He tried to plumb her knowledge, but found no deeps. She knitted her brows prettily, or at least he imagined she did, under her veil. "A sort of Latin Quarter--an artist's colony?" she hazarded. "No, wait a bit, there was a wealthy, humdrum sort of man I once met, and everybody whispered he came out of Mincing Lane. He was not artistic. I give it up." "He imported tea?" "That's not unlikely," she agreed. "That's what Mincing Lane is for. And Mark Lane is for corn and produce." "How useful! What a good world it is! I think I like this part." "Beyond is Eastcheap, famous for groceries, and beyond that again the water-side where all these things are landed." "Let us come to Eastcheap." She was eager to see all the places he had enumerated, so he took her through the famous side-streets. "I certainly do like this part of the world," she repeated emphatically. "And do you know, your talk of tea, and corn, and produce, and warehouses has made me very hungry. If we stumble up against a charming place, we shall lunch." And, a minute or two later, as they strolled down Eastcheap, at the corner of a narrow winding lane, they came upon a sort of cafe, which nice-looking merchants were entering, besides a goodly sprinkling of brisk young women. Lady Betty peered in through the door. The place seemed pretty full, but a stairway led to regions below. In a box, at the head of the stairway, and busily taking the cash, was a charming old man of mildest aspect. Lady Betty declared it all fascinating, especially the part below stairs, which had the attraction of the as yet unseen. Wyndham hesitated. "There is smoking below. You may not like it." "There are other women going down," she insisted. "I can't resist the temptation." It was an average type of City lunching place, but Lady Betty had never before tried the sort of thing, so Wyndham fell in with her whim. Down the stairs they went into a spacious cellar, lighted with jets of gas, though the sun was still shining outside. Wreaths and clouds of smoke floated in the atmosphere, and a clatter of dominoes and crockery dominated the buzz of voices that rose from the chaos of people at the marble tables. The central tables seemed given up to chess-play, each game surrounded by onlookers, all with patient cups of coffee beside them. And here and there an exceptional table, laid with a napkin, and in possession of vigorous eaters, gave the note of the restaurant. Wyndham and Lady Betty found a snug place on one side from which they could survey the room; and a neat little waitress, scarcely more than a child, came briskly forward to serve them, handing them with a sweet professional smile a long slip headed "Bill of Fare." They were glad to note that their entrance had attracted no attention. Lady Betty studied the bill excitedly. They made their decision, and Wyndham imparted it to the waitress. "Thank you, sir," she said; "And what'll you have to drink, please?"