MISS MATFIELD WONDERS 241

ing out of the first floor windows. It was quite a long
time since she had last walked along Old Compton
Street. It made her sigh for an adventure. Meanwhile,
that very evening took on a faint colouring of adventure
while they were still searching for old Warwick's
restaurant, though, with all the good will in the world,
she could not transform Norman Birtley, fresh from the
Chestervern Agricultural College, into a romantic and
adventurous companion.

At last, they found old Warwick's restaurant. It
might have been French or Italian or even Spanish or
Hungarian; there was no telling; but it was deter-
minedly foreign in a de-nationalised fashion, rather as
if the League of Nations had invented it. No sooner was
Norman's hand on the door than a very fierce-looking,
moustachioed, square-jawed Latin flung it open very
quickly and with a great flourish, so that they were
almost sucked in. The place was very small, rather
warm, and smelt of oil. The lights were shaded with
coloured crinkly paper. There were only four other
people there, two oldish tired girls masticating rather
hopelessly in the far corner, and a queer middle-aged
couple sitting almost in the window. The fierce Latin
swept them across to a tiny table, thrust menus into their
hands, rubbed his hands, changed all the cutlery round
and then put it all back again, rubbed his hands once
more and then suddenly lost all interest in them, as if
his business was simply to drag people in and then,
having got them seated, to create a momentary illusion
of brisk service before they had time to change their
minds. /'

''You can have the whole dinner for three and six-
pence," said Norman, looking up from his menu.