the world," she repeated emphatically.
"And do you know, your talk of tea, and corn, and produce, and
warehouses has made me very hungry. If we stumble up against a charming
place, we shall lunch."

And, a minute or two later, as they strolled down Eastcheap, at the
corner of a narrow winding lane, they came upon a sort of cafe, which
nice-looking merchants were entering, besides a goodly sprinkling of
brisk young women. Lady Betty peered in through the door. The place
seemed pretty full, but a stairway led to regions below. In a box, at
the head of the stairway, and busily taking the cash, was a charming old
man of mildest aspect.

Lady Betty declared it all fascinating, especially the part below
stairs, which had the attraction of the as yet unseen.

Wyndham hesitated. "There is smoking below. You may not like it."

"There are other women going down," she insisted. "I can't resist the
temptation."

It was an average type of City lunching place, but Lady Betty had never
before tried the sort of thing, so Wyndham fell in with her whim. Down
the stairs they went into a spacious cellar, lighted with jets of gas,
though the sun was still shining outside. Wreaths and clouds of smoke
floated in the atmosphere, and a clatter of dominoes and crockery
dominated the buzz of voices that rose from the chaos of people at the
marble tables. The central tables seemed given up to chess-play, each
game surrounded by onlookers, all with patient cups of coffee beside
them. And here and there an exceptional table, laid with a napkin, and
in possession of vigorous eaters, gave the note of the restaurant.
Wyndham and Lady Betty found a snug place on one side from which they
could survey the room; and a neat little waitress, scarcely more than a
child, came briskly forward to serve them, handing them with a sweet
professional smile a long slip headed "Bill of Fare." They were glad to
note that their entrance had attracted no attention. Lady Betty studied
the bill excitedly. They made their decision, and Wyndham imparted it to
the waitress.

"Thank you, sir," she said; "And what'll you have to drink, please?"

Again an eager colloquy, with the prosaic result of "two ginger-beers."
"A true old English beverage," declared Lady Betty, and her approval
seemed to flash the aesthetic quality into it, to invest it with rank and
nobility. "Small or large?" persisted the waitress, her tone and
demeanour of the gravest.

"Oh, large," said Lad