She could not hide her excitement. It showed in an added sparkle of the eyes, a catch in the voice. Alexandra wondered what else besides an invitation to lunch could have created this effect. It caused her vague uneasiness. But prospective enjoyment was so clearly written all over Maggy’s face that she refrained from expressing it. "Of course I don’t mind," she said. "I hope you will enjoy yourself." "You are a dear!" Maggy felt awkward. "You—you don’t think it’s wrong?" "There’s nothing wrong in going to lunch with anybody. Especially if he’s—all right, and knows you are, too." "He’s nice, I think." "I’m glad. But be careful, Maggy." "Rather!" Maggy moved to one of the mirrors and took up a powder-puff. "You’ve got heaps on already," deprecated Alexandra. "Have I?" She powdered over the rouge. "I do look rather like puff pastry—in layers, don’t I? Well, I haven’t time to take any of it off. Lexie, De Freyne wants to see you in a minute or two. I don’t think it’s anything important. He seems in a good temper. Ta-ta, dear." She ran out and made for the stage-door where Woolf was waiting for her. His car, a big open one, was drawn up opposite it. Maggy wished the girls had not all gone. They had twitted her so often about her lack of a male escort. Now there was no one to see her get in. "Where are we going?" she asked. "The Savoy?" "Not this time," said Woolf. "My house is not far off." "I’d prefer the Savoy," she persisted, although she had never actually been to that restaurant. Woolf was the sort of man who invariably gets his own way with women. In addition to being characteristically obstinate he was indifferent to any opinion that clashed with his own. If it was one that suited him so much the better; if not, he ignored it. So long as he paid the piper he considered he had the right to call the tune. But before paying he scanned the bill carefully. He was not a gentleman. He met gentlemen sometimes, and was adaptive enough to be mistaken for one. He belonged to one or two nearly-good clubs. He was a man about town in the sense that he was to be seen wherever money could purchase an entrance. "You’ll be quite chaperoned at my place," he assured Maggy. "I’ve a man and his wife." "I don’t need a man and his wife to look after me," she retorted sharply. He gave her an attentive stare. "Who does look after you?" His meaning was obvious. "Myself, of course. Why don’t we go to the Savoy?" "How persistent you are. Do you want to know why, really? Promise you won’t be offended?" "If I am I’ll hop out." "Well ... when you let me buy you some pretty clothes I’ll take you there." He half expected she might "hop out," especially as the car had come to a standstill in a traffic block. She looked hot-tempered. But Maggy was too level-headed to be sensitive on the score of clothes.