The young lady shook her head playfully, with a faint smile.
"I 've just been there," she said. "They said he was here."
"I daresay I could find him, Madam—if you would——"
She now smiled broadly. "Conservative Club, I suppose?" she said, with an air deliciously confidential.
He too smiled.
"Oh, no," she said, after a little pause, "just tell him I 've called."
"Certainly, Madam. Nothing I can do?"
She was already turning away, but she turned back and scrutinised his face, as Denry thought, roguishly.
"You might just give him this list," she said, taking a paper from her satchel and spreading it. She had come to the desk; their elbows touched. "He is n't to take any notice of the crossings-out in red ink—you understand. Of course I 'm relying on him for the other lists, and I expect all the invitations to be out on Wednesday. Good morning."
She was gone. He sprang to the grimy window. Outside, in the snow, were a brougham, twin horses, twin men in yellow, and a little crowd of youngsters and oldsters. She flashed across the footpath, and vanished; the door of the carriage banged, one of the twins in yellow leaped up to his brother, and the whole affair dashed dangerously away. The face of the leaping twin was familiar to Denry. The man had indeed once inhabited Brougham Street, being known to the street as Jock, and his mother had for long years been a friend of Mrs. Machin's.