courteous rather in the style of old Haim, had a brain just equal to the problems presented by his vocation.  Every morning George would say:  “Now, Downs, how soon can I have my bath?” or “Now, Downs, what can I have for breakfast?” And Downs would conscientiously cerebrate, and come forth after some seconds with sound solutions, such as:  “I’ll see if I can put you in before Mr. de Gales if you’re in a hurry, sir,” or “Scrambled eggs, sir—­it’ll make a bit of a change.”  And when George agreed, Downs would exhibit a restrained but real satisfaction.  Yes, George had been very lucky.  The club too was lucky.  The oldest member, who being paralysed had not visited the club for eleven years, died and bequeathed ten thousand pounds to the institution where he had happily played cards for several decades.  Pickering’s was refurnished, and the stringency of its rules re-established.  The right wing of the committee wished that the oldest member could have managed to die a year or two earlier and so obviated the crisis.  It was recognized, however, by the more reasonable, that you cannot have everything in this world.

Pickering’s was very dull; but it was still Pickering’s.  George was often bored at Pickering’s.  He soon reached the stage at which a club member asserts gloomily that the club cookery is simply damnable.  Nevertheless he would have been desolated to leave Pickering’s.  The place was useful to him in another respect than the purely material.  He learnt there the code which governs the familiar relations of men about town.

On the night of the Cafe Royal dinner, George and Lucas reclined in two easy chairs in the inner smoking-room of Pickering’s.  They were alone.  Through the wide archway that marked the division between the inner and the outer smoking-rooms they could see one solitary old gentleman dozing in an attitude of abandonment, a magazine on his knees.  Ash-trays were full of ash and cigarette ends and matches.  Newspapers were scattered around, some folded inside out, some not folded, some whose component sheets had been divided for ever like the members of a ruined family.  The windows were open, and one gave a view of the Court’s watchful lamp-post, and the other of the house—­now occupied by an art dealer and a commission agent—­where the Duke had known both illusion and disillusion.  The delicate sound of the collision of billiard-balls came from somewhere, and the rat-tatting of a tape-machine from somewhere else.  The two friends had arrived at the condition of absolute wisdom and sagacity and tolerance which is apt to be achieved at a late hour in clubs by young and old men who have discussed at length the phenomena of society.

“Well, I must be toddling,” said Lucas, yawning as he looked idly at the coloured horses on each wall who were for ever passing winning-posts or soaring over bullfinches or throwing riders into brooks.

“Here!  Hold on!” George protested.  “It’s early.”