“All in good time, my dear,” replied Fortinbras serenely. “I have no quack nostrums to hand over at a minute’s notice. Auguste——” he summoned the waiter and addressed him in fluent French, marred by a Britannic accent: “Give me another glass of this obscene though harmless beverage and satisfy the needs of Monsieur and Mademoiselle, and after that leave us in peace, and if any one seeks to penetrate into this _salle à manger_, say that it is engaged by a Lodge of Freemasons. Here is remuneration for your prospective zeal.” With impressive flourish he deposited fifteen centimes in the palm of Auguste, who bowed politely. “_Merci, m’sieu_,” said he. “_Et monsieur_, dame——?” He looked enquiringly at Martin and Martin looked enquiringly at Corinna. “I’m going to blow twenty pounds,” she replied. “I’ll have a _kummel glacé_.” “And I’ll have the same,” said Martin, “though I don’t in the least know what it is.” The waiter retired. Corinna leaned across the table. “You’re thirty years of age and you’ve lived ten years in London and have never seen kummel served with crushed ice and straws?” “No,” replied Martin simply. “What is kummel?” She regarded him in wonderment. “Have you ever heard of champagne?” “More often than I’ve tasted it,” said Martin. “This young man,” remarked Corinna, “has seen as much of life as a squirrel in a cage. That may not be very polite, Martin—but you know it’s true. Can you dance?” “No,” said Martin. “Have you ever fired off a gun?” “I was once in the Cambridge University Rifle Corps,” said Martin. “You used a rifle, not a gun,” cried Corinna. “Have you ever shot a bird?” “No,” said Martin. “Or caught a fish?” “No,” said Martin. “Can you play cricket, golf, ride——?” “A bicycle,” said Martin. “That’s something, anyhow. What do you use it for?” “To go backwards and forwards to my work,” said Martin. “What do you do in the way of amusement?” “Nothing,” said Martin, with a sigh. “My good Fortinbras,” said Corinna, “you have your work cut out for you.” The waiter brought the drinks, and after enquiring whether they needed all the electricity, turned out most of the lights. Martin always remembered the scene: the little low-ceilinged room with its grotesque decorations looming fantastic through the semi-darkness; the noises and warm smells rising from the narrow street; the eyes of the girl opposite raised somewhat mockingly to his, as straw in mouth she bent her head over the iced kummel; the burly figure and benevolent face of their queer companion who for five francs had offered to be the arbiter of his destiny, and leaned forward, elbow on table and chin in hand, serenely expectant to hear the inmost secrets of his life. He felt tongue-tied and shy and sucking too nervously at his straw choked himself with the strong liqueur. It was one thing to unburden himself to Corinna, another to make coherent statement of his grievance to a stranger.