How obtuse men were! Because Wilfrid was his pal, Michael did not see; and that was lucky! So Wilfrid really meant to avoid her! Well, she would see! And she said:

“I’m tired, Michael; let’s go home.”

His hand slid round her arm.

“Sorry, old thing; come along!”

They stood a moment in a neglected doorway, watching Woomans, the conductor, launched towards his orchestra.

“Look at him,” said Michael; “guy hung out of an Italian window, legs and arms all stuffed and flying! And look at the Frapka and her piano—that’s a turbulent union!”

There was a strange sound.

“Melody, by George!” said Michael.

An attendant muttered in their ears: “Now, sir, I’m going to shut the door.” Fleur had a fleeting view of L.S.D. sitting upright as his hair, with closed eyes. The door was shut—they were outside in the hall.

“Wait here, darling; I’ll nick a rickshaw.”

Fleur huddled her chin in her fur. It was easterly and cold.

A voice behind her said:

“Well, Fleur, am I going East?”

Wilfrid! His collar up to his ears, a cigarette between his lips, hands in pockets, eyes devouring.

“You’re very silly, Wilfrid!”

“Anything you like; am I going East?”

“No; Sunday morning—eleven o’clock at the Tate. We’ll talk it out.”

“Convenu!” And he was gone.

Alone suddenly, like that, Fleur felt the first shock of reality. Was Wilfrid truly going to be unmanageable? A taxicab ground up; Michael beckoned; Fleur stepped in.

Passing a passionately lighted oasis of young ladies displaying to the interested Londoner the acme of Parisian undress, she felt Michael incline towards her. If she were going to keep Wilfrid, she must be nice to Michael. Only:

“You needn’t kiss me in Piccadilly Circus, Michael!”

“Sorry, duckie! It’s a little previous—I meant to get you opposite the Partheneum.”

Fleur remembered how he had slept on a Spanish sofa for the first fortnight of their honeymoon; how he always insisted that she must not spend anything on him, but must always let him give her what he liked, though she had three thousand a year and he twelve hundred; how jumpy he was when she had a cold—and how he always came home to tea. Yes, he was a dear! But would she break her heart if he went East or West tomorrow?