“How’s everything?” asked the breezy one with gusto.
“First-rate, thanks. And how are you?”
“Jolly weather, isn’t it?” Breezy said, looking about him generally, “this sunshine—by Jove——!”
“Nothing like it,” declared Pince-nez, shifting his glasses to look at the sun, and concealing his lack of something to say by catching at the hearty manner.
“Nothing,” agreed Breezy.
“In the world,” echoed Pince-nez.
Again the topic was a link. The stream of pedestrians jostled them. They moved a few yards up Dover Street. Each was really on his way to luncheon. A pause followed the move.
“Still at—er—that hotel up there?” The name had escaped him. He jerked his head vaguely northwards.
“Yes; I thought you’d be looking in for lunch one day,” a faint memory stirring in his brain.
“Delighted! Or—you’d better come to my Club, eh? Less out of the way, you know,” declared Breezy.