They turned on to the street again. Rickman looked at his watch. "Look here, we're both late for dinner—supposing we go and dine somewhere and do a theatre after, eh?"
"Oh no—we mustn't." All the same Flossie's eyes brightened, for she dearly loved the play.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't think perhaps you ought to."
"You mean I can't afford it?"
"Well—"
"Oh, I fancy even a journalist's income will run to that."
It did run to that and to a hansom afterwards, though Flossie protested, dragging at his arm.
"I'd rather walk," said she, "indeed I would."
"Nonsense. Come, bundle in."