"How often have you been here before?" she said, suddenly catching at his sleeve. "You must tell me. I fancy I know your face: surely I've met you before somewhere?"
"This is the first time I have ever been to a music-hall," he said doggedly.
She drank off her port directly.
"Come—come away at once. Yes, all right—I'm coming with you; so go along."
"But I've only just paid to come in," he said hesitatingly.
"Never mind the paying," and she stamped her little satin foot, "but do as I tell you, and go." And taking his arm, she led him through the doors down to the steps, where the wind blew cold, and the gas jets roared fitfully above.
"Go," she said, pushing him out, "and never come here again; stick to the theatres, you will like them best." And she ran up the steps and was gone.
He rushed after her. The two tall men in uniform stepped before the doors.
"No re-admission, sir," said one, bowing respectfully and touching his cap.
"But that lady," he said, bewildered, and looking from one to the other.
The men laughed, and one of them, shrugging his shoulders, pointed to the box-office.
He turned, and walked down the steps. Was it all a dream? He glanced at his coat. The flower in his buttonhole had gone.