eyes, oblivious of the other passengers. They recalled amusing moments of the rehearsal, muttered lines of their parts, were almost suffocated by laughter. They were so happy they scarcely knew what to do.
But as Leigh put his latchkey into the lock, and Finch stood behind him before the imposing doorway of Leigh's house, young Whiteoak felt again an overwhelming shyness.
"Look here," he began, "look here, I—I" But the door was open and he was inside the hall, where bright firelight was dancing over the surfaces of polished wood and brass, where there was such a look of immaculacy and order as Finch had never before beheld. The sound of girls' voices laughing together came from the drawing-room. The two youths darted up the stairway.
"Friends of Ada's," Leigh said, leading the way into his own room. "If once they captured us, they'd never go home. Mother hates the dinner to be late, and besides we must have a decent time for talking before you go. I refuse to hand you over to a parcel of girls."
They threw off their coats and caps. Finch endeavoured to hide his stupefaction at the sight of so much luxury in a boy's room. Of course, Leigh was scarcely a boy—he was twenty—but he had never talked about his home, never seemed to be especially affluent, though he had plenty of pocket-money. Finch had no idea what business or profession his father was in.
His host threw open a door and revealed a bathroom of virgin white and blueness. On a small table by the enamel tub stood a bowl of white narcissi just breaking into bloom.
"I like to look at lilies while I'm in the tub," explained Leigh. "I bathe my soul in them while I bathe my skin in suds."
Finch stared, first at the narcissi, then at his friend. "You're rather like that chap yourself," he mumbled.
"What chap?"
"Narcissus. I mean—you're so—well, it's not hard
