"Well, it's in this way. I got up to town about six this evening, and went to the Temple. I found my chambers in an excessively filthy state, with no fire, my laundress not expecting me till to-morrow. I dined at the 'Monico,' and met that damsel in Piccadilly; and, in short, we have been spending the evening under your hospitable roof, aided by a bottle of fizz from the 'Grecian.'"
"I see. Well, if you don't mind, old man, don't bring that sort in. I like them anywhere but in my rooms. A demoiselle de trottoir should stay——"
"On the trottoir—quite so. I won't offend again; only I wanted someone to amuse me, and I expected you'd be late. Now look here; can you put me up for the night? my chambers are in a horrible mess."
"Oh, I should think so; I'll ask the landlady."
At half-past eleven the next morning Gobion got up, after some trouble getting Sturtevant out of bed; and they began a composite meal which the president called "brunch" soon after twelve.
Some letters were waiting. One was a pathetic appeal from an Oxford tailor for "something on account." Gobion said "damn" (the Englishman's shortest prayer), and threw it into the fire. Another was a letter from Scott, strong, earnest, and loving. He passed it to Sturtevant, who read it and said, "Man seems to have kept it a little too long in a hot place. Trifle high, don't you think?"
The third ran:—
"My Dear Caradoc,
"Marjorie and I are coming up for a fortnight to stay with my mother in Kensington. We hope to see a good deal of you, as you say you have deserted Oxford for a time to take up some literary work in London.
"Marjorie tells me to say that you must meet our train—the 4.30 at Victoria, but don't put yourself out.
"Yours affectionately,
"Gerald Lovering."
"Hallo," said Gobion, "my girl's coming up!"
"Didn't know you had one; has she any money?"