She slipped her fingers down into his hand.  “I’m so glad,” she said.  “So could I.”

They whirled across the road, the others after them, round the little park in the centre of the square, and down an empty side-street.  Peter had reconnoitred all approaches, he said, and this was the best way.  Begging him to give her time to breathe, Tommy came along with Donovan, and it suddenly struck Peter that the latter seemed happy enough.  He pressed Julie’s hand:  “Donovan’s dropped into step with Tommy very easily,” he said.  “Do you mind?”

She laughed happily and glanced back.  “You’re as blind as a bat, Peter, when all’s said and done,” she said; “but oh, my dear, I can’t play with you to-night.  There’s only one person I want to walk with Peter.”

Peter all but shouted.  He drew her to him, and for once Julie was honestly alarmed.

“Not now, you mad boy!” she exclaimed, but her eyes were enough for him.

“All right,” he laughed at her; “wait a bit.  There’s time yet.”

In the little entrance-hail the maitre d’hotel greeted them.  They were the party of importance that night.  He ushered them upstairs and opened a door.  The mademoiselles might make the toilette there.  Another door:  they would eat here.

The men deposited their caps and sticks and coats on pegs outside, and the girls, who had had to come in uniform also, were ready as soon as they.  They went in together.  Elsie gave a little whistle of surprise.

Peter had certainly done well.  Holly and mistletoe were round the walls, and a big bunch of the latter was placed in such a way that it would hang over the party as they sat afterwards by the fire.  In the centre a silver bowl held glorious roses, white and red, and at each girl’s place was a bunch of Parma violets and a few sprigs of flowering mimosa.  Bon-bons were spread over the white cloth.  Julie’s candle-shades looked perfect, and so did the menu-cards.

“I trust that monsieur is satisfied,” said the maitre d’hotel, bowing towards the man who had had the dealings with him.  He got his answer, but not from Peter, and, being a Frenchman, smiled, bowed again, and discreetly left the room; for Elsie, turning to Peter cried:  “Did you do it—­even the wattle?” and kissed him heartily.  He kissed her back, and caught hold of Julie.  “Tit for tat,” he said to her under his breath, holding her arms; “do you remember our first taxi?” Then, louder:  “Julie Is responsible for most of it,” and he kissed her too.

They sorted themselves out at last, and the dinner, that two of them at least who were there that night were never to forget, began.  They were uproariously merry, and the two girls who waited came and went wreathed in smiles.

With the champagne came a discussion over the cork.  “Give It to me” cried Julie; “I want to wear it for luck.”

“So do I,” said Elsie; “we must toss for it.”