pathetically, and suggested a drink. He,
himself, had been out of work for nearly six months, and the chance of
securing Jimmy's berth had altered the whole outlook for him.

"Yes, you do look off colour," he said. "I've noticed it several times
lately. Night work doesn't suit you, I suppose. Now, I'm used to it,
been at it for years. Well, I'll give Dodgson this note of yours. It'll
be all right. He knows me well enough. So long. Thanks very much for
thinking of me."

Jimmy turned wearily, and went down the corridor to the dining-room. He
had eaten nothing all day, and it struck him Lalage would be worried if
she knew.

"Bring me anything you like," he said to the waiter, but when the plates
came he merely took one mouthful, and then sat, staring with unseeing
eyes at a paper he had picked up, whilst the gravy grew cold and greasy.
He was wondering what Lalage was doing, alone in that little hotel near
the General Post Office.

"As long as it's quiet, Jimmy, that's all I care about; and the further
from the West End the better. Noise would drive me quite mad, I think,"
she had said.

So far, he had not tried to analyse his own feelings toward Lalage. All
he knew was that he was sounding the lowest depths of misery, and he
speculated, more or less vaguely, whether she could understand what he
was suffering. He wanted to blame her, in fact he knew that he ought to
blame her, that she had betrayed him and had sinned beyond all hope of
forgiveness; and yet in his ears there was still ringing her
heart-broken wail, "I did it all for you Jimmy, I did it all for you."

At last the voice of the waiter broke in on his thoughts. "You don't
seem to like that, sir. Anything I can get for you instead?"

Jimmy started. "No, no. It's quite all right. I don't feel hungry now,
that's the only trouble, thanks."

The waiter was a kindly man, and he had seen a good deal of life during
nearly thirty years of service in clubs; consequently, he shook his head
mournfully as Jimmy went out. "Mr. Grierson's in trouble," he remarked
to the carver. "He looks fair broken up, as though he didn't care what
came next."

The carver, who had no imagination, grunted. "Got the sack, I suppose,"
he said, and began to dissect a chicken.

The waiter shook his head again. "That doesn't make a man pay for food
he's not going to eat. It's a woman has played the fool with him. I
shouldn't be surprised if we don't see him here again. And he's a nice