Some three tables away Mr. Bundercombe was lunching with a young lady--a
stranger to us all She was not only a stranger to us all but, though she
was remarkably good looking, there were indications that she scarcely
belonged to our world.
All three of us remained silent for a moment. Then I coughed and took up
the wine list.
"What should you like to drink, Mrs. Bundercombe?" I asked in attempted
unconcern.
Mrs. Bundercombe adjusted her spectacles severely and transferred her
regard to me. I felt somehow as though I were back at school and had been
discovered in some ignominious escapade.
"You are aware, Paul," she replied, "that I drink nothing save a glass of
hot water after my meal. The subject of drink does not interest me. I
appeal to you now as a future member of the family: Fetch Mr. Bundercombe
here!"
I shook my head.
"Mrs. Bundercombe," I said, leaning over the table, "your husband during
his stay in London plunged freely into the Bohemian life of our city. I
will answer for it that he did so simply in pursuance of that hobby of
which we all know. I am convinced----"
"Paul," Mrs. Bundercombe interrupted, her voice if possible a little more
nasal even than usual, "will you fetch Mr.
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