"In that case, Miss Warrender, he might at least have given us all the benefit of his information, instead of conveying it in an inaudible whisper to Miss Warrender's private ear. And he needn't have blushed till he looked like a pickled cabbage."
"It's not fair, Lucy," said Mrs. Haggard reprovingly, with an attempt at matronly dignity.
"Well, you know," laughed the girl, "it wasn't my fault. Spunyarn declined to come to the rescue. There I was, practically tête-à-tête with the man; the noise of the crowd drowned my cries and remonstrances. Besides, after the scalp, and the elaborate lunch which was awaiting us in the middle of the room, I felt myself bound to listen to the voice of the charmer. I was cheered, too, by Lord Spunyarn's masterly defeat of Dabbler. Poor Dabbler!"
"'Pon my word, I didn't know it. When we came in there was a fat man messing with the things on the table. He was dressed like a waiter, and he looked like one—a regular City waiter, you know. He held out his hand. Of course, I gave him my hat and coat. He has no business to dress like a waiter and to hold out his hand."
"Lord Spunyarn, he is a common councilman, and he is going to dine with the Lord Mayor," cried Lucy.
"All the same, he has no business to be dressed like a waiter in the morning, if even he be a common councilman and going to dine with the Lord Mayor. Anyhow, he took the hat and coat, and then, thank heaven, he bolted."
"What's Dabbler to him, or he to Dabbler, that he should weep?" misquoted Georgie's husband, who had enjoyed Dabbler's discomfiture.
"It's all very well for you all to laugh, but Mr. Sleek didn't seem to like it at all. What did he mean by saying that Mr. Dabbler was a warm man?" asked Lucy.
"Oh, piles of money of course; all the common councilmen have piles of money," said Spunyarn.
"And do they all dress like waiters in the morning, and then dine with the Lord Mayor?"