"I wish I'd drowned the beggar in the Pool!"
VI
The Attraction of It
Mr Jenkinson Neeld sat at lunch at the Imperium Club, quite happy with a neck chop, last week's Athenæum, and a pint of Apollinaris. To him enter disturbers of peace.
"How are you, Neeld?" said Lord Southend, taking the chair next him. "Sit down here, Iver. Let me introduce you—Mr Iver—Mr Neeld. Bill of fare, waiter." His lordship smiled rather maliciously at Mr Neeld as he made the introduction, which Iver acknowledged with bluff courtesy, Neeld with a timid little bow. "How are things down your way?" pursued Southend, addressing Iver. "Lady Tristram's very ill, I hear?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Wonderful woman that, you know. You ought to have seen her in the seventies—when she ran away with Randolph Edge."
A gentleman, two tables off, looked round.