THE COLLECTED WORKS OF GEORGE BERNARD SHAW. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

should enjoy nothing better than taking you at your word,” said Elinor. “But I heard Mr. Lind come in, a moment ago; and he is not so fond of Chopin as you and I.”

      Mr. Lind entered whilst she was speaking. He was a dignified gentleman, with delicately chiselled features and portly figure. His silky light brown hair curled naturally about his brow and set it off imposingly. His hands were white and small, with tapering fingers, and small thumbs.

      “How do you do, sir?” said Marmaduke, blushing.

      “Thank you: I am better than I have been.”

      Marmaduke murmured congratulations, and looked at his watch as if pressed for time. “I must be off now,” he said, rising. “I was just going when you came in.”

      “So soon! Well, I must not detain you, Marmaduke. I heard from your father this morning. He is very anxious to see you settled in life.”

      “I suppose I shall shake down some day, sir.”

      “You have very good opportunities — very exceptional opportunities. Has

       Marian told you that Constance is expected to arrive in town next week?”

      “Yes: we told him,” said Marian.

      “He thought it too good to be true, and would hardly believe us,” added

       Elinor.

      Mr. Lind smiled at his nephew, happily forgetful, worldly wise as he was, of the inevitable conspiracy of youth against age. They smiled too, except Marmaduke, who, being under observation, kept his countenance like the Man in the Iron Mask. “It is quite true, my boy,” said the uncle, kindly. “But before she arrives, I should like to have a talk with you. When can you come to breakfast with me?”

      “Any day you choose to name, sir. I shall be very glad.”

      “Let us say tomorrow morning. Will that be too soon?”

      “Not at all. It will suit me quite well. Good evening, sir.”

      “Good evening to you.”

      When Marmaduke was in the street, he stood for a while considering which way to go. Before the arrival of his uncle, he had intended to spend the afternoon with his cousins. He was now at a loss for a means of killing time. On one point he was determined. There was a rehearsal that day at the Bijou Theatre; and thither, at least, he would not go. He drove to Charing Cross, and drifted back to Leicester Square. He turned away from the theatre, and wandered down Piccadilly. Then he thought he would return as far as the Criterion, and drink. Finally he arrived at the stage door of the Bijou Theatre, and inquired whether the rehearsal was over.

      “Theyve bin at it since eleven this mornin, and will be pretty nigh til the stage is wanted for tonight,” said the janitor. “I’d as lief youd wait here as go up, if you dont mind, sir. The guvnor is above; and he aint in the best o’ tempers. I’ll send word up.”

      Marmaduke looked round irresolutely. A great noise of tramping and singing began.

      “Thats the new procession,” continued the doorkeeper. “Sixteen hextras took on for it. It’s Miss Virtue’s chance for lunch, sir: you wont have long to wait now.”

      Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke started, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry, and in haste, hurried towards the door.

      “Come! Come on,” she said impatiently to him, as she went out. “Go and get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to get back sharp. Do be qu —— there goes a hansom. Hi!” She whistled shrilly, and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to a restaurant in Regent Street.

      “I am absolutely starving,” she said as they drove off. “I have been in since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band for half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad.”

      “Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properly for next day?”

      “Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.

       It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you.”

      “I have no doubt you did.”

      “This horse thinks he’s at a funeral. What o’clock is it?”

      “It’s only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time.”

      When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the tables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous elderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill of fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waiter sharply.

      “Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a thick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done to a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring cabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne — the decentest you have. And be quick.”

      “And what for you, sir?” said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.

      “Never mind him,” interrupted Susanna. “Go and attend to me.”

      The waiter bowed and retired.

      “Old stickin-the-mud!” muttered Miss Lalage. “Is it half-past four yet?”

      “No. It’s only quarter past. There’s lots of time.”

      Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak, the vegetables, and the pint of champagne — less a glassful taken by her companion — had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and consumed two ices.

      “Have an ice to finish up with?” he said.

      “No. I cant work on sweets,” she replied. “But I am beginning to feel alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?”

      “Confound the time!” said Marmaduke. “It’s twenty minutes to five.”

      “Well, I’ll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of an hour yet.”

      “Thank heaven!” said Marmaduke. “I was afraid I should not be able to get a word with you.”

      “That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind.

       What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?”

      “It’s the name of a cousin of mine,” said Marmaduke, attempting to dismiss the subject with a laugh.

      “It may be your cousin’s name; but it’s not yours. By the bye, is that the cousin youre engaged to?”

      “What cousin? I’m not engaged to anybody.”

      “That’s a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do you want?”

      It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the table. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.

      “Just wait a minute, please,” said Susanna. The waiter retired.

      “Now then,” she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, “let us have no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay that bill or am I?”

      “I am, of course.”

      “There is no of course in it — not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging about the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think.”

      Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and said, “Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last night. But upon my soul I had no idea—”

      “That’s not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. When you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about yourself,