Sylvia threw herself back in her seat.
"Why, it's amazing!" she declared. "It turns a sordid little village tragedy into a piece of wonderful romance. Perhaps, after all, that is what makes the Marquis seem like a piece of wood to every other woman."
"I have heard it said," David continued, "that he has been entirely faithful to her all his life. Where do I stop, please?"
"Here," she replied, "at this shop. Please come in and choose your own meat. I feel in much too romantic a frame of mind to even know beef from mutton."
David followed her a little doubtfully into the shop.
"Perhaps," he ventured to suggest, "as the nucleus of your meal has already been decided upon—"
"Of course," she interrupted; "cutlets. We want more cutlets. You needn't bother. I'll see about it."
David slipped into the next shop and reappeared with a huge box of chocolates, which he handed over apologetically.
"I am not sure whether you'll find these up to much."
"For the first time," she exclaimed, as she accepted them, "I realise what it must be to be a millionaire! I have never seen such a box of chocolates in my life. Do you mind going over to the grocer's and letting him see me with you?" she went on. "It will be so good for our credit, and his is just one of the accounts we have to leave for a little time. Were you ever poor, Mr. Thain?"