A big car slid past them, ridiculously upholstered in white velvet. An effete-looking youth and the girl who had stated that her "pa" was rich lolled in the back seat. Maggy’s eyes followed them speculatively. "Wonder if there’s anything in it?" she remarked. "In what?" "In that sort of a good time. Flat, money, pet dog, car, week-ends at Brighton—enough to eat." "I don’t want to think about it." "Neither do I. But I have lately. I’m wondering what on earth we’re standing out for. No one thinks any the better of us for it. The girls all think us fools, and the men just grin and wait." "Don’t talk about it. Talking makes it all seem worse." "One day I shall do more than talk. I shall walk off." Alexandra said nothing. She knew Maggy’s mood. Maggy was hungry, tired, and cross. Motives of economy impelled them towards their lodgings, where half a tin of sardines was waiting to be consumed. Neither had had anything to eat since early morning. And when they had lunched they would have to walk back to the theater for rehearsal again at three. Maggy suddenly halted before a Lyons’ depot. "Come on in, Lexie," she said. "We can’t wait. We shan’t be home till past two. And if we’re late back we’ll be fined." "There’s the tin of—" Alexandra began and stopped. Maggy had pushed open the swing doors. The grateful smell of hot and well-made coffee and savory, nourishing food, cheapness notwithstanding, made her surrender to temptation. Deprivation has this effect. De Freyne, lunching expensively at the Savoy, recognizing here and there approved members of his chorus and their cavaliers, could not be expected to know anything of empty stomachs. Besides, it was their own fault if the girls did not know which side their bread was buttered. They sat down at one of the marble-topped tables. A waitress came towards them. "Two cups of coffee, rolls and butter—" This was Alexandra’s order. "Coffee, rolls, and two steak-and-kidney puddings," augmented Maggy recklessly. Unmoved, the attendant went off to execute the order. Maggy met Alexandra’s startled eyes. Her own were defiant. "Don’t tell me," she said. "It’ll cost us nearly eighteenpence. I don’t care. _I’m_ going to pay, and if I don’t go bust that way I shall do something worse. We’re going to feed, dear!" V "Damn! She’s turned off the gas!" Maggy stopped machining. The small room was plunged in darkness. Alexandra groped for matches and lit the candles. It was not easy to work by the flickering light, but both girls went on with what they were doing. There was something grim about the task. One associates the alteration of frills and furbelows with some small pleasure to the adapter; but there was none here. Necessity impelled them, kept them out of their beds. They were heavy with sleep. The air of the room was close and unpleasant.