She gave him a puzzled look. 'Unless you're being sarcastic, I don't quite see what you mean.'

His eyes suddenly danced with devilment, and his teeth flashed in a grin. 'Surely you know that a witch has to take her familiar to live with her?'

The waiter brought the bill at that moment; so Barney did not see her flush, as she thought angrily, 'He hasn't changed a bit. How like him to seize the first chance to throw out that sort of suggestion under cover of a joke.' And it was that angry thought which was largely responsible for precipitating her into a stupid action very soon afterwards.

Ten minutes later, as their taxi moved off, Barney, with the assurance of a man who is rarely repulsed by women, put an arm round her shoulders. She let him, and predicted to herself what his next move would be - he would begin at once to tell her how beautiful she was, then when they came opposite the Ritz he would attempt to kiss her and, if she allowed him to, by the time they reached Hyde Park Corner he would put his free hand on her knee.

In her first two assumptions she proved right, but as he drew her towards him she swiftly jerked her head away, and snapped, 'Stop that! How dare you treat me as if I were a tart!'

Next moment she could have bitten her tongue out. It was an absurd thing to have said, simply because he had tried to kiss her, and she had been impelled to say it only because she was already visualizing in her mind the sort of thing she expected him to attempt later, if she let him.

Sitting back quickly, he exclaimed: 'What on earth are you talking about? Treat you like a tart! I've done nothing of the kind.'

'Yes you have.' She took refuge in angry contradiction. 'To try to make love to a woman who has given you not the least encouragement, and whom you hardly know, the very first moment you are alone with her, is as good as telling her to her face that you think she's the sort who can be had for the price of a dinner.'

'Nonsense!' said Barney, firmly. 'Men don't kiss tarts in taxis. They wait till they get back to their flats, do what there is to do, give them a few quid, and, nine times out of ten, go home and forget all about them. Whereas I want to see you again. You know I do; and I wouldn't be such a fool as to spoil my chances of our becoming really good friends.'

Her mind fixed on his words 'and forget all about them'. They acted like a can of petrol poured on the fires of her Irish temper and, ignoring the rest of what he had said, she stormed at him: