Leonard and I left Rose to her tête-à-tête and took a seat in the lounge. A few yards from us, the little daily comedy which never failed to amuse the onlookers was in progress. Mr. Grant was seated in the easy chair affected by Mrs. Cotesham. She came stumping along from the lift and stopped about a foot from the chair.
"This man has taken my chair!" she exclaimed in a loud voice, for the benefit of every one. "I left a book in it."
Mr. Grant continued to read through his heavy spectacles, unmoved. She struck the side of his chair with her stick.
"I want my chair," she repeated.
Mr. Grant half turned round.
"What does the woman want?" he snarled. "This isn't her chair. It's an hotel chair. I found it empty and I sat down. I am going to stay."
"Where's my book?" Mrs. Cotesham demanded, handing him the end of her ear trumpet.
"I threw it on the lounge," he shouted. "There it is. Now don't bother me any more."
"He calls himself a gentleman!" the old lady declared, shaking with fury.
"Never called myself anything of the sort in my life," he snapped.