Gin, and grow, under its benign influence, resigned to the fate she has
brought on her husband and herself. Resignation gives way to hope. She
devotes her life to the care of the inebriate man, and, by way of
pathetic retribution, she lives precisely long enough to nurse him back
to sanity. Which finale do you prefer?"

"Yours!" I said.

"Thank you," said Julian, considerably gratified. "So do I. It's
terser, more dramatic, and altogether a better advertisement.
Skeffington's make jolly good sloe gin, but they can't arouse pity and
terror. Yes, I'll do it; but first let me spend the tenner."

"I'm taking a holiday, too, today," I said. "How can we amuse
ourselves?"

Julian had opened the last of his letters. He held up two cards.

"Tickets for Covent Garden Ball tonight," he said. "Why not come? It's
sure to be a good one."

"I should like to," I said. "Thanks."

Julian dropped from his hammock, and began to get his bath ready.

We arranged to dine early at the Maison Suisse in Rupert Street--
_table d'hote_ one franc, plus twopence for mad'moiselle--and
go on to the gallery of a first night. I was to dress for Covent Garden
at Julian's after the theatre, because white waistcoats and the franc
_table d'hote_ didn't go well together.