"I say, Rudd, do you dance?" "No, not much." "Well, look here, I can, a bit; at any rate I am going to have a bit of fun over there. Let us go on our own for a bit. Meet me here at a quarter to four." "Right," said Rudd, and continued sipping the lurid poison that called itself American cream soda, and was in reality merely a cheap illness. Gordon walked in the direction of the dancing. The grass had been cut quite short in a circle, and to the time of a broken band the town dandies were whirling round, flushed with excitement and the close proximity of a female form. "The Maenads and the Bassarids," murmured Gordon to himself, and cursed his luck for not knowing any of the girls. Disconsolately he wandered across to the Bijou Theatre, a tumble-down hut where a huge crowd was jostling and shouting. He ran into something and half apologised. "Oh, don't mind me," a high-pitched voice shrieked excitedly. He turned round and saw the flushed face of a girl of about nineteen looking up at him. She was alone. "I say," Gordon muttered nervously, "you look a bit lonely, come and have some ginger beer." "Orl right. I don't mind. Give us your arm!" They rolled off to a neighbouring stall, where Gordon stood his Juliet countless lemonades and chocolates. He felt very brave and grown-up, and thought contemptuously of Davenport in bed dreaming some fatuous dream, while he was engulfed in noise and colour. This was life. From the stall the two wandered to the swing-boats, and towering high above the tawdry glitter of the revel saw through the red mist the Abbey, austere and still, the School House dormitories stretching silent with suspended life, the class-rooms peopled with ghosts. A plank jarred under the boat. "Garn, surely it ain't time to stop yet," wailed Emmie. He had gathered enough courage to ask her her name. "Have another?" pleaded Gordon. "No; let us try the lively thing over there. These boats do make me feel so funny-like." The merry-go-round was just stopping. There was a rush for the horses. Gordon leapt on one, and leaning down caught Emmie up and sat her in front of him; she lay back in his arms in a languor of satisfied excitement. Her hair blew across his face, stifling him; on every side couples were hugging and squeezing. The sensuous whirl of the machine was acting as a narcotic, numbing thought. He caught her flushed, tired face in his hands and kissed her wildly, beside himself with the excitement of the moment. "You don't mind, do you?" he murmured in a hoarse whisper. "Don't be so silly; I have been waiting for that. Now we can get comfy-like."