shilling a banquet. Can't we find a 'Lockhart'?"

The man said nothing. The cab drove onward. Mavis, now that her
resentment against Windebank's prosperity had found relief in words,
was sorry that she had spoken as she had. After all, the man's well-
being was entirely his own affair; it was not remotely associated
with the decline in the fortunes of her family. She would like to
say or do something to atone for her bitter words.

"Poor little girl! Poor little girl!"

This was said by Windebank feelingly, pityingly; he seemed
unconscious that they had been overheard by Mavis. She was firmly,
yes, quite firmly, resolved to hate him, whatever he might do to
efface her animosity.

Meanwhile, the cab had fetched something of a compass, and had now
turned into Regent Street.

"Here we are: this'll do," suddenly cried Windebank.

"What for?"

"Grub. Hi, stop!"

Obedient to his summons, the cabman stopped. Mavis got out on the
pavement, where she stood irresolute.

"You'll come in?"