“I wonder,” he suggested, “if any evening—­” “Next Thursday night at seven o’clock, I shall be free,” the young lady interrupted promptly.  “We’ll have a little dinner first, as we used to, and I want to go to the Gaiety.  It’s lucky you came in,” she went on, “for I can assure you that I shouldn’t have waited much longer.  There are others, you know, that are free enough with their invitations.”

She tossed her head.  With her hands to the back of her hair she turned round to look at herself for a moment in one of the mirrors which lined the inside of the bar.  Burton grinned at his late employer.

“Now you’ve gone and done it!” he whispered.  “Why, you’ll have taken a bean before then!”

Mr. Waddington started.

“I’ll have to make some excuse,” he said.

“You won’t be able to,” Burton reminded him.  “Excuses are not for us, nowadays.  You’ll have to tell the truth.  I’m afraid you’ve rather put your foot in it.”

Mr. Waddington became thoughtful.  The young lady, having disposed of some other customers, returned to her place.  She rubbed the counter for a few minutes with a duster which hung from the belt around her waist.  Then she leaned over once more towards them.

“It’s a pity Maud’s off duty, Mr. Burton,” she remarked.  “She’s been asking about you pretty nearly every day.”

A vision of Maud rose up before Burton’s eyes.  First of all he shivered.  Then in some vague, unwholesome sort of manner he began to find the vision attractive.  He found himself actually wishing that she were there—­a buxom young woman with dyed hair and sidelong glances, a loud voice, and a distinct fancy for flirtations.

“She is quite well, I hope?” he said.

“Oh, Maudie’s all right!” the young lady replied.  “Fortunately for her, she’s like me—­she don’t lay too much store on the things you gentlemen say when you come in.  Staying away for months at a time!” she continued indignantly.  “I’m ashamed of both of you.  It’s the way we girls always get treated.  I shall tell them to lay for you for lunch to-day, anyway.”

The two men looked at one another across the round table.  Mr. Waddington heaved a sigh.

“I shouldn’t bother about that sale, if I were you,” Burton whispered hoarsely.  “I tell you what it is, I daren’t go on like this any longer.  I shall do something desperate.  This horrible place is getting attractive to me!  I shall probably sit here and order more beer and wait till Maud comes; I shall stay to lunch and sit with my arm around her afterwards!  I am going to take a bean at once.”

Mr. Waddington sighed and produced the snuff-box from his waistcoat pocket.  Burton followed suit.  The young woman, leaning across the counter, watched them curiously.

“What’s that you’re taking?” she inquired.  “Something for indigestion?”

“Not exactly,” Mr. Waddington replied.  “It’s a little ailment I’m suffering from, and Burton too.”