"It will be midnight before we get home," Stephen Foster replied. "We are indebted to you for a delightful evening."
"Yes, we enjoyed it so much," Madge added, politely.
"I hope you will let me repeat it soon," Nevill said.
The girl did not answer. She held out her hand, and it was cold to Nevill's touch. He bade them both good-night, and stepped aside to give the cabby his directions. He watched the vehicle roll away, and then scowled at the commissionaire, who waited expectantly for a tip.
"As beautiful as a dream," he thought, savagely, "but with a heart of ice—at least to me. Will I never be able to melt her?"
It is no easy matter to cross the Strand when the theaters are dismissing their audiences, and five minutes were required for Nevill to accomplish that operation; even then he had to avail himself of a stoppage of the traffic by a policeman. He bent his steps to the grill-room of the Grand, and enjoyed a chop and a small bottle of wine. Lighting a cigar, he sauntered slowly to Jermyn street, and as he reached his lodgings a man started up suddenly before him.
"Beg pardon, sir," he said humbly, "but ain't you Mr. Victor Nevill?"