lovely as a dream painted upon the sable curtains of sleep. She listened and seemed to understand but made little comment. Once she flashed a curious speculative look at him. And, on his part, though he saw her lovelier than ever, he was chilled nevertheless. Grey veils seemed to be falling between him and the glow of his desire, falling one by one. "Surgit amari aliquid?"--was it that?--but he could not let the moment escape him. It must and should be captured. He made an excuse about cigarettes, and chocolates for her, and left the box, hurrying to the little bar in the promenade, drinking there almost furiously, tasting nothing, waiting, a strange silent figure with a white face, until he felt the old glow re-commencing. It came. The drugged mind answered to the call, and he went back to the box with light footsteps, full of riotous, evil thoughts. Rita had withdrawn her chair into the box a little. She looked up with a smile of welcome as he entered and sat down by her side. She began to eat the chocolates he had brought, and he watched her with greedy eyes. Suddenly--maid of moods as she was--she pushed the satin-covered box away. He felt a little white arm pushed through his. "Gilbert, let's pretend we're married, just for this evening," she said, looking at him with dancing eyes. "What do you mean, Rita?" he said in a hoarse whisper. The girl half-smiled, flushed a little, and then patted the black sleeve of his coat. "It's so nice to be together," she whispered. "I am so happy with you. London is so wonderful with you to show it to me. I only wish it could go on always." He caught her wrist with his hot hand. "It can, always, if you wish," he said. She started at the fierce note in his voice. "Hush," she said. "You mustn't talk like that." Her face became severe and reproving. She turned it towards the stage. The remainder of the evening alternated between wild fits of gaiety and rather moody silences. There was absolutely nothing of the crisp, delightful friendship of the drive to Brighton. A new relation was established between them, and yet it was not, as yet, capable of any definition at all. She was baffling, utterly perplexing. At one moment he thought her his, really in love with him, prepared for all that might mean, at another she was a shy and rather dissatisfied school girl. The nervous strain within him, as the fires of his passion burned and crackled, was intense. He fed the flame with alcohol whenever he had an opportunity.