Peter raised it to his lips—after all Life wasn’t so very unsatisfactory when there was good food and welcome drink to be had. He sipped his cocktail appraisingly. The place was comparatively empty—it was early. At the next table sat a man and woman. They were talking eagerly and with much animation. The man was doing most of it, with the woman listening attentively and punctuating his remarks at rapid and regular intervals with a curious little vigorous inclination of her head. Peter fell to wondering about them—“a lower middle-class couple on a shopping expedition” was his verdict—arrived at simultaneously with the advent of Gustave and the soup. The fish quickly followed, and he was awaiting the coming of the “appetizing Aylesbury” as he termed it to himself when a familiar voice broke on his ears. “Hullo, Daventry! What’s brought you up this end so early in the morning?” Peter looked up. Then he grinned cheerfully. “Sit down, Marriott! An unexpected pleasure!” The newcomer sank into the proffered seat, and languidly stretched out a hand for the menu. Peter had met him several times in the Law Courts and had dined with him two or three times recently. “You haven’t answered my question,” said Marriott. “What brings you up here at this time of day?” “Business, my boy, purely business. Give Gustave your order.” Marriott smiled, rattled off his desires, and turned again to Peter. “Glad to see an improvement in you. The other day you were talking about ‘chucking’ it all and going out to ‘God’s own Country’ or somewhere.” “Wish I could, Marriott, but I can’t. I’m afraid the improvement about which you are babbling so delightfully will be short-lived. These peas are really excellent—you’ll enjoy them!” “Good! Any news of importance?” “Only that the next Coal Strike is expected to last twenty-two years or thereabouts.” “Really,” grinned Marriott. “Tell me something fresh. Say Queen Anne’s dead!” Peter pushed back his plate with an air of complete satisfaction and made a reply that seemed to leap to his tongue without his brain having undergone any preliminary process of thinking. It seemed to be entirely spontaneous and at the same time to him as he sat there, peculiarly appropriate. It fitted in with the morning so happily. “So’s Mary, Queen of Scots!” He blew a ring of smoke to the ceiling. As he spoke, there happened to be a lull pervading the whole room. A lull that was violently and almost instantaneously shattered! The man at the next table turned sharply as the words tingled through the air, and as he turned, with his body for the brief moment excitedly uncontrolled, his arm abruptly swept the cruet from the table to the floor.