One of the hardest parts of it all was that she had to live the whole time with her anxious economies. She could not afford to escape from them, to pay to forget. A shilling was a big consideration, a penny every bit a penny. Once or twice, when she was feeling particularly miserable, she let herself go to the desperate extent of a half-crown seat in the pit. And the next day she would regret the extravagance, and lunch on a scone and a glass of milk. Then Mr. Parfit appeared in the light of a provider of amusements. One Thursday evening she had a note from him, written in his regular, commercial hand. “DEAR MISS CARFAX,—I have three dress-circles for a matinée of ‘The Lost Daughter’ on Saturday afternoon. Jane is coming up from Croydon. Will you honour me by joining us? We might have a little lunch at Frascati’s before the theatre. I shall be proud if you accept, and I want you to meet Jane. “Very sincerely yours, “JOHN PARFIT.” She did accept, glad to escape from herself for an afternoon, and refusing to ask herself any serious questions. Mr. Parfit was in great spirits. Eve discovered “Sister Jane” to be a stout, blonde, good-humoured woman with an infinite capacity for feeling domestic affection. She studied Eve with feminine interest, and meeting her brother’s eyes, smiled at him from time to time with motherly approval. The play was a British Public play, sentimentally sexual, yet guardedly inoffensive. Eve enjoyed it. She found that John Parfit had to use his handkerchief, and that he became thick in the throat. She did not like him any the less for being capable of emotion. It seemed to be part of his personality. Afterwards they had tea together, and Mr. Parfit’s benevolence became tinged with affectionate playfulness. He made jokes, teased his sister, and tried to make Eve enter into a guessing competition as to which fancy cakes each would choose. She appreciated his discretion when he put her in a taxi, gave the driver four shillings, and packed her off to Bosnia Road. He himself was going to see Jane off at Charing Cross. Also, he and Jane had something to discuss. “Well, old thing, how does she strike you?” “I’m a cautious soul, John, but I’m a woman, and we’re quick about other women. She’s the right stuff, even if she’s clever, and a little proud. It doesn’t do a girl any harm to have a little pride. Fine eyes, too, and good style.” “I knew you’d think that.” “Did you now? What do you know about women, you great big baby?” * * * * * CHAPTER XXX MORE EXPERIENCES