as lilian armed herself for the field she discovered that, after all her care, she had omitted to provide several small details, the absence of each of which seemed for a few moments in turn to be a disaster. but on the whole she was well satisfied with the total effectiveness. the slattern, who had been furtively summoned, and who was made to wash her hands before touching a hook-and-eye, expressed, in whispers, an admiring amazement which enheartened lilian in spite of its uninformed quality. the girl, as if bewitched, followed the vision down to the front door.

"if it rains you're ruined, miss," said the girl anxiously, glancing up into the heavy darkness where not a star was to be seen. "you ought for to have an umbrella."

lilian shook her head.

"it won't rain," she answered cheerfully.

but as soon as she was fairly away from the house she felt, or thought she felt, a drop of rain, and, seeing a taxi, she impulsively hailed it, wishing to heaven the next instant that she had not been so audacious. for although twice with her father and mother she had ridden in taxis on very great occasions, she had never in her life actually taken one by herself. her voice failed and broke as she said to the driver: "devonshire restaurant, jermyn street"; but the driver was proficient in comprehension, and the devonshire restaurant in jermyn street seemed to be as familiar to him as charing cross station.

in the taxi she collected herself. she thought she was all right except for her lips. she knew that her lips ought to have been slightly coloured, but she thought she also knew what was the best lip-stick and she had not been able to get it in hammersmith. as for her nails, she was glad that it had been impossible for her to tint them. she must remember that she was a typist, and though typists, and even discharged typists, generally help their lips to be crimson on state-nights, they do not usually tint their nails--unless they have abandoned discretion.

lilian was glad when justifying rain began to fall. while she paid the driver at her destination, a commissionaire held a vast umbrella over her fragile splendour.

her legs literally shook as she entered the restaurant, exactly as once they had shaken in an air-raid. within was a rich, tiny little waiting-room with a view of the dining-room beyond. she hesitated awkwardly, for owing to the taxi she was nearly a quarter of an hour too early. a respectful attendant said:

"are you expecting anyone, madam?"

"yes."

"what name, madam?"

"mr. grig."

"oh yes, madam. his table is booked."

she had sat down. she could now inspect herself in half a dozen large mirrors, and she almost ceased to fear for her appearance. it was her deportment and demeanour that now troubled her. in this matter she was disturbingly aware that she had both to unlearn and to learn. she looked through the glass partition into the restaurant. it was small but sumptuous; and empty of diners save for a couple of women who were smoking and eating simultaneously. people, chiefly in couples, kept arriving and passing through the antechamber. she picked up a copy of what's on, pretending to study it but studying the arrivals. then she felt a man come in and glimpsed the attendant pointing to herself. mr. grig could not entirely conceal his astonishment at the smartness of her appearance. he had in fact not immediately recognized her. his surprised pleasure and appreciation gave her both pleasure and confidence.

"i'm not late," he said, resuming rapidly his rather quizzical matter-of-factness.

"no. i was too early."

the attendant took mr. grig's overcoat like a sacred treasure; he was shown to be in a dark blue suit; and they passed to the restaurant.

lilian thought:

"anyway, he can't think i've bought these clothes specially for this affair, because he only asked me this afternoon."

the table reserved was in a corner. lilian had a full view of the whole restaurant, while mr. grig had a full view of nothing but lilian. for a girl in lilian's situation he was an ideal host, for the reason that he talked just as naturally--and in particular curtly--as if they had been at the office together. when a waiter shackled in silver approached with the wine list, he asked:

"what wine do you prefer?"

"whatever you prefer," she replied, with a prompt and delicious smile.

"oh, no!" he protested. "that won't do at all. if a woman's given the choice she ought to choose. she must submit ideas, at any rate. otherwise we shall go wandering all through the wine list and finally settle on something neither of us wants."

lilian had learnt a little about wines (she had sipped often from the paternal glass), and also about good plain cooking.

"burgundy," she said.

without another word mr. grig turned to the burgundy page, and while he was selecting lilian took off her gloves and gazed timidly around. it was the silver table-lamps, each glowing under a canopy of orange, that impressed her more than anything else. she saw shoulders, bosoms, pearls, white shirt-fronts, black backs--the room was still filling--all repeated in gilt mirrors. the manner of the numerous waiters corresponded to her notion of court chamberlains. this was the first high-class restaurant she had ever seen, and despite her nervousness she felt more at home in it, more exultingly happy in it, than anywhere before in all her existence. she passionately loved it, and her beauty seemed to increase in radiance. she liked to think that it was extremely costly. compare it to the palais de danse, mr. pladda, and the tomato sandwiches! ah! it was the genuine article at last! she took surreptitious glances also at mr. grig's bent face; and the face was so strange to her, though just the same as of old, that she might have been seeing it for the first time. the greatness, the enormity of the occasion, frightened her. what were they doing there together? and what in the future would they do together? was he really and seriously attracted by her? was she in love with him? or was it all a curious and dangerous deception? she had always understood that when one was in love one knew definitely that one was in love. whereas she was sure of nothing whatever. nevertheless she was uplifted into a beatific, irrational and reckless joy. never had she felt as she felt while mr. grig was selecting the burgundy.

