Jauncy was waiting for them to come up, perhaps as a protection against his _fiancee's_ reproaches. "In another hour," he said, with an implied apology, "you'll see how different this place looks. We--we're come a little too early. Suppose we fill up the time by a nice little dinner at the Restorong--eh, Ada? What do you think, Tweddle?" The suggestion was received favourably, and Jauncy, thankful to retrieve his reputation as leader, took them towards the spot where food was to be had. Presently they saw lights twinkling through the trees, and came to a place which was clearly the focus of festivity. There was the open-air theatre, its drop-scene lowered, its proscenium lost in the gloom; there was the circle for _al-fresco_ dancing, but it was bare, and the clustered lights were dead; there was the restaurant, dark and silent like all else. Jauncy stood there and rubbed his chin. "This is where I dined when we were here last," he said, at length; "and a capital little dinner they gave us too!" "What _I_ should like to know," said the elder Miss Parkinson, "is, where are we to dine to-night?" "Yes," said Jauncy, encouragingly; "don't you fret yourself, Bella. Here's an old party sweeping up leaves, we'll ask him." They did so, and were referred to a large building, in the Gothic style, with a Tudor doorway, known as the "Baronial All," where lights shone behind the painted windows. Inside, a few of the lamps around the pillars were lighted, and the body of the floor was roped in as if for dancing; but the hall was empty, save for a barmaid, assisted by a sharp little girl, behind the long bar on one of its sides. Jauncy led his dejected little party up to this, and again put his inquiry with less hopefulness. When he found that the only available form of refreshment that evening was bitter ale and captain's biscuits, mitigated by occasional caraway seeds, he became a truly pitiable object. "They--they don't keep this place up on the same scale in the autumn, you see," he explained weakly. "It's very different in summer; what they call 'an endless round of amusements.'" "There's an endless round of amusement now," observed Ada; "but it's a naught!" "Oh, there'll be something going on by-and-by, never fear," said Jauncy, determined to be sanguine; "or else they wouldn't be open." "There'll be dancing here this evening," the barmaid informed him. "That is all we open for at this time of year; and this is the last night of the season." "Oh!" said Jauncy, cheerfully; "you see we only came just in time, Bella; and I suppose you'll have a good many down here to-night--eh, miss?" "How much did we take last Saturday, Jenny?" said the barmaid to the sharp little girl. "Seven and fourpence 'ap'ny--most of it beer," said the child. "Margaret, I may count the money again to-night, mayn't I?"