“This cheese is as nutritious and unattractive and indigestible as Science,” remarked Chaffery, cutting and passing wedges.  “But crush it—­so—­under your fork, add a little of this good Dorset butter, a dab of mustard, pepper—­the pepper is very necessary—­and some malt vinegar, and crush together.  You get a compound called Crab and by no means disagreeable.  So the wise deal with the facts of life, neither bolting nor rejecting, but adapting.”

“As though pepper and mustard were not facts,” said Lewisham, scoring his solitary point that evening.

Chaffery admitted the collapse of his image in very complimentary terms, and Lewisham could not avoid a glance across the table at Ethel.  He remembered that Chaffery was a slippery scoundrel whose blame was better than his praise, immediately afterwards.

For a time the Crab engaged Chaffery, and the conversation languished.  Mrs. Chaffery asked Ethel formal questions about their lodgings, and Ethel’s answers were buoyant, “You must come and have tea one day,” said Ethel, not waiting for Lewisham’s endorsement, “and see it all.”

Chaffery astonished Lewisham by suddenly displaying a complete acquaintance with his status as a South Kensington teacher in training.  “I suppose you have some money beyond that guinea,” said Chaffery offhandedly.

“Enough to go on with,” said Lewisham, reddening.

“And you look to them at South Kensington, to do something for you—­a hundred a year or so, when your scholarship is up?”

“Yes,” said Lewisham a little reluctantly.  “Yes.  A hundred a year or so.  That’s the sort of idea.  And there’s lots of places beyond South Kensington, of course, even if they don’t put me up there.”

“I see,” said Chaffery; “but it will be a pretty close shave for all that—­one hundred a year.  Well, well—­there’s many a deserving man has to do with less,” and after a meditative pause he asked Lewisham to pass the beer.

“Hev you a mother living, Mr. Lewisham?” said Mrs. Chaffery suddenly, and pursued him through the tale of his connexions.  When he came to the plumber, Mrs. Chaffery remarked with an unexpected air of consequence that most families have their poor relations.  Then the air of consequence vanished again into the past from which it had arisen.

Supper finished, Chaffery poured the residuum of the beer into his glass, produced a Broseley clay of the longest sort, and invited Lewisham to smoke.  “Honest smoking,” said Chaffery, tapping the bowl of his clay, and added:  “In this country—­cigars—­sound cigars—­and honesty rarely meet.”

Lewisham fumbled in his pocket for his Algerian cigarettes, and Chaffery having regarded them unfavourably through his glasses, took up the thread of his promised apologia.  The ladies retired to wash up the supper things.

“You see,” said Chaffery, opening abruptly so soon as the clay was drawing, about this cheating—­I do not find life such a simple matter as you do.”