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walnuts, salad and ale, if you must think of lunch. Only, as it is just a little after eleven, you had better make up your mind to have patience."
"Patience?" cried Miles, triumphantly, sitting up so suddenly on the window-seat that Bistre went tumbling to the floor. And, "Patience?" he repeated, questioningly, thoughtfully.
Hunter laid down his pen and looked across in bewilderment.
"What under the sun is the matter with you this morning?" he growled. Miles settled back again amidst the cushions.
"Er—it just occurred to me that I might amuse myself with the cards," he answered. Hunter grunted.
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"You'll find them in the drawer
over there," he said. "But I hate to
