"What are you going to do this evening?"
I had to admit, rather against my will, that I had no particular plans and did not know what to do with myself.
"You had better come and dine with me," he said. "I haven't anything on to-night, and we might just as well have a bit of dinner together and go somewhere afterwards, if you feel inclined."
The invitation was given so frankly and cordially that I accepted it without any fuss, being only too glad of the prospect of a cheerful evening instead of mooning about by myself. It never occurred to me that I knew nothing whatever about Captain Wyngate, and that he might not prove so reputable an acquaintance as he looked.
We took a cab and drove to a queer little French restaurant, quite unlike anything I had ever seen, in a back street in Soho. In a general way I regarded the typical London restaurant as a big, showy establishment, with a profusion of electric lights, flowers on the tables, and everyone in evening dress. The place chosen by Captain Wyngate was entirely different. It was up two pairs of very narrow stairs covered with a red carpet, and seemed to be made up of quite poky little rooms. We were shown into one containing only a small table set for two, a sideboard, and a sofa.
"They seem to be expecting us," I remarked, with a laugh.
"Oh, they know my ways here," Wyngate replied, as he proceeded to question the waiter in French, which was a good deal too fluent for me to follow.
There was a surprisingly elaborate menu for such a little hole of a place, and it was with feelings of considerable satisfaction that I plunged into the dinner. It was admirably cooked and beautifully served—in fact, it was about the best dinner I had ever tasted; and by the time I had absorbed my second glass of Burgundy I was feeling particularly well-disposed towards humanity in general and my host in particular. Without seeming to question me at all, he showed such a friendly interest in me that the champagne found us on quite an intimate footing. Before the coffee and cigars came, and the waiter had left us alone, Captain Wyngate knew all about me, and I had a strong impression that he was preordained to be my guide, philosopher, and friend.
When I bemoaned my fate at being kept on short commons until I came of age, he smiled.
"You needn't unless you like," he said.