“I always do. I was born with the itch of spending. The only thing that I shall do cheap will be my funeral, and I don’t worry about that. Here’s one, with a horse that don’t show too many of his ribs. Jump in and I’ll climb sedately after—not that there’s anyone about who’d admire my tootsies if I did show ’em and a trifle more.” Comparatively early as they were, the big grill room was nearly full, and they had to content themselves with a small table in a far corner, where, however, they could see, even if not much seen. “It does make me laugh,” said Mrs. Harding, as she rolled back her gloves, “to see the calm cheek of some fellows. See that bald-headed old Jew just over there? That’s his wife with him. Last night he was sitting at the same table with Florrie Kemp. You don’t know her?” “No.” “She’s a devil. Drinks like a fish. Now what are we going to eat and drink?” For a short while Marian seemed out of tune with the scene and with her comrade, but the heat of the room, the swirl of the music and the buzz of voices, the rich food and the wine warmed her, and she fell in with the spirit of her companion. “Hullo! There’s Nosey Geraldstein staring at you as if he’d like to eat you. He hates me, so let’s have him over. He’s mean as Moses, and it’ll be fun to make him pay the bill and then say ‘Good night’! He’s coming! He’s the ugliest man in London and—always gets any girl he wants. So, look out for yourself. Hullo, Sydney, you tried to look the other way; yes, you may join us, if you promise to behave nicely. Let me introduce you to Mrs. Squire.” Marian thought that the description of Geraldstein as the ugliest man in town was, at any rate, no gross exaggeration; his heavy, dark face, black and lusterless eyes, lusterless, lank, black hair, and gross, prominent chin, were far from prepossessing. To her surprise his voice was soft, pleasant and refined; she almost laughed, it was so unexpected: a voice that to a handsome man would have been an added attraction, came as if contrary to the course of nature from one so grotesquely, almost bestially, ugly. “I never look for anyone here,” he said. “If a friend sees me and says, ‘Hail, fellow,’ all right, but in a crowd I’m lost. This is a nice, secluded haven of refuge you’ve found, and it’s very good of you to let me share it.” “These are his ‘just-introduced-to-a-stranger’ manners, Marian. Sydney’s got more soft soap at his command than all the washerwomen in London.” “But not enough to cleanse the reputations of some of my friends,” said Geraldstein. “Why drink Burgundy? It’s a dull, stupid wine. There are only three wines worth drinking: Rhine wine when I want to be inspired; claret when I want to be stimulated; and champagne when I want to remember the days when we were all young and innocent. So—shall we have a bottle of—fizzy wine?” “It’d take several bottles to make you forget yourself,” said Mrs. Harding, who had flushed uneasily under his open sneer.