"now we'd better be getting to business," said he, when the hors d'oeuvre had been removed and the soup served. "i had a letter from my sister this morning. she wrote--wait a minute!" he pulled a letter from his pocket and read out: "'i'm sorry to say i've been compelled to get rid of poor lilian share. she's a nice enough girl in her way, but when you're not here i'm in charge of this office, and as she couldn't treat me with the respect due to me, i had to decide at once what to do, and i did decide. i treated her generously, and i hope she'll soon get another place. she will, of course, because she can be so very attractive when she likes'--underlined--'but i fear she isn't likely to keep it unless she changes her style of behaviour.'" he smacked the letter together and returned it to his pocket. "there, you see! i'm being remarkably frank with you. i came up from brighton on purpose to tell you, and i'm going, back by the last train to-night. my sister is quite unaware of this escapade. in fact, at the moment i'm leading a double life. now! i've given you one version of this mighty incident. give me your version."

lilian, troubled, looked at her mother's engagement ring on her finger--the sole jewel she carried--and smiled with acute restraint at her plate.

"have you got another situation? i suppose not," mr. grig went on.

"no--not yet."

"have you tried for one?"

"no."

"then what are you about?"

"oh! my father left me a little money--very little, but i'm not starving."

"so i should judge.... well, tell me all about it."

"i didn't mean to be rude to her--really i didn't. it was about a small bill of lord mackworth's."

she related the episode in detail, repeating the conversation with marvellous exactitude, but with too many "she saids, she saids" and "i saids, i saids." mr. grig laughed when she came to the offer to pay the bill herself, and after a moment she gave a slight responsive smile. she was very careful not to make or even to imply the least charge against miss grig, and she accomplished the duplicity with much skill.

"i can promise you one thing," said mr. grig. "the moment i get back i'll see that milly is sacked. i cannot stick that bag of bones."

"please don't!"

"you don't want me to?"

lilian shook her head slowly.

"all right, then. i won't. now i'll tell you the whole business in a nutshell. my sister's a great woman. she's perfectly mad, but she's a great woman. only where i'm concerned she's always most monstrously unscrupulous. i'm her religion--always was, but more than ever since i bought that amusing business. she was dying of boredom. it saved her. when i got myself divorced she was absolutely delighted. she had me to herself again. her jealousy where i'm concerned is ferocious. she can't help it, but it's ferocious. tigresses aren't in it with her. she was jealous of you, and she'd determined to clear you out. i've perceived that for a long time."

"but why should she be jealous of me? i'm sure i've never----"

"well, she's damned clever, isabel is, and she's seen that i'm in love with you. gone--far gone!"

he spoke with strange detachment, as of another person.

the thud-thud of lilian's heart appalled her. she blushed down to her neck. her hand shook. the restaurant and all its inhabitants vanished in a cloud and then slowly reappeared. her confusion of mind was terrible. she was shocked, outraged, by the negligently brutal candour of the avowal; and at the same time she was thinking: "i'd no idea that any man was as marvellous as this man is, and i don't think there can possibly be another man quite as marvellous anywhere. and his being in love with me is the most ravishing, lovely, tender--tender--tender thing that ever happened to any girl. and, of course, he is in love with me. he's not pretending. he would never pretend...."

she wanted to be unconscious for a little while. she did not know it, but her beautiful face was transfigured by the interplay of shyness, modesty, soft resentment, gratitude, ecstasy and determination. her head was bowed and she could not raise it. neither could she utter a single word. she looked divine, and thought she looked either silly or sulky. mr. grig glanced aside. a glimpse of paradise had dazzled the eternal youth in him. the waiter bore away the soup-plates.

"perhaps that's enough about business for the present," said mr. grig at length. "let's talk about something else. but before we start i must just tell you you're the most stylish creature in this restaurant. i was staggered when i came in and saw you. staggered!"

she did raise her head.

"why?" she asked with exquisite gentleness.

mr. grig, overwhelmed, offered no response.

as for her determination, it amounted to this: "i will be as marvellous as he is. i will be more marvellous. i will be queen, slave, everything. he doesn't guess what is in store for him." she did not think about the difference in their ages, nor about marriage; nor did she even consider whether or not she was in love with him. chiefly, she was grateful. and what she saw in front of her was a sublime vocation. her mood was ever so faintly tinged with regret because they were not both in evening dress.

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