Macheson stopped before the table. He scarcely knew what to say or how to say it, but he was determined not to be intimidated by Hurd's curt nod.
"So you are up in town, Letty," he said gravely. "Is your mother with you?"
"Oh, no!" she declared. "Mother can't bear travelling. A lot of us came up this morning at six o'clock on a day excursion, six shillings each."
"And what time does the train go back?" Macheson asked quickly.
"At twelve o'clock," the girl answered, "or as soon afterwards as they can get it off. It was terribly full coming up."
Macheson was to some extent relieved. At any rate there was nothing further that he could do. He bent over the girl kindly.
"I hope you have had a nice day," he said, "and won't be too tired when you get home. These excursions are rather hard work. Remember me to your mother."
He exchanged a civil word with the girl's companion, who was taciturn almost to insolence. Then he passed on and joined Holderness, who was waiting near the door.
"An oddly assorted couple, your friends," he remarked, as they struggled into their coats.
"The girl was my landlady's daughter at Thorpe, and the young man's the son of the agent there," he said.
"I'm--afraid not," Macheson answered. "She's up on an excursion--for the day--goes back at twelve."
"I suppose he's a decent fellow--the agent's son?" Holderness remarked. "She seems such a child."
"I suppose he is," Macheson repeated. "I don't care for him very much, Dick; I suppose I'm an evil-minded person, but I hate leaving them."
Holderness looked back into the restaurant.
"You can't interfere," he said. "It's probably a harmless frolic enough. Come on!"
"No stalls left," Holderness declared, turning away from the box office at the Alhambra. "We'll go in the promenade. We can find a chair there if we want to sit down."
Macheson followed him up the stairs and into the heavily carpeted promenade. His memory of the evening, a memory which clung to him for long afterwards, seemed like a phantasmagoria of thrilling music, a stage packed with marvellously dressed women, whose movements were blended with the music into one voluptuous chorus--a blaze of colour not wholly without its artistic significance, and about him an air heavy with tobacco smoke and perfumes, a throng of moving people, more women--many more women. A girl spoke to Holderness,--a girl heavily rouged but not ill-looking, dressed in a blue muslin gown and large black hat. Holderness bent towards her deferentially. His voice seemed to take to itself its utmost note of courtesy, he answered her inquiry pleasantly, and accepted a glance at her programme. The girl looked puzzled, but they talked together for several moments of casual things. Then Holderness lifted his hat.