“Oh, we’ve had too much of that game,” said the waiter, beckoning to a constable, to whom, in spite of the “fair Edithia’s” very vigorous and pointed protestations, he went on to give her in charge, for it appeared that she had only twopence about her. This was George’s opportunity, and he interfered.
“I think, marm,” he said, “that the fat gent with you was a-playing of a little game. He only pretinded to pay the waiter.”
“Playing a game, was he?” gasped the infuriated Tiger. “If I don’t play a little game on him when I get a chance my name is not Edith d’Aubigne, the nasty mean beast—the——”
“Permit me, marm,” said George, putting a shilling on the table, which the waiter took and went away. “I can’t bear to see a real lady like you in difficulty.”
“Well, you are a gentleman, you are,” she said.
“Not at all, marm. That’s my way. And now, marm, won’t you have another?”
No objection was raised by the lady, who had another, with the result that she became if not exactly tipsy at any rate not far off it.
Shortly after this the building was cleared, and George found himself standing in Exhibition Road with the woman on his arm.
“You’re going to give me a lift home, ain’t you?” she said.
“Yes, marm, for sure I am,” said George, sighing as he thought of the cab fare.