e to side regularly like a public speaker. He narrated in detail the
difficulties which he had in obtaining the right sort of cutlets rightly
cooked at his club, and added: "But of course there's only one club in
London that would be satisfactory in all this--shall I say?--finesse,
and I'm afraid I don't belong to it."

"What club's that?" John Orgreave sent the inquiry down the table.

"The Orleans."

"Oh yes, the Orleans! I suppose that _is_ the best."

And everybody seemed glad and proud that everybody had known of the
culinary supremacy of the Orleans.

"I'm afraid you'll all think I'm horribly greedy," said the brown
gentleman apologetically. And then at once, having noticed that Mr.
Enwright was gazing up at the great sham oak rafters that were glued on
to the white ceiling, he started upon this new architectural
picturesqueness which was to London and the beginning of the twentieth
century what the enamelled milking-stool had been to the provinces and
the end of the nineteenth century--namely, a reminder that even in an
industrial age romance should still survive in the hearts of men. The
brown gentleman remarked that with due deference to 'you professional
gentlemen,' he was afraid he liked the sham rafters, because they
reminded him of the good old times and all that sort of thing.

He was not only a conscientious conversationalist, but he originated
talk in others, and listened to them with his best attention. And he
invariably stepped into gaps with praise-worthy tact and skill. Thus the
chat meandered easily from subject to subject--the Automobile Club's
tour from London to Southsea, the latest hotel, Richter, the war (which
the brown gentleman treated with tired respect, as some venerable
survival that had forgotten to die), the abnormally early fogs, and the
abnormally violent and destructive gales. An argument arose as to
whether these startling weather phenomena were or were not a hint to
mankind from some undefined Higher Power that a new century had in truth
begun and that mankind had better mind what it was about. Mrs. John
favoured the notion, and so did Miss Orgreave, whereas John Orgreave
coarsely laughed at it. The brown gentleman held the scales admirably;
he was chivalrously sympathetic to the two ladies, and yet he respected
John's materialism. He did, however, venture to point out the
contradictions in the character of 'our host,' who was really very
responsive to music and art, but who