“‘Wife!’ Oh, yes, we know all about that,” said the gentleman called Johnnie. A look of doubt and cunning passed across the woman’s face. Evidently she feared that she had said too much. “Well, it’s a good a name as another,” she said. “Oh, don’t I wish that I could get a grip of him; I’d wring him,” and she twisted her long bony hands as washerwomen do when they squeeze a cloth. “I’d back you to,” said Johnnie. “And now, adored Edithia, I’ve had enough of this blooming show, and I’m off. Perhaps I shall look in down Rupert Street way this evening. Ta-ta.” “Well, you may as well stand a drink first,” said the adored one. “I’m pretty dry, I can tell you.” “Certainly, with pleasure; I will order one. Waiter, a brandy-and-soda for this lady—_six_ of brandy, if you please; she’s very delicate and wants support.” The waiter grinned and brought the drink and the man Johnnie turned round as though to pay him, but really he went without doing so. George watched him go, and then looked again at the lady, whose appearance seemed to fascinate him. “Well, if that ain’t a master one,” he said to himself, “and she called herself his wife, she did, and then drew up like a slug’s horns. Hang me if I don’t stick to her till I find out a bit more of the tale.” Thus ruminated George, who, be it observed, was no fool, and who had a hearty dislike and mistrust of Mr. Quest. While he was wondering how he was to go to work an unexpected opportunity occurred. The lady had finished her brandy-and-soda, and was preparing to leave, when the waiter swooped down upon her. “Money please, miss,” he said. “Money!” she said, “why you’re paid.” “Come, none of that,” said the waiter. “I want a shilling for the brandy-and-soda.” “A shilling, do you? Then you’ll have to want, you cheating white-faced rascal you; my friend paid you before he went away.” “Oh, we’ve had too much of that game,” said the waiter, beckoning to a constable, to whom, in spite of the “fair Edithia’s” very vigorous and pointed protestations, he went on to give her in charge, for it appeared that she had only twopence about her. This was George’s opportunity, and he interfered. “I think, marm,” he said, “that the fat gent with you was a-playing of a little game. He only pretinded to pay the waiter.” “Playing a game, was he?” gasped the infuriated Tiger. “If I don’t play a little game on him when I get a chance my name is not Edith d’Aubigne, the nasty mean beast—the——” “Permit me, marm,” said George, putting a shilling on the table, which the waiter took and went away. “I can’t bear to see a real lady like you in difficulty.” “Well, you are a gentleman, you are,” she said. “Not at all, marm. That’s my way. And now, marm, won’t you have another?” No objection was raised by the lady, who had another, with the result that she became if not exactly tipsy at any rate not far off it.