"We'll have champagne, of course," said Humphrey, as they passed in, and took their seats at their customary little table, with its half-yard of crusty bread and damp napkins. "We'll have champagne, and--and be lively. For Heaven's sake don't look as if you were at a funeral, Turk! This is to be an enjoyable evening. Where's the wine-list?" "Champagne? What for?" said Turquand. "Auguste will think you're getting at him." Auguste was prevailed upon to believe that the demand was made in sober earnest. That being the case, he could run out for champagne no less easily than for "bittare"! Madame, at the semi-circular counter, waved her fat hand in their direction gaily. Monsieur had inherited a fortune, it was evident! "Well," said Turquand, when the cork had popped, "here's luck! Wish you lots of happiness, old chap, I'm sure." "Same to you," murmured Kent. "God knows I do!... It's awful muck, this stuff, isn't it? What's he brought?" "It's what you ordered. Your mouth's out of taste. Eat some more kidneys." Humphrey shook his head. "I suppose you'll come here to-morrow evening--the same as usual, eh?" "May as well, I suppose. One's got to feed somewhere. _You'll_ be all rice and rapture then. I'll think of you." "Do! I don't know how it is, but--but just now, somehow, between ourselves But perhaps I oughtn't to say that.... I say, don't think I was going to--to----I wouldn't have you think I meant I wasn't fond of her, old boy, for the world! You don't think _that_, do you? She--oh, Heaven!--she's a perfect angel, Turk!... Fill up your glass, for goodness' sake, man, and do look jolly! Turk, next time we dine together it'll be at Streatham, and there'll be a little hostess to make you welcome; and--and: there'll always be a bottle of Irish, old man, and we'll keep a pipe in the rack with the biggest bowl we can find, and call it yours. By God, we will!" "Yes," said Turquand huskily.... "Going to have any more of this stew?" "I've had enough. Help yourself!" "No, I'm not ravenous either--smoked too much, perhaps. I say, madame doesn't know yet; better tell her." She was induced to join them presently, and to drink a glass of champagne, enchanted by the invitation. Monsieur Kent was always _si gentil_. But champagne! Was it that he celebrated already another romance? _Comment?_ he was going to be married--_nevare?_ But yes--to-morrow? Ah, mon Dieu! She rocked herself to and fro, and screamed the intelligence down the dinner-lift to her husband in the kitchen. Alors, they must drink a chartreuse with her--she insisted. Yes, and she would have one of monsieur Kent's cigarettes. To the health of the happy pair!