‘Well,’ he said, with the long-suffering patience, the readiness for any surprise, of a parent whom Nella had thoroughly trained, ‘what is it?’ ‘It’s this. Let’s have filleted steak and a bottle of Bass for dinner to-night. It will be simply exquisite. I shall love it.’ ‘But my dear Nella,’ he exclaimed, ‘steak and beer at Felix’s! It’s impossible! Moreover, young women still under twenty-three cannot be permitted to drink Bass.’ ‘I said steak and Bass, and as for being twenty-three, shall be going in twenty-four to-morrow.’ Miss Racksole set her small white teeth. There was a gentle cough. Jules stood over them. It must have been out of a pure spirit of adventure that he had selected this table for his own services. Usually Jules did not personally wait at dinner. He merely hovered observant, like a captain on the bridge during the mate’s watch. Regular frequenters of the hotel felt themselves honoured when Jules attached himself to their tables. Theodore Racksole hesitated one second, and then issued the order with a fine air of carelessness: ‘Filleted steak for two, and a bottle of Bass.’ It was the bravest act of Theodore Racksole’s life, and yet at more than one previous crisis a high courage had not been lacking to him. ‘It’s not in the menu, sir,’ said Jules the imperturbable. ‘Never mind. Get it. We want it.’ ‘Very good, sir.’ Jules walked to the service-door, and, merely affecting to look behind, came immediately back again. ‘Mr Rocco’s compliments, sir, and he regrets to be unable to serve steak and Bass to-night, sir.’ ‘Mr Rocco?’ questioned Racksole lightly. ‘Mr Rocco,’ repeated Jules with firmness. ‘And who is Mr Rocco?’ ‘Mr Rocco is our chef, sir.’ Jules had the expression of a man who is asked to explain who Shakespeare was. The two men looked at each other. It seemed incredible that Theodore Racksole, the ineffable Racksole, who owned a thousand miles of railway, several towns, and sixty votes in Congress, should be defied by a waiter, or even by a whole hotel. Yet so it was. When Europe’s effete back is against the wall not a regiment of millionaires can turn its flank. Jules had the calm expression of a strong man sure of victory. His face said: ‘You beat me once, but not this time, my New York friend!’ As for Nella, knowing her father, she foresaw interesting events, and waited confidently for the steak. She did not feel hungry, and she could afford to wait. ‘Excuse me a moment, Nella,’ said Theodore Racksole quietly, ‘I shall be back in about two seconds,’ and he strode out of the salle à manger. No one in the room recognized the millionaire, for he was unknown to London, this being his first visit to Europe for over twenty years. Had anyone done so, and caught the expression on his face, that man might have trembled for an explosion which should have blown the entire Grand Babylon into the Thames.