“Heavens!” said Ivor. He got up, however, put on his overcoat, and went out.
In the lighted doorway of the Black Cow stood the landlord.
“Sorry to have troubled you, sir, but really I can’t tell how to deal with these friends of yours.”
Ivor frowned. “I only saw them for the first time this afternoon. I just gave them money to go up to London with. Are they drunk?”
“Drunk!” said the landlord. “Well, if I’d known the man was half gone when he came in—of course I’d never—— As to the woman, she sits and smiles. I can’t get them to budge, and it’s early closin’——”
“Well,” muttered Ivor, “let’s look at them!” And he followed the landlord in.
On the window-seat in the bar parlour those two were sitting, with mugs beside them, and the dog asleep on the feet of the woman, whose lips were unbuttoned in a foolish smile. Ivor looked at the man; his face was blank and beatific. Specimens of a damp and doleful world, they now seemed almost blissful.
“Mist’ Ivor?” said the man suddenly.
“Yes,” said Ivor, “but I thought you wanted to go up to London. The station’s not half a mile.”
“Cert’nly—go up to London.”