“By Jove, let’s!” he exclaimed.  “I’ve had no breakfast.  I’m ravenous.  Do they still have that cheese and crusty loaf there?”

Mr. Waddington glanced at the clock.

“It’s on by now,” he declared.  “Come along.”

They went out together and trod eagerly yet a trifle sheepishly the very well-known way that led to the Golden Lion.  The yellow-haired young lady behind the bar welcomed them with a little cry of astonishment.  She tossed her head.  Her manner was familiar but was intended to convey some sense of resentment.

“To think of seeing you two again!” she exclaimed.  “You, Mr. Waddington, of all gentlemen in the world!  Well, I declare!” she went on, holding out her hand across the counter, after having given it a preliminary wipe with a small duster.  “Talk about a deserter!  Where have you been to every morning, I should like to know?”

“Not anywhere else, my dear,” Mr. Waddington asserted, hastily, “that I can assure you.  Seem to have lost my taste for beer, or taking anything in the morning lately.  Matter of digestion, I suppose.  Must obey our doctors, eh?  We’ll have a tankard each, please.  That’s right, isn’t it, Burton?”

Burton, whose mouth was already full of bread and cheese, nodded.  The two men sat down in a little enclosed partition.  The yellow-haired young lady leaned across the counter with the air of one willing for conversation.

“Such queer things as I’ve heard about you, Mr. Waddington,” she began.  “My! the way people have been talking!”

“That so?” Mr. Waddington muttered.  “Wish they’d mind their own business.”

“That’s too much to expect from folks nowadays,” the young lady continued.  “Why, there were some saying as you’d come into a fortune and spent all your time in the west-end, some that you’d turned religious, and others that you’d gone a bit dotty.  I must say you’re looking somehow different, you and Mr. Burton too.  It’s quite like old times, though, to see you sitting there together.  You used to come in after every sale and sit just where you’re sitting now and go through the papers.  How’s the business?”

“Very good,” Mr. Waddington admitted.  “How have you been getting along, eh?”

The young lady sighed.  She rolled her eyes at Mr. Waddington in a manner which was meant to be languishing.

“Very badly indeed,” she declared, “thanks to you, you neglectful, ungrateful person!  I’ve heard of fickle men before but I’ve never met one to come up to one that I could name.”

Mr. Waddington moved a little uneasily in his place.

“Been to the theatre lately?” he inquired.

The theatre was apparently a sore point.

“Been to the theatre, indeed!” she repeated.  “Why, I refused all the other gentlemen just so as to go with you, and as soon as we got nicely started, why, you never came near again!  I’ve had no chance to go.”

Mr. Waddington took out a little book.