The cabman approvingly watched the ignition of the second cigarette, and then the cabman pulled out a cigar, and showed his large, white teeth, as he bit the end off it.  The appearance and manner of his fare, the quality of the kit-bag, and the opening gestures of the interview between the two young dukes, had put the cabman in an optimistic mood.  He had no apprehensions of miserly and ungentlemanly conduct by his fare upon the arrival at Euston.  He knew the language of the tilt of a straw hat.  And it was a magnificent day in London.  The group of the two elegances dominated by the perfection of the cabman made a striking tableau of triumphant masculinity, content with itself, and needing nothing.

Matthew lightly took Cyril’s arm and drew him further down the street, past the gate leading to the studio (hidden behind a house) which Cyril rented.

“Look here, my boy,” he began, “I’ve found your aunt.”

“Well, that’s very nice of you,” said Cyril, solemnly.  “That’s a friendly act.  May I ask what aunt?”

“Mrs. Scales,” said Matthew.  “You know—­”

“Not the—­” Cyril’s face changed.

“Yes, precisely!” said Matthew, feeling that he was not being cheated of the legitimate joy caused by making a sensation.  Assuredly he had made a sensation in Victoria Grove.

When he had related the whole story, Cyril said:  “Then she doesn’t know you know?”

“I don’t think so.  No, I’m sure she doesn’t.  She may guess.”

“But how can you be certain you haven’t made a mistake?  It may be that—­”

“Look here, my boy,” Matthew interrupted him.  “I’ve not made any mistake.”

“But you’ve no proof.”

“Proof be damned!” said Matthew, nettled.  “I tell you it’s her!”

“Oh!  All right!  All right!  What puzzles me most is what the devil you were doing in a place like that.  According to your description of it, it must be a—­”

“I went there because I was broke,” said Matthew.

“Razzle?”

Matthew nodded.

“Pretty stiff, that!” commented Cyril, when Matthew had narrated the prologue to Frensham’s.

“Well, she absolutely swore she never took less than two hundred francs.  And she looked it, too!  And she was worth it!  I had the time of my life with that woman.  I can tell you one thing—­no more English for me!  They simply aren’t in it.”

“How old was she?”

Matthew reflected judicially.  “I should say she was thirty.”  The gaze of admiration and envy was upon him.  He had the legitimate joy of making a second sensation.  “I’ll let you know more about that when I come back,” he added.  “I can open your eyes, my child.”

Cyril smiled sheepishly.  “Why can’t you stay now?” he asked.  “I’m going to take the cast of that Verrall girl’s arm this afternoon, and I know I can’t do it alone.  And Robson’s no good.  You’re just the man I want.”