So I can't say with authority what happened between Simpson and Columbine when they met. But Simpson and I had a cigarette together afterwards and certain things came out; enough to make it plain that she must have enjoyed herself. "Oh, I say, old chap," he began jauntily, "do you know--match, thanks--er--whereabouts is Finsbury Circus?" "You're too old to go to a circus now, Simpson. Come and have a day at the Polytechnic instead." "Don't be an ass; it's a place like Oxford Circus. I suppose it's in the City somewhere? I wonder," he murmured to himself, "what she would be doing in the City at eleven o'clock in the morning." "Perhaps her rich uncle is in a bank, and she wants to shoot him. I wish you'd tell me what you're talking about." Simpson took off his mask and spectacles and wiped his brow. "Dear old chap," he said in a solemn voice, "in the case of a woman one cannot tell even one's best friend. You know how it is." "Well, if there's going to be a duel you should have chosen some quieter spot than Finsbury Circus. The motor-buses distract one's aim." Simpson was silent for a minute or two. Then a foolish smile flitted across his face, to be followed suddenly by a look of alarm. "Don't do anything that your mother wouldn't like," I said warningly. He frowned and put on his mask again. "Are chrysanthemums in season?" he asked casually. "Anyhow, I suppose I could always get a yellow one?" "You could, Simpson. And you could put it in your button-hole, so that you can be recognized, and go to Finsbury Circus to meet somebody at eleven o'clock to-morrow morning. Samuel, I'm ashamed of you. Er--where do you lunch?" "At the Carlton. Old chap, I got quite carried away. Things seemed to be arranged before I knew where I was." "And what's she going to wear so that you can recognize HER?" "Yes," said Simpson, getting up, "that's the worst of it. I told her it was quite out of date, and that only the suburbs wore fashions a year old, but she insisted on it. I had no idea she was that sort of girl. Well, I'm in for it now." He sighed heavily and went off for another ginger-ale. I think that I must be at Finsbury Circus to-morrow, for certainly no Columbine in a harem skirt will be there. Simpson in his loneliness will be delighted to see me, and then we can throw away his button-hole and have a nice little lunch together. TWO STORIES THE MAKING OF A CHRISTMAS STORY (AS CARRIED OUT IN THE BEST END OF FLEET STREET) YULETIDE! London at Yuletide!