Macalister was in the Kaffir market and often told them stories of the sudden fortunes that had been made in the great boom of a year or two back.
“Well, don’t forget next time.”
They sat on talking till nearly midnight, and Philip, who lived furthest off, was the first to go. If he did not catch the last tram he had to walk, and that made him very late. As it was he did not reach home till nearly half past twelve. When he got upstairs he was surprised to find Mildred still sitting in his arm-chair.
“Why on earth aren’t you in bed?” he cried.
“I wasn’t sleepy.”
“You ought to go to bed all the same. It would rest you.”
She did not move. He noticed that since supper she had changed into her black silk dress.
“I thought I’d rather wait up for you in case you wanted anything.”
She looked at him, and the shadow of a smile played upon her thin pale lips. Philip was not sure whether he understood or not. He was slightly embarrassed, but assumed a cheerful, matter-of-fact air.
“It’s very nice of you, but it’s very naughty also. Run off to bed as fast as you can, or you won’t be able to get up tomorrow morning.”