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the Conneltons had a good deal of luggage, they went in one taxi, leaving Elinor and Kenneth to follow in another.
     
    Again, Elinor felt a little self-conscious, left alone with him, but she gazed out on the town with genuine interest, and thought it looked extraordinarily gay and well-lit, with fine shop-windows displays and, in some cases, the shops themselves still open.
    Once they passed a big open space where rebuilding was evidently in progress and, in the glare of great arc lamps, workmen were going about their business as though it were midday, and with a speed and energy which made Elinor gasp.
    "Why—they're still working as though they mean to be there for hours," she exclaimed.
    "They probably do," replied Kenneth Brownlow dryly.
    "You mean that they go on building—and all that sort of thing—far into the night?"
    "Of course. How else do you suppose they could have made such a come-back? They are almost the only race left on earth who've accepted the unpalatable fact that there is no substitute for hard work.
    "Then—" Elinor suddenly saw a dry, economic fact presented to her in simple, practical terms—"they must produce more cheaply and efficiently than most other people?"
    "Certainly. It is simply a question of what you want in life, of course," Kenneth said, still dryly. "Those who think the most important thing is to work shorter hours must not expect to do so well in a wicked world as those whose ambition it is to produce better, faster and more cheaply than anyone else. That's what is called realism. But it isn't very fashionable," he added, with a sudden, almost roguish smile.
    They arrived at the hotel at this moment, and Elinor found that Sir Daniel—who was obviously tired after the journey—and Lady Connelton intended to dine there and go to bed early.
    "But there is no reason why you two young people should do the same," Lady Connelton said
     
    kindly. "If you want to go out somewhere more interesting, just do so."
    "But I'm really here to keep you company, Lady Connelton," Elinor said doubtfully.
    "Tonight it isn't important." Lady Connelton actually patted her cheek indulgently. "I shall go to bed almost directly after dinner."
    Elinor began to say that perhaps she had better do the same. But at this point Kenneth took a hand in the conversation.
    "Suppose you let me take you out to supper," he said, glancing at her with a touch of amusement. "We could go to one of the local beer cellars."
    "But I don't drink beer," Elinor explained.
    "You won't have to," he assured her.
    Lady Connelton seemed to take it for granted that she would now go. And so, with some trepidation, Elinor went off under the guidance of Kenneth Brownlow on her first exploration in a foreign city.
    It was certainly interesting. The "beer cellar" turned out to be a picturesque place, with scrubbed wooden tables, shining copper utensils on great oak dressers, a fascinating tiled stove at each corner, and the most delicious food Elinor had ever tasted.
    She was not, it seemed, expected to drink anything more alarming than "Apfelsaft", the delicious ice-cold apple-juice which one finds everywhere in Germany and Austria, though most people round her were drinking the famous, foaming Munich beer from great pottery tankards.
    There was a good deal of laughter and much talking and, threading through it all, string music from three players in Bavarian costume who sat on a low platform at one end of the room, but remained in very intimate contact with the regular patrons.
    From time to time there were songs, in which most of the people joined. Some of them gay, but others with that simple, nostalgic melancholy found only in folk songs. And no one seemed to be in a hurry here. A meal was something over which you
     
    took your time—an end in itself, not something through which you hurried in order to go on somewhere else.
    It was fairly late by the time they finally rose to go, and when they stepped out once more into the