And Lancelot, turning, perceived the smooth-faced man who had tried to engage him in conversation in Berkeley Square.
'Say, listen,' said the smooth-faced man, sympathy in each lens of his horn-rimmed spectacles. 'Tempests may lower and a strong man stand face to face with his soul, but hope, like a healing herb, will show the silver lining where beckons joy and life and happiness.'
Lancelot eyed him haughtily.
'I am not aware—' he began.
'Say, listen,' said the other, laying a soothing hand on his shoulder. 'I know just what has happened. Mammon has conquered Cupid, and once more youth has had to learn the old, old lesson that though the face be fair the heart may be cold and callous.'
'What—?'
The smooth-faced man raised his hand.
'That afternoon. Her apartment. "No. It can never be. I shall wed a wealthier wooer."'
Lancelot's fury began to dissolve into awe. There seemed something uncanny in the way this total stranger had diagnosed the situation. He stared at him, bewildered.
'How did you know?' he gasped.