“I’ve got no grievance against Miller,” contended Chiswell. “You’re doing me an injustice. Me and Miller are good friends enough. Last time I met him he gave me some information, and we parted on what I may call the most amicable terms. I shouldn’t at all mind,” he went on generously, “I shouldn’t object in the least to running across poor Miller again.” “You needn’t call him ‘poor.’” “I’m not using the term,” said Mr. Chiswell, “in a monetary sense.” “The monetary sense, as you call it, is about the only one you possess.” Noting that she tapped the side of her easy-chair and that her head trembled, he decided to say nothing more on the subject, reverting instead to the matter already discussed. In going over some of the circumstances he found excuse for increased content; the swiftness of his action, and the general dexterity he had displayed made his eyes grow round and bulgy. The dining-car attendant came through to announce that the first series for lunch was ready, and Chiswell said he would smoke one cigarette and then go along and see whether his services were required by Freddy. Miss Everitt rose, remarking that it would be well, perhaps, for her to ascertain, at once, whether she could be of any use to Emily. They returned to their chairs in less than five minutes: one perturbed, the other calm. “Well, of all the—” he spluttered. “What I mean to say is, what in the world is going to happen next, I wonder?” “That’s more than either of us can tell,” remarked Miss Everitt composedly. “What I know is that I do want my lunch. Sight of food in the dining-car has made me feel hungry.” “The two of them! The two of them sitting there at a small table opposite each other!” “I caught sight through the glass door of the bill of fare,” said Miss Everitt. “The name of the fish I couldn’t quite make out, but there were côtes de boeuf rôtis, and poularde, and haricots verts—” “They were sharing a bottle of Chablis together. And he—he’d placed his hand on the top of her hand. Did you notice?” “Wonder whether they’ll give us an ice?” Chiswell found a handkerchief and rubbed his forehead. “All very well for you to sit there and talk about food; how do you know that now they’ve met and made it up, that she won’t get rid of you in the same way that he’s jolly well certain to manage without me?” “It doesn’t matter,” she replied, with calm. “I’ve saved!” “The amount you’ve saved, my girl,” he declared, “will last you for just about five weeks.” “What do you know about how much I’ve put by?” she demanded. “I can tell you the sum to within a pound. I can write it down now, if you’ll lend me a lead pencil.” He scribbled some figures on the margin of his newspaper, and handed it across to her. “Guess again!” she said. “It isn’t a question of guessing,” he said. “I happen to know. Unless you’ve made a considerable sum within the last three months, that’s the exact amount.”