Rita looked up suddenly. "What are we going to do now?" she said with her quick bright smile.
"When we went to Brighton together," Gilbert answered, "you told me that you had never been to a Music Hall. A box at the Empire is waiting for us. Let us go and see how you like it. If you don't, we can come away and go for a drive round London in a taxi. The air will be cooler now, and in the suburbs we may see the moon. But come and try. The night is yours, and I am yours, also. You are the Queen of the Dance of the Hours and I your Court Chamberlain."
"Oh, how perfectly sweet! Take me to the Empire."
As they stood upon the steps of the restaurant and the commissionaire whistled up a cab, Gilbert spoke to Rita in a low, husky voice.
"We ought to get there in time for the ballet," he said, "because it is the most perfect thing to be seen in Europe, outside Milan or St. Petersburg. But we've ten minutes yet, at least. Shall I tell him to drive round?"
"Yes, Gilbert."
The taxi-meter glided away through the garish lights of the Strand, and then, unexpectedly, swerved into Craven Street towards the Embankment.
Almost immediately the interior of the cab grew dark.
Gilbert put his arm round Rita's waist and caught her hand with his. He drew her closer to him.
"Oh, my love!" he said with a sob in his voice. "My dear little Love; at last, at last!"