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"Working late, aren't you?" he remarked, glancing at the pile of manuscript by her side.

"A little later than usual," she assented.

"Where's dinner?" he demanded, looking at the unlaid table.

"I wonder if you would mind very much, Matthew," she suggested uneasily, "if we went out to get something to eat to-night? If we go to a very cheap place, there isn't much difference, is there, and—"

"And what?" Matthew insisted.

"Well, I haven't been out to the shops to buy anything," she explained. "Somehow or other, the time slipped away."

"Have you got any money to buy anything with, Rosina?" he asked bluntly.

"Not much," she admitted.

Matthew slowly removed his overcoat and hung it over the back of a chair. It was quite a well-cut garment, and came from the same tailor as the conventional but well-cut city clothes which he was wearing. He dragged a chair across to the table.

"Let's have a look at the book," he invited.

A little flush of colour stole into Rosina's pale cheeks.

"I'm afraid it isn't quite made up," she confessed.