Laurence humped his shoulders.
"What are you to do with a fellar like this?"
Van Diest drew up a chair and smiled over the rims of his glasses.
"Of course we let you go to sleep if you waas sensible. Consider now the small shareholders that look to us for their little incomes. All these widows from the war. You speak and you wass a rich man all at once. Very soon forget the discomforts of these three weeks. S'no goot—no goot to make a fuss."
"I have nothing to say."
"Ach!" said Van Diest and rose. "I'm afraid, Laurence, we must take away this bed."
But Richard raised no further protest and somewhere below stairs a gong rumbled for lunch. It was part of the programme to emphasise the arrival of meals and in spite of himself he could not resist starting hungrily. Such signs and tokens were watched for. Laurence laid a hand on his shoulder and whispered:
"There's a fourth place laid, old friend."
"Why not join us to the lunch," said Van Diest coaxingly, "just a word spoken and—oh, it's goot the lunch."
"Thanks, but I'm rather particular who I sit with," said Richard and moved unsteadily toward the fireplace.