Among other patrons at “Malahide” were two quiet, polite little Japanese gentlemen, Mr. Den and Mr. Yabe; Madame Galli, a shrivelled old woman in a cheap wig, with sharp rat’s eyes that nothing escaped, the soul of good nature, rich, miserly and incredibly mischievous.  There were several boarders who were in business in the City, and Mr. Hutton, a careworn man of fifty, who spent his days working in the British Museum.  Next to him at table sat Douglas Shafto, now a well set-up, self-possessed young fellow, who still retained something of the cheery voice and manner of the Public School boy.  Thanks to his steadiness and fair knowledge of French and German, he was drawing a salary of a hundred and fifty per annum.

His neighbour on the left happened to be his own cousin, Sandy Larcher, older by three years, and in the same office, but receiving a lower “screw,” Sandy was of the “knut” tribe, a confident authority on dress, noisy, slangy, and familiar; much given to cigarettes and music-halls, a slacker at work, but remarkably active at play and, on the whole, rather a good sort.

Sandy’s mother, Mrs. Larcher, the widow of a cab proprietor, was Mrs. Shafto’s only sister, and in the days of that sister’s glory had never obtruded herself; but now that poor Lucilla had come down in the world, she had advanced with open arms, and at “Monte Carlo,” the abode of the Larcher family, Mrs. Shafto occasionally spent a week end.  The “go-as-you-please” atmosphere, late hours, breakfast in bed, and casual meals, recalled old, and not unhappy times.  Mrs. Larcher, who had never been a beauty, was now a fat woman past fifty, lazy, good-natured, and absolutely governed by her children.  Besides Sandy, the dandy, she had two daughters, Delia and Cossie.

Delia was on the stage (musical comedy), petite, piquant, and very lively; a true grasshopper, living only for the summer; a loud, reckless but respectable young woman, who, having but thirty shillings a week salary and to find her own “tights,” was ever ready to accept motor drives, dinners, or a smart hat, or frock, from any of her “boys.”  Cossie, the stay-at-home, was round-faced and plump; a tireless talker and tennis player.  She managed the house, held the slender purse, accepted her sister’s cast-offs, and always had a “case” on with somebody.  Cossie was exceedingly anxious (being the eldest of the family) to secure a home of her own, and made this alarmingly obvious.

To “Monte Carlo” Douglas, the highly presentable cousin, was frequently commanded by both mother and aunt.  At first he had hated this duty, but nevertheless went, in order to please and silence his parent, whose hand plied the goad and who otherwise “nagged” at him in public and in private.  In private she pointed out that the Larcher family were his own blood relations, “so different from his father’s side of the house, which, since his death, had ignored both her and him, and never even sent a wreath to