He paid the bill right bravely and added sixpence for the waiter, though it cost him as great a pang as the wrenching of a double tooth. A rapid calculation told him that he must dine at the Aerated Bread Shop for several days to come. Whilst he was thus computing Polly drew out her gold watch. It caught his eye, he stood transfixed, and his stare rose from the watch to Polly's face. "Just after eleven," she remarked airily, and began to hum. Christopher had but a silver watch, an heirloom of considerable antiquity, and the chain was jet. Sunk of a sudden in profoundest gloom he led the way to the exit, walking like a shamefaced plebeian who had got into the room by mistake. Polly's spirits were higher than ever. Just beyond the electric glare she thrust her arm under that of her mute companion. "You don't want me to git run over, do you?" Parish had a thrill of satisfaction, but with difficulty he spoke. "Let's get out of this crowd--beastly, isn't it?" "I don't mind a crowd. I like it when I've someone to hang on by." "Oh, I don't mind it, I like just what you like. What time did you say it was, Miss Sparkes?" "Just eleven. Time I was gettin' 'ome. There'll be a bus at the corner." "I hoped you were going to walk," urged Christopher timidly. "S'pose I might just as well--if you'll take care of me." It was a long time since Polly had been so gracious, so mild. All the way down Whitehall, across the bridge, and into Kennington Road she chatted of a hundred things, but never glanced at the one which held complete possession of Christopher's mind. Many times he brought himself all but to the point of mentioning it, yet his courage invariably failed. The risk was too great; it needed such a trifling provocation to disturb Polly's good humour. He perspired under the warmth of the night and from the tumult of his feelings. "You mustn't meet me again for a week," said Polly when her dwelling was within sight. "Why not?" "Because I say so--that's enough, ain't it?" "I say--Polly--" "I've told you you're not to say 'Polly,'" she interrupted archly. "You're awfully good, you know--but I wish--" "What? Never mind; tell me next time. Ta-ta!" She ran off, and Christopher had no heart to detain her. For five minutes he hung over the parapet at Westminster, watching the black flood and asking what was the use of life. On the whole Mr. Parish found life decidedly agreeable, and after a night's rest, a little worry notwithstanding, he could go to the City in the great morning procession, one of myriads exactly like him, and would hopefully dip his pen in the inkpots of Swettenham Brothers. Moggie, the general, was just coming from the public-house with two foaming jugs, one for Mrs. Bubb, the other for Mr. and Mrs. Cheeseman, her first-floor lodgers. Miss Sparkes passed her disdainfully, and entered with the aid of a latch-key. From upstairs sounded a banjo, preluding; then the sound of Mr. Cheeseman's voice chanting a popular refrain: