"Supper," he declared, "would be the most delightful meal of the day in any other country except England. In a quarter of an hour the lights will be out." "But it is barbarous," Mademoiselle Rosine declared. "Ah! Monsieur Macheson, you should come to Paris! There it is that one may enjoy oneself." "I will come," Macheson answered, "whenever you will take me." She clapped her hands. "Agreed," she cried. "I have finished rehearsing. I have a week's 'vacance.' We will go to Paris to-morrow, all four of us!" "I'm on," Davenant declared promptly. "I was going anyway in a week or two." Mademoiselle Rosine clapped her hands again. "Bravo!" she cried. "And you, Mademoiselle?" The girl hesitated. She glanced at Macheson. "We will both come," Macheson declared. "Miss Merriam will do me the honour to go as my guest." "We'll stay at the Vivandiére," Davenant said. "I've a pal there who knows the ropes right up to date. What about the two-twenty to-morrow? We shall get there in time to change and have supper at Noyeau's." "And afterwards--_au Rat Mort_----" Mademoiselle Rosine cried. "We will drink a glass of champagne with _cher_ Monsieur François." Davenant raised his glass. "One more toast, then, before the bally lights go out!" he exclaimed. "To Paris--and our trip!" Some one touched Macheson on the arm. He turned sharply round. Deyes was standing there. Tall and immaculately attired, there was something a little ghostly in the pallor of his worn, beardless face, with its many wrinkles and tired eyes. "Forgive me for interrupting you, my dear fellow," he said. "We are having our coffee outside, just on the left there. Miss Thorpe-Hatton wants you to stop for a moment on your way out." Macheson hesitated perceptibly. A dull flush of colour stained his cheek, fading away almost immediately. He set his teeth hard. "I shall be very happy," he said, "to stop for a second." Deyes bowed and turned away. The room now was almost in darkness, and the people were streaming out into the foyer. Macheson paid the bill and followed in the wake of the others. Seeing him approach alone, Wilhelmina welcomed him with a smile, and drew her skirts on one side to make room for him to sit down. He glanced doubtfully around. She raised her eyebrows. "Your friends," she said, "are in no hurry. They can spare you for a moment." There was nothing in her tone to indicate any surprise at finding him there, or in such company. She made a few casual remarks in her somewhat languid fashion, and recalled him to the recollection of Lady Peggy, who was to all appearance flirting desperately with Lord Westerdean. Deyes had strolled across to a neighbouring group, and was talking to a well-known actor. Wilhelmina leaned towards him. "Has it ever occurred to you," she asked quietly, "that you left me a little abruptly the other afternoon?"