He was hungry and tired and cold; he greeted the lights of the market-place with joy. It was apparently a night of high festival. The lamps on the Town Hall side showed crowds of swiftly moving figures, dark for a moment in the shadows of the corner houses and then suddenly flashing into light. The chief inn of the town, “The Green Feathers,” standing flamboyantly to the right of the grey tower, shone in a blazing radiance of gas. Two waiters with white cloths over their arms stood on the top stair watching the crowd. Behind them, through the open door, was a glorious glimpse of the lighted hall. The people who moved about in the market were fishermen and country folk. Their movement seemed aimless but pleasant; suddenly some one would break into song, and for a moment his voice would rise, as a fish leaps from the sea, and then would sink back again. There was a great deal of laughter and a tendency to grow noisier and more ill-disciplined. Maradick, as he pushed his way through the crowd, was reminded of that first night when Tony and he had come down; the dance and the rest! What ages ago that seemed now! He was another man. He pushed his way furiously through the people. He was conscious now of tremendous appetite. He had not eaten anything since lunch, and then only very little. He was tired both mentally and physically; perhaps after a meal he would feel better. He walked wearily up the steps of “The Green Feathers” and accosted one of the waiters. He must have food, a room alone, quiet. Maradick commanded respect; the waiter withdrew his eye reluctantly from the crowd and paid attention. “Yes—fish—a cutlet—a bottle of Burgundy—yes—perhaps the gentleman would like the room upstairs. It was a pleasant room. There was no one there just now; it overlooked the market, but, with the windows down, the noise——” The idea of overlooking the market was rather pleasant; the people and the lights would be there and, at the same time, there would be no need to talk to anyone. Yes, he would like that room. He walked upstairs. There was much movement and bustle on the ground floor of the inn, chatter and laughter and the chinking of glasses, but above stairs there was perfect silence. The waiter lighted candles, two massive silver candlesticks of venerable age, and entered the long dining-room carrying them in front of him. He explained that they had not lighted this room with gas because candles were more in keeping. He hinted at the eighteenth century and powder and ruffles. He almost pirouetted as he held the candles and bent to put them on the table by the window. He was most certainly a waiter with a leg.