She, poor soul, was a mild colourless lady with a weakness for bridge, who spent her life in a vain attempt to restrict her requirements to the circumscribed limits of a small annuity payable quarterly.
Tuppy rented a flat in Charles Street, W. He was at breakfast when Hal's letter arrived, and the young man's interesting communication might well have gone unread, for Tuppy's man was handling the morning post.
"Bill from Roderer's, m'lord."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter from the lawyers about Colgate's account."
"Chuck it in the fire."
"Letter E.C.—no name on the back."
"Let me look at that, Bolt—um—typewritten—posted at 6.30 p.m. That's the time all bills are posted; chuck it in the fire."
"Better open it, m'lord—might be a director's fee."
Tuppy shook his head sadly.