“I never will be,” he persisted gloomily, “never!”
Evidently he was started on a dangerous train of reflection. With the idea of luring him away from it, I led the conversation to the subject of champagne.
“Most people like it dry,” admitted the O'Kelly. “Meself, I have always preferred it with just a suggestion of fruitiness.”
“There was a champagne,” I said, “you used to be rather fond of when we—years ago.”
“I think I know the one ye mean,” said the O'Kelly. “It wasn't at all bad, considering the price.”
“You don't happen to remember where you got it?” I asked.
“It was in Bridge Street,” remembered the O'Kelly, “not so very far from the Circus.”
“It is a pleasant evening,” I remarked; “let us take a walk.”
We found the place, half wine-shop, half office.
“Just the same,” commented the O'Kelly as we pushed open the door and entered. “Not altered a bit.”