They returned to the drawing-room, but had not time to begin a conversation before the servant summoned them to dinner.  A very satisfying meal it proved; not badly cooked, as cooking is understood in Brixton, and served with more of ceremony than the guest had expected.  Fried scallops, rump steak smothered in onions, an apple tart, and very sound Stilton cheese.  Such fare testified to the virile qualities of Beatrice’s mind; she was above the feminine folly of neglecting honest victuals.  Moreover, there appeared two wines, sherry and claret.

‘Did you ever try this kind of thing?’ said the hostess finally, reaching a box of cigarettes.

‘I?—­Of course not,’ Nancy replied, with a laugh.

’It’s expected of a sensible woman now-a-days.  I’ve got to like it.  Better try; no need to make yourself uncomfortable.  Just keep the smoke in your mouth for half-a-minute, and blow it out prettily.  I buy these in the Haymarket; special brand for women.’

‘And you dine like this, by yourself, every day?’

’Like this, but not always alone.  Some one or other drops in.  Luckworth Crewe was here yesterday.’

Speaking, she watched Nancy, who bore the regard with carelessness, and replied lightly: 

‘It’s an independent sort of life, at all events.’

‘Just the kind of life that suits me.  I’m my own mistress.’

There was a suggested allusion in the sly tone of the last phrase; but Nancy, thinking her own thoughts, did not perceive it.  As the servant had left them alone, they could now talk freely.  Beatrice, by her frequent glance of curiosity, seemed to await some explanation of a visit so unlooked-for.

‘How are things going with you?’ she asked at length, tapping the ash of her cigarette over a plate.

‘I want something to do,’ was the blunt reply.

‘Too much alone—­isn’t that it?’

‘Yes.’

‘Just what I thought.  You don’t see him often?’

Nancy had ceased her pretence of smoking, and leaned back.  A flush on her face, and something unwonted in the expression of her eyes, —­something like a smile, yet touched with apathy,—­told of physical influences which assisted her resolve to have done with scruple and delicacy.  She handled her wine-glass, which was half full, and, before answering, raised it to her lips.

‘No, I don’t see him often.’

’Well, I told you to come to me if I could be any use.  What’s your idea?’

’Do you know of anything I could do?  It isn’t so much to earn money, as to—­to be occupied, and escape from loneliness.  But I must have two afternoons in the week to myself.’

Beatrice nodded and smiled.

‘No,—­not for that,’ Nancy added hastily.  ‘To see my boy.’

The other appeared to accept this correction.

’All right.  I think I can find you something.  We’re opening a branch.’  She mentioned the locality.  ’There’ll be a club-room, like at headquarters, and we shall want some one ladylike to sit there and answer questions.  You wouldn’t be likely to see any one that knows you, and you’d get a good deal of fun out of it.  Hours from ten to five, but Saturday afternoon off, and Wednesday after three, if that would do?’