They knew it already very well. They drove there. Tea was half a crown
a head and one tipped well. What matter? There were soft music, soft
lights, pretty women, attentive men. Everyone looked rich, but perhaps
everyone was not, any more than were Marie and Osborn. Perhaps
everyone was only spending his pockets empty. The stage was well
represented. The place had a know-all air blended with a chaste
exclusiveness. It was a place where the best people were seen and
others wanted and hoped to be seen. Here sat Marie and Osborn, shaded
by a great palm group, drinking the choicest blend of tea, eating
vague fragments, and looking into each other's eyes. The worries of
the morning slipped by; Marie forgot her tradesmen's books, and Osborn
the monotony of his daily toil. Life was soft, gracious, easy and
elegant. They bought a piece of it, a crumbly piece, with five
shillings before they went away.

"Taxi, sir?" asked the commissionaire.

"We'll walk, thanks," said Osborn. Walking was a sort of recreation
not too dowdy. They went a little way on foot, then turned into a Tube
station and travelled home. When they wormed their way down a crowded
tube train compartment to two seats they were faced with the everyday
aspect of life again. Tired people were going home; business men had
not yet shaken off the pressure of their affairs; business women
looked rather driven; here and there women with children worried
themselves with their responsibilities. One or two children were
cross, and one or two babies cried.

More than one woman looked at Marie jealously.

They read the popular story; the new-married girl, careless in her