"On my honour I am not," he replied.
"Kind of funny that you should have been on the steamer, after all," she jeered.
"Perhaps so, but I am not Douglas Romilly," he persisted.
She was silent for a moment, then she shrugged her shoulders.
"What do I care who your are?" she said. "Here, help me off with this raincoat, please. It's warm in here, thank goodness!"
He looked at her as she sat by his side in her plain black dress, and was impressed for the first time with a certain unsuspected grace of outline, which made him for the moment oblivious of the shabbiness of her gown.
"You have rather a nice figure," he told her with a sudden impulse of ingenuousness.
She turned upon him almost furiously. Something in his expression, however, seemed to disarm her. She closed her lips again.
"You are nothing but a child!" she declared. "You don't mean anything. I'd be a fool to be angry with you."
The waiter brought their steak. Philip was conscious of something in his companion's eyes which almost horrified him. It was just that gleam of hungry desire which has starvation for its background.
"Don't let's talk," he pleaded. "There isn't any conversation in the world as good as this."
The waiter served them and withdrew, casting a curious glance behind. They were, from his point of view, a strange couple, for, cosmopolitan though
