For a mere second I remembered William’s remark that he should not be able to see the girl Jenny from the library windows.  Then this recollection drove from my head that I had only dined in the sense that my dinner-bill was paid.  Returning to the dining-room, I happened to take my chair at the window, and while I was eating a deviled kidney I saw in the street the girl whose nods had such an absurd effect on William.

The children of the poor are as thoughtless as their parents, and this Jenny did not sign to the windows in the hope that William might see her, though she could not see him.  Her face, which was disgracefully dirty, bore doubt and dismay on it, but whether she brought good news it would not tell.  Somehow I had expected her to signal when she saw me, and, though her message could not interest me, I was in the mood in which one is irritated at that not taking place which he is awaiting.  Ultimately she seemed to be making up her mind to go away.

A boy was passing with the evening papers, and I hurried out to get one, rather thoughtlessly, for we have all the papers in the club.  Unfortunately, I misunderstood the direction the boy had taken; but round the first corner (out of sight of the club windows) I saw the girl Jenny, and so asked her how William’s wife was.

“Did he send you to me?” she replied, impertinently taking me for a waiter.  “My!” she added, after a second scrutiny, “I b’lieve you’re one of them.  His missis is a bit better, and I was to tell him as she took all the tapiocar.”

“How could you tell him?” I asked.

“I was to do like this,” she replied, and went through the supping of something out of a plate in dumb-show.

“That would not show she ate all the tapioca,” I said.

“But I was to end like this,” she answered, licking an imaginary plate with her tongue.

I gave her a shilling (to get rid of her), and returned to the club disgusted.

Later in the evening I had to go to the club library for a book, and while William was looking in vain for it (I had forgotten the title) I said to him: 

“By the way, William, Mr. Myddleton Finch is to tell the committee that he was mistaken in the charge he brought against you, so you will doubtless be restored to the dining-room to-morrow.”

The two members were still in their chairs, probably sleeping lightly; yet he had the effrontery to thank me.

“Don’t thank me,” I said, blushing at the imputation.  “Remember your place, William!”

“But Mr. Myddleton Finch knew I swore,” he insisted.

“A gentleman,” I replied, stiffly, “cannot remember for twenty-four hours what a waiter has said to him.”

“No, sir; but—­”

To stop him I had to say:  “And, ah, William, your wife is a little better.  She has eaten the tapioca—­all of it.”

“How can your know, sir?”

“By an accident.”