She had a sense of humour, had Maria: you'd have got along with her, Mr. Collingwood, and she'd have got along with you. You'd have struck sparks. One evening I asked her, 'Maria, why are you so fond of the jigger?' 'Because of my figger,' says she, pat as you please. Now, wasn't that humorous, eh? She _meant_, of course, that being of the buxom sort in later life--and it carried her off in the end--' Why, hallo!" Jimmy exclaimed. "Are we home already?" "We have arrived at the Temple, E.C.," said I gently, "but scarcely yet at the beginning of the story." He resumed it in our chambers, while I operated on the hearth with a firelighter. "Well," said Jimmy, smoking, "to cut a long story short"--and I grunted my thanks--"he told me he was a lonely man, but that he knew a thing or two yet. Had I by any chance made acquaintance with the 'Catalafina,' in Soho? 'Oh, come!' said I bashfully, 'who is she?' 'It's a restarong,' said he: 'Italian: where the cook does things you can't guess what they're made of. Just as well, perhaps.' But the results, he undertook to say, were excellent." "Do I see one?" I asked. "No, you don't," answered Jimmy, sipping his whisky-and-soda. "That's just _it_, if you'll let me proceed. . . . He said that they kept some marvellous Lagrima Christi--if I liked Lagrima Christi. For his part, it always soured on his stomach. But we could send out for a bottle of fizz--I'm using his expression, Otty--" "I trust so," said I. "He called it that. He said he would take it as an honour if I'd join him in a little supper this very evening at the 'Catalafina.' He had a meeting at 7.30, at which he would do his best to soften down this letter of his in the _Times_; he would get it over by 9.30. Could we meet (say) on the steps of the 'Empire' at ten o'clock? He would hurry thither straight from the Baths, report progress--for me to set your mind at rest--and afterwards take me off to this damned eating-house. I should never find it by myself, he assured me. He was right there; but I'm not anxious to try. My hope is that it, or the management, won't find _me_. . . . Well, weakly-and partly for your sake, Otty--I consented. He said, by the way, he would be greatly honoured if I'd persuade you to come along too. 'It's Bohemian,' he said; 'if Sir Roderick will overlook it.' 'You told me it was Italian,' said I: 'but never mind. Sir Roderick, as it happens, is a bit of a Bohemian himself and is dining to-night with a club of them--the Lost Dogs, if you've ever heard of that Society.' I saved you, anyway. You may put it that I flung myself into the breach. They found you, but it was literally over my prostrate body . . . and here we are." "Is that the story?" said I. Jimmy leaned back on his shoulder-blades in the armchair. "It is the preliminary canter," he announced. "Now we're off, and you watch me getting into my stride,--