that the large ‘compote’ (as it was called in his trade) which marked the centre of the table, was the production of his firm.  This surprised him, for Peel, Swynnerton and Co., known and revered throughout the Five Towns as ‘Peels,’ did not cater for cheap markets.  A late guest startled the room, a fat, flabby, middle-aged man whose nose would have roused the provisional hostility of those who have convinced themselves that Jews are not as other men.  His nose did not definitely brand him as a usurer and a murderer of Christ, but it was suspicious.  His clothes hung loose, and might have been anybody’s clothes.  He advanced with brisk assurance to the table, bowed, somewhat too effusively, to several people, and sat down next to Peel-Swynnerton.  One of the maids at once brought him a plate of soup, and he said:  “Thank you, Marie,” smiling at her.  He was evidently a habitue of the house.  His spectacled eyes beamed the superiority which comes of knowing girls by their names.  He was seriously handicapped in the race for sustenance, being two and a half courses behind, but he drew level with speed and then, having accomplished this, he sighed, and pointedly engaged Peel-Swynnerton with his sociable glance.

“Ah!” he breathed out.  “Nuisance when you come in late, sir!”

Peel-Swynnerton gave a reluctant affirmative.

“Doesn’t only upset you!  It upsets the house!  Servants don’t like it!”

“No,” murmured Peel-Swynnerton, “I suppose not.”

“However, it’s not often I’m late,” said the man.  “Can’t help it sometimes.  Business!  Worst of these French business people is that they’ve no notion of time.  Appointments ...!  God bless my soul!”

“Do you come here often?” asked Peel-Swynnerton.  He detested the fellow, quite inexcusably, perhaps because his serviette was tucked under his chin; but he saw that the fellow was one of your determined talkers, who always win in the end.  Moreover, as being clearly not an ordinary tourist in Paris, the fellow mildly excited his curiosity.

“I live here,” said the other.  “Very convenient for a bachelor, you know.  Have done for years.  My office is just close by.  You may know my name—­Lewis Mardon.”

Peel-Swynnerton hesitated.  The hesitation convicted him of not ‘knowing his Paris’ well.

“House-agent,” said Lewis Mardon, quickly.

“Oh yes,” said Peel-Swynnerton, vaguely recalling a vision of the name among the advertisements on newspaper kiosks.

“I expect,” Mr. Mardon went on, “my name is as well-known as anybody’s in Paris.”

“I suppose so,” assented Peel-Swynnerton.

The conversation fell for a few moments.

“Staying here long?” Mr. Mardon demanded, having added up Peel-Swynnerton as a man of style and of means, and being puzzled by his presence at that table.

“I don’t know,” said Peel-Swynnerton